This isn’t quite what I intended to write this week, but a random comment I made on a post unlocked thoughts in me that only made sense when I wrote them down.
Under a photo described as,
“The ruined Lidwell Chapel”
“What ruined it?”
“Time”
Many of us are ruined by time.
We are ruined by anxiety at the passing of it and at the misguided desire to cram too much into it.
Some of my clients can’t sit in silence for more than a few seconds. The ticking of my clock, the literal sound of time passing, becomes an intolerable reminder.
On a training day, we were tasked with asking someone we didn’t know a searching question. A lady who, only minutes before had been eating a custard cream with her coffee catches my eye. She comes almost too close and says,
“How often do you think about death?”
I’d never really thought about it but, when I did, I realised that I think about it all the time. Becoming aware felt like a blessing because I think it somehow keeps me in check.
I am certainly in no rush to die but it feels prudent to keep the end in mind so that I can make the best of what I have available before I get there.
One of the consequences of being ruined by time that I see in a lot of people is burnout.
It comes from the attempt to squeeze more out of time than it is willing to make available. We tell ourselves that with good time management, we can always do a little more, but time is stubborn and will not be managed. It always does its own thing.
Whichever of the numerous antidotes to burnout you happen to read there are, as far as I can see, only two possible long-term solutions. You either do less or find more energy. Ironically, doing less gives you more energy, so that’s my strategy.
But doing less when we are busy and stretched feels counterintuitive, so the two most common reactions are to push harder to get more done, or procrastinate and get nothing done, which are appalling ways of making the best use of time.
In an effort to get more done with dwindling energy, we lose all sense of perspective and let go of the parts of our lives that are not urgent but hugely important.
When we procrastinate we fill time with nothing which exhausts us further and adds guilt on top of an already consuming struggle. If that weren’t bad enough, the ways we find to waste time these days are increasingly toxic.
In a terrifying piece by Ted Gioia this week, he paints a chilling picture of how we’re risking our happiness by trading time for dopamine hits certain to dwindle and end in misery.
The Harvard Study of Adult Development has consistently found in its 85-year history that at the root of healthy and happy longevity is love and deep connection, specifically with others and, presumably, also with ourselves. As the distraction economy gathers pace we are sacrificing both for a momentary buzz that does nothing for the foundations of what keeps us happy and makes us more likely to reach the end of our lives feeling that we haven’t finished.
Dogs have the right idea. Most of them only live for a little over a decade, if they’re lucky, and they still find time to smell the piss of other dogs in every branch of every tree and shrub they pass. Their ability to live in the moment is unparalleled, but there is no need to smell other people’s urine to get close.
These past few weeks I have been walking past the patch of earth in the garden where I cut back the overgrown Jasmine and planted spring bulbs. I’ve been wondering when they will start appearing because Daffodils are springing up everywhere around here and yet mine are nowhere to be seen.
Then I forgot about hurrying them along and went inside for a few days while the biblical rains swept through.
This evening, while Daisy was sniffing a particularly interesting patch of sodden grass I noticed the little shoots pushing up through the soil.
Allowing things to happen at their own pace always gives me the feeling of time passing more slowly.
When my daughter told me she was rationing social media for Lent and only allowing herself access between 7 pm and 11 pm I felt the need to show solidarity and rashly offered to give up crisps, biscuits, cake, chocolate, and ice cream in a fit of what I see now was unhinged bravado.
As you can imagine, I was left with little to live for and so one night I found myself scrolling through TikTok while lying in bed.
As I swiped through reviews of restaurants I’ll never visit, people eating foods that made them pass out or burp violently, and underwhelming covers of songs I don’t like, I started to feel a bit depressed. Like eating an entire sharing bag of crisps while watching daytime TV I had a sense of time passing that felt both anxiety-inducing and as if I was trying to stimulate my brain into submission.
I’m pleased to report that this behaviour was an anomaly.
In the past few years, I’ve been, albeit somewhat unconsciously, weaning myself off instant gratification.
Unsubscribing to newsletters that I rarely read (don’t get any ideas), watching films, listening to vinyl albums and CDs, a musical medium in which it feels right to listen from start to finish, you know, the way the artist had intended, and of course, reading.
A surprising but delightful consequence of all this is that it feels as if I am moving in step with time rather than attempting to forge ahead or languishing behind wishing that the past were here in the present.
In avoiding the likelihood of being ruined by time, or rather my unrealistic and unnecessary expectations of the way it might bend to my desires, I have found that not putting too much into it, and making sure that a majority of what I do are things I enjoy seem to be the sweet spot.
If it gets to the point where that stops working, I can always take the dogs out and sniff the piss on a thistle.
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