Their Time

Daily writing prompt

What is the greatest gift someone could give you?

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For me, the greatest gift someone could ever give me is their time—and right behind that, their mentorship. Not money. Not things. Not even praise. Time is the one thing none of us can make more of, and when someone chooses to spend theirs on you, that tells you everything you need to know about how much they value you.

Time means presence. It means putting the phone down, not multitasking, not rushing the conversation. It’s someone listening without trying to fix you, sell you something, or turn the moment into a story about themselves. It’s showing up consistently, not just when it’s convenient. I’ve learned over the years that a half hour of someone’s real attention can change the direction of your life more than a thousand empty compliments ever could.

Mentorship takes that gift of time and gives it purpose. A good mentor doesn’t just tell you what you want to hear. They tell you what you need to hear, sometimes before you’re ready to hear it. They share hard-earned lessons, not from textbooks, but from mistakes, scars, and lived experience. The best mentors I’ve had didn’t hand me answers; they taught me how to think, how to see around corners, and how to avoid landmines they’d already stepped on.

But there’s another side to this that matters just as much to me—and that’s time from children and young people. When a young person chooses to spend their time with you, asks questions, listens, or simply wants to be around you, that’s a gift you don’t take lightly. It’s trust. It’s curiosity. It’s an open door into a future you won’t fully live to see, but can still help shape.

Some of the most meaningful moments in my life have come from conversations with kids and young adults—unfiltered questions, honest thoughts, fresh perspectives that remind you the world is still being written. Their time isn’t obligated. They don’t give it out of politeness or habit. When they do, it means they feel safe, heard, and valued.

As I’ve gotten older, I’ve come to appreciate this gift even more. Time feels more precious now. Conversations feel more meaningful. Mentorship has shifted from something I received to something I try to give, while staying open to learning from younger generations as well. It goes both ways if you let it.

In a world obsessed with speed, efficiency, and shortcuts, time and mentorship—especially across generations—are quietly radical gifts. They say, “You matter enough for me to slow down.” And to me, that’s about as meaningful as it gets.