“One can waste years this way, systematically postponing precisely the things one cares about the most.” ― Oliver Burkeman
Another year dawns. Here in the northern hemisphere, we begin the year in darkness—our earth’s fallow time, rest time, quiet time. Yet I hurry to make lists to accomplish, to acquire, to get somewhere rather than pause to be here. I plunge into what seems like an endless pool of time available for the taking.
Psychologist Oliver Burkeman, in his book 4000 Weeks: Time Management for Mortals, reminds me that my life is finite, and I choose every day how to use the time I have. 4,000 weeks is how much time we have if we live an average number of years. I ask myself: How many of those 4,000 are left? How will I spend them? And who’s in charge of deciding?
With pen in hand, I write New Year goals, ambitions, dreams. I aim for perfection in my body, my health, my relationships……my life. The problem is that perfection is a construct of my mind and doesn’t exist in the real world. It only exists in some imagined future that never comes.
Burkeman names what I already know: I won’t get it all done—not cleaning out my emails, not catching up with all my acquaintances, not getting my photos organized. It’s not possible. Time-management gurus entice us with promises of organizational calm—after the last task is done, the last email answered, the last weed pulled. Then we will be caught up and free to enjoy the bliss of relaxation. But that will never happen—there is always more laundry, more emails, more weeds…and less time for doing what is important.
Time runs out. Sooner than we care to admit.
What I want to do is to savor time.We treat time like a commodity we own. We sell it to our employers. We waste hours, as though they are an endless resource, on billionaires who trap us in social media rants and fears. We save it for a future we are not sure we’ll have. But do we enjoy it? Celebrate it? Inhabit it?
Dare we not be busy? What happens if our calendars aren’t overflowing, or our activities stacked one on another?
Busyness is not a badge of honor.
When I consider time a commodity, I start thinking I have to maximize its use—how do I get the most out of it? I torment myself agonizing over whether this is the best use of my time. What would be more efficient? Is this worth doing? Is this really how I want to spend my time?
What I want to do is to savor time. When have I spent time that I can later relish in memories? It can be time spent exploring ideas with friends, meandering woodland trails, paddling a kayak on a remote Wisconsin lake. I can rock a baby or play with a curious two-year-old. All these experiences keep me in the present moment.
One way I have found to enjoy time is to spend it on activities at which I will never be accomplished. Things I do just for fun. I play the piano that way—same old music I played when I was in high school. Not any better now—even worse probably. But I do it because it is relaxing and calming. Similarly, I draw simple images. I am lousy. I have never had an art class. What I come up with doesn’t look like what I am imagining, yet I am amazed when it looks like anything!
I have a picture in the living room that I painted many years ago while hanging out with watercolors and the person who later became my spouse. We were chatting, engaged in getting-to-know-you talk, playfully letting paint brushes move to the rhythm of the moment. I named it Joy.
That is how I think of leisure time, the time that refreshes and is unbound by minutes or hours. It is also unbound by meaning or purpose. It just is. It differs from escape time. Escape time is what I do when I don’t want to deal with life. I avoid my feelings or a task that needs to be done. I clean drawers rather than write an essay. I scroll through the news, rather than schedule a doctor’s appointment. I don’t come away relaxed or content or free. I come away restless, burdened, unsatisfied.
Does the time that is not work time need to be productive? To improve my life? To compete with nameless neighbors? To earn extra money for toys I don’t have time to use?
Burkeman suggests three principles to guide us in accepting that our time is finite, and some things simply won’t get done.
Principle one is to pay yourself first when it comes to time, like we do with our 401Ks. What do I put on my calendar for me? For nurturing relationships? For causes that I value? For dreams I have? Now, with a year’s calendar—mostly blank—I write in vacations, a retreat, regular 12-step meetings. I schedule time for volunteer work, engaging with my dreams or values or important people in my life. What is it that I haven’t found time for that’s important to me? How can I protect time for that?
Principle two is limit your work in progress. Time is finite. We will all die. We’re not going to get it all done. How many goals do I have? How many open projects am I working on? This is hard—I want to do it all. Choose what’s most important and let the rest slumber until one of those projects is complete or abandoned.
The third principle is to resist the allure of middling priorities. When everything is important, nothing is. Decide what is important and let go of the rest. Maybe they are someone else’s priority. Maybe they are left from a life I no longer have. How often do we hang on to an old life’s task afraid to fully enter the life that is facing us now?
I will take some of my precious, limited time to reflect on what I am no longer willing to postpone, with whom I want to share my time and energy, and to fire the taskmaster that wants productivity in all things. I have 52 weeks in this year. You, too. How are you going to spend yours?
Mary Lou Logsdon offers Spiritual Direction in the Twin Cities, in person and remotely. She teaches in the Sacred Ground Spiritual Direction Formation Program. She can be reached at logsdon.marylou@gmail.com.
Last Updated on January 14, 2024