Every time you tear a leaf off a calendar, you present a new

Charles Kettering, the great inventor and visionary, once proclaimed: “Every time you tear a leaf off a calendar, you present a new place for new ideas and progress.” These words, though clothed in the simple image of a calendar, speak with the majesty of time itself. They remind us that each passing day is not merely a subtraction from our lives, but an opening, a space freshly cleared for creation, invention, and renewal. What seems like the loss of yesterday is, in truth, the gift of today.

The origin of this wisdom lies in Kettering’s own life as an innovator. As head of research at General Motors, he was no stranger to deadlines, to the turning of pages, to the march of days marked by calendars. Yet rather than seeing the tearing away of time as something grim, he saw in it the opportunity for progress. Each new page was a blank slate, a summons to think freshly, to abandon the paralysis of regret and to enter boldly into the field of possibility.

The ancients, too, saw in the turning of time a chance for renewal. The Romans celebrated Janus, god of beginnings, whose two faces looked both backward and forward. They knew that each new day was a doorway. Likewise, in the East, the cyclical calendars of China did not mark time as a slow death but as a great wheel turning, bringing new chances for balance, harmony, and growth. Kettering’s words echo this timeless truth: to live is not merely to endure the passage of days, but to use them as vessels for creation.

Consider the example of Thomas Edison, whose thousands of failures in pursuit of the light bulb never discouraged him. For each day that passed, he treated the failure not as an end but as a fresh chance to refine his idea. Like Kettering, Edison understood that progress does not arise in one triumphant moment, but in the steady rhythm of tearing off the leaves of failure until one day the page reveals the light of discovery. The calendar, then, is not a chain but a ladder—each torn page another step upward.

But Kettering’s wisdom is not only for inventors; it belongs to every soul. Each dawn we are given a new leaf, and with it the chance to forgive, to begin again, to build what yesterday we were too fearful to attempt. The tragedy of life is not that the pages turn, but that so many leave them blank, waiting for inspiration instead of daring to create. To live fully is to see each page as sacred space, meant to be written on with deeds, ideas, and progress.

The lesson is clear: do not mourn the tearing away of days. Instead, honor each page as a new chance. Ask yourself at the rising of the sun: “What will I write upon this day? What new idea will I test, what new kindness will I perform, what progress will I make?” For even the smallest act—an encouraging word, a note of music, a spark of invention—fills the page with meaning and sets the foundation for greater tomorrows.

Practical wisdom flows from this: keep your own calendar not as a grim reminder of time slipping away, but as a record of growth. Mark not only appointments and duties, but also the victories, the lessons learned, the new ideas birthed. In doing so, you will see that life is not a falling of leaves, but a rising of new pages, each carrying you further along the path of your becoming.

So, children of tomorrow, heed Kettering’s counsel: treat every day as a place for new ideas and progress. Tear the leaf, and do not fear it. For with each page removed, the universe places before you a blank space, waiting to be filled with the ink of your courage, your creativity, and your hope. And in this way, the turning of time will not be your loss—it will be your triumph.