Time is the coin of your life. It is the only coin you have, and only you can determine how it will be spent. Be careful lest you let other people spend it for you. ~ Carl Sandburg
Our culture seems obsessed with time.
Calendars and clocks dominate. Ask someone to dinner and they’re likely to pull out a PDA to check their schedule. I know people who account for their time in ten-minute increments and examine past data for patterns, endlessly seeking opportunities for increased organization. Efficiency’s the name of the game; how much more can we squeeze into each day?
I wonder if we’d be better off asking a different question: How much more might we get from each day?
There’s nothing wrong with using time wisely; we only get a limited amount, and we can’t store it for later use. And it’s good to be reasonably organized; missing appointments or double booking doesn’t demonstrate much respect for others.
But how much of our compulsive efficiency is driven by external expectation? How many of those highly organized tasks don’t have much to do with our central values? I suspect that many of those extra items crammed into every spare moment really represent someone else’s priorities—allowing someone else to spend our time.
I’ve said this many times—I’m not seeking extended leisure time. I want to have fun. I want to be engaged in useful, productive projects. I want to help others. I want to foster new relationships and nurture existing ones. I don’t want endless days with “nothing to do.”
I’m simply a bit mystified about why we seem to believe that those desires are distinct. If I’m doing useful work, why can’t that also be fun? If it’s not, why don’t I do something else? Why work fifty weeks each year for that precious two-week vacation when I can do what I really want to do? Why can’t I be productive and build relationships concurrently?
Our culture sells us a false dichotomy. “Responsible adults” earn a living; they don’t have time to worry about enjoyment or satisfaction. The whole economy’s built on our belief that we must go to work to get the money to buy the stuff. Once in a while, perhaps we ought to ask whether the stuff’s truly significant enough to trade our time for it.
Or maybe there’s a better way to get the stuff. I’m not advocating a life of poverty, even as it exists in America. But I also don’t want to run a maze constructed by “them” without concern for where it leads. We don’t have to operate according to the culture’s standards and expectations.
I want to believe that what I do accomplishes something worthwhile according to my values. I want to spend my time by choice, not by habit or reflex or accident or expectation. I don’t want my life to be someone else’s decision.
I want to invest my time on purpose. How about you?
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