The Joy of Making Time

I feel I must begin this note by saying it’s difficult to write about one’s hopes for the coming year when so many in California have lost everything this week. I’ve woken each morning here in the Midwest and checked the news and socials straightaway for news of friends in L.A. It’s been heartbreaking to watch the footage of neighborhoods burned to the ground, homes literally reduced to piles of rubble. I offer my own meager prayers for an end to the devastation and loss.

Choosing Well

This week, as I was doing a bit of reading on the topic of time stewardship (a better word than “management” in this case), via Oliver Burkeman’s Four Thousand Weeks, I was struck by much of what he says in chapter 4, “Becoming a Better Procrastinator.” He outlines three main principles to follow when it comes to prioritizing our time: (1) pay yourself first, (2) limit your work in progress (i.e. don’t have too many projects going at once), and (3) resist the allure of middling priorities. He also demolishes the old notion of putting rocks in a jar in order of priority, his point being that such an illustration deceives us into believing we can do everything, which is a falsehood. Time is finite for all of us.

I mentioned last week that I’ll turn 50 this year, and I admit I’m beginning to think about all the things I haven’t gotten around to yet: writing projects, trips at home and abroad, and the like. Last February, I started taking guitar lessons, something I’ve wanted to do for fifteen years. Unfortunately, I haven’t been terrific about honoring that endeavor with my time on a daily basis, succumbing instead to the summons of all those noisome “middling priorities.”

I’m quite proud that, as I write this, my kitchen—nay, my whole house—is something of a disaster, the Christmas decorations half taken down and packed up, a trail of gingerbread crumbs and a splotch of dried hot chocolate adorning the dining room floor, dishes piled willy-nilly in the sink. I could have let these things stop me from taking a bit of time to write this morning, but I resisted. Victory! I have no doubt I chose the right form of procrastination, at least for this one hour of my week.

Rejecting “Perfect Conditions”

In my guitar lesson on Tuesday, my teacher (who is almost two decades my junior, yet wiser in a few things) asked me how practicing was going. I confessed that I struggle to find a place (read: THE place) to insert practice into my daily routine. I enumerated a litany of reasons, most involving energy level (first thing in the morning and last thing at night are out), and the lack of time when I can be assured of avoiding interruption as a homeschooling and work-from-home mom.

He pointed out that though I may want to practice under “perfect conditions” every day, this will rarely be possible. I simply need to pick up the guitar at some point each day and get on with it, whether for thirty minutes or five.

I need to take this same approach with everything that matters, from my big writing projects to the little things that sustain me, like reading to afternoon tea to taking a walk. There is no perfect schedule. There are no perfect conditions on any day.

The Joy of Missing Out

I tend to have a very full plate, but it’s also true that not everything in front of me is a “must do” or even a “should do.” I need to ask myself more often if the opportunity before me is a “want to do,” and respond accordingly. I also need to resist making some of my commitments bigger in my mind than they actually are. I do not often experience Fear of Missing Out, but I do succumb to a misplaced sense of obligation. Why do I choose to go somewhere when I’d rather stay home and read a book? Why do I turn on the TV when I’d rather spend a few minutes scribbling or do some sewing? I need to remind myself of the Joy of Missing Out, of choosing to spend my finite time on what matters to me—the big rocks—rather than trying to fit a bunch of pebbles in my jar.

Amateur Is Good

Also this week, I revisited an article in Common Place Quarterly (Vol. 6, Issue 1) titled “In Defense of Amateurs.” Carol Hudson, the author, points out that the word “amateur” comes from the Latin word amator, or lover, which in turn comes from the verb amo, to love. An amateur is a person attached to a pursuit simply for the love of it.

I used to jokingly call myself a dilettante, another word for dabbler. I dabble in all kinds of things purely for the love of them: poetry, knitting and other fiber arts, baking, and now guitar. Things that bring me joy as an amateur, but might not if they were a full-time job. “Amateurs,” writes Hudson, “do what they love.”

I’m giving myself permission resolving to make more time this year for both my “big rock”—writing—as well as for my amateur passions and the little practices I find life-giving rather than things that are middling or feel obligatory but aren’t. It will be a path of slips and surges, I’m sure, like any path of growth. The important thing, though, is recognition of the way forward.