Every time I sit down to write this newsletter, I worry I'll have nothing to say. But, somehow, something always happens or reminds me of a perfect topic.

A few weeks ago, I was on a call with someone I genuinely like working with. Unmistakably smart and thoughtful. We'd been going back and forth on a project for a couple of months, and it reminded me of the importance of not letting people disrespect your time.

She was twenty minutes late with no heads-up.

When she joined, she opened with "Sorry, crazy day" and moved right into the agenda like nothing had happened.

Thing is: I wasn't angry or even surprised.
Because this was the third time.

On the drive home, I wasn't thinking about the call. I was thinking about why I hadn't said anything. Not just with her, though. With a pattern of people over the years who had slowly, almost imperceptibly, started treating my calendar like it was flexible, optional, secondary to theirs.

And I realized something uncomfortable.

They weren't disrespecting my time.

I had never taught them to value it.

I think there's a difference. And most people miss it because they conflate the two. They assume that when someone is chronically late, or reschedules without notice, or lets a "quick question" become a forty-five-minute conversation, it's a character flaw, a respect issue.

Sometimes it is. But more often, it's a systems issue. People treat your time the way your behavior has trained them to treat it.

You don't get the time boundaries you deserve. You get the ones you've established through every small signal you've sent.

I’m certainly not the first one to have this revelation. There are TED talks and prominent figures like Jay Shetty who’ve discussed the importance and power of setting boundaries.

But here's where it gets tricky: most advice on "protecting your time" treats it like a wall-building exercise. Set hard limits, say no more, block your calendar, guard your energy.

That works if you don't care about the relationship.

But for the people in your actual sphere of influence — colleagues, clients, partners, collaborators — a wall is the wrong metaphor. What you need is a door with clear hours posted on it.

The real question isn't how do I protect my time? It's how do I raise the perceived value of my time without becoming someone people don't want to work with?

This tension isn't new.

Historians have long noted that access has always been a proxy for value. Kings held court at appointed hours. Advisors who were too available were seen as dispensable. The dynamic holds today: the people whose time is hardest to get are often the ones whose counsel is most sought.

Not because scarcity is a trick, but because structure signals that what's inside is worth structuring around.

The same principle shows up in behavioral economics. When something is freely and infinitely available, people unconsciously devalue it. Not out of malice, but out of pattern. Your calendar is no different.

So here's my framework.

I think of it as three moves that shift how people experience your time without a single awkward confrontation.

Let’s get it…

Most people skip straight to enforcement. They go from years of unlimited availability to suddenly declining meetings and shortening calls. The people around them feel whiplash, not respect.

Try: "I'm restructuring how I spend my time this quarter so I can be more focused when we do connect. Here's what that looks like."

That one sentence does more than any blocked calendar ever will. It positions the boundary as intentional, not reactive. People respect structure when they understand it's for something.

Without the signal, enforcement feels personal. With it, enforcement feels professional.

When you automatically say yes to every meeting request, coffee chat, and "quick call," you're not being generous. You're training people to believe your time has no opportunity cost.

Instead of: "Sure, I'm free Thursday." Try: "Thursday works. I've got a tight window — let's do 2:00 to 2:30 and make it count."

Instead of: "Yeah, just call me whenever." Try: "I'd love to talk. Let me look at what I've got this week and send you a couple of options."

The content barely changes. The signal changes completely. You've moved from "my calendar is open" to "I'm making room for you." One is a vending machine. The other is an invitation.

People often value what they perceive someone chose to give. That's not manipulation. That's basic human psychology.

This is the move most people never make — and it's the one that actually sustains the change.

"I appreciate you keeping this tight. It let us actually get somewhere."

"This was a great use of thirty minutes. Let's keep doing it this way."

What you're doing is reinforcing a pattern. People repeat behaviors that get acknowledged. When respecting your time leads to a better experience for both sides, the pattern locks in.

I’ve seen so many people only speak up when their time is disrespected. Choosing to stay silent when it goes well. But that silence is a missed signal. Positive reinforcement builds the long-term norm.

Influence isn't built by withdrawing. It's built by teaching people what access to you actually means.

People don't disrespect your time on purpose. They respond to the system you've built around it.

If your time feels infinitely available, it will be treated as infinitely flexible. That's not a character judgment — it's a pattern.

Signal the change, make access feel chosen, and reinforce what you want repeated.

You don't protect your time by building walls. You raise its value by treating it like it matters and making that visible.

Thanks for reading. Be easy!
(You are the advantage.)