John Steinbeck in East of Eden wrote the best line about time I’ve seen to date. His character Samuel Hamilton remarks, “Lord, how the day passes! It’s like a life — so quickly when we don’t watch it and so slowly when we do.”
Observe your life, and you’ll have all the time you’ll ever need.
As part of my job, I call and talk with attorneys and their assistants all day. And I’ve observed that it’s never a good time talk. It’s never a good time to do anything.
Here are common responses to my calls.
8 AM: Called too early, not at work yet.
9 AM: At court and cannot talk.
10 AM: Discussing another matter and not available.
11 AM: Left early for lunch.
12 PM: At lunch.
1 PM: Back late from lunch.
2 PM: Took a late lunch so not back yet.
3 PM: Just stepped out, want their voicemail?
4 PM: Had to leave early for the day.
5 PM: Just left for the day.
The stars will never align for the important work to be done. There will always be unexpected traffic, unforeseen cancellations, national injustices, international tragedies, familial strife, personal illness, and lunch. The work will not just happen. There’s never a good time.
Thus, we make time for the important things. We prioritize, set boundaries, and nurture the practice, especially when times are hard. The perfect time to start does not exist, unless we create it.
…takes time
…will not be praised in the short run
…may not be recognized in the long run
…is easily replaced by more pressing, but less important work
…involves toiling when no one is watching
…involves caring when no spotlight exists
…is proactive not reactive
…involves a vision that others don’t see
…does not involve social media
…cannot be forgotten when short-term fires arise
…is hard, difficult work
…is within our control
Never, ever, take anything for granted.
Yesterday, someone exclaimed that I’m “always trying to change people.”
This hurt since that’s the exact behavior I’ve been trying to change. Giving advice is something I like to do, but I do it more than I’d like and have consciously tried to say less. The comment cut deep because I wished I acted differently.
My reaction got me thinking about the delicate balance between change and acceptance. Yes, some behaviors don’t serve us and changing them would be good. But also, self-fulfillment requires self-acceptance. We need the wisdom to know that we already have everything we need, and that we are okay just as we are.
The balance is hard to strike. Change too much, and the change will never be enough. After all, change is never absolute since tomorrow is unknown. And acceptance is powerful, so long as we don’t conflate acceptance with cynicism, detachment, or resignation.
So I think the dance between change and acceptance needs lightness, an understanding that you’ll miss a few moves, but you’ll never stop dancing.
I used to define quality time as length of time. The more time spent with a loved one, the more I cared about them.
How misguided that was. The quality in “quality time” matters. Merriam-Webster defines quality time as the “time spent giving all of one’s attention to someone who is close.”
Far better to spend 30 minutes fully present with family than to spend 2 hours half-listening while watching YouTube. The time we take for ourselves to be present benefits everyone else. Each interaction we have leaves an imprint on the other person. What imprint do we want to leave?
This weekend, I learned about the propinquity effect, which describes the tendency for relationships to form from the physical or psychological proximity between people or things. For example, you’re more likely to be friends with someone in college if that person lived in your dorm building than if she lived across campus. The more exposure you have to a person or a thing, the more power and influence it has over you.
I learned about the propinquity effect in a lecture series on social media and smartphone use. The speaker described how a central danger with our phones is that at any given moment, our devices are within arms reach. Reach into your pocket to grab your wallet, and what might come out is your iPhone flashing a news notification. The solutions to excessive phone use are simple. Want to cut your phone addiction? Don’t keep it in your pocket. Want less screen time before bed? Leave your phone in another room before you go to sleep. What is near you, influences you.
It made me think about the things that are arms length away from me during the day. If I don’t want it to be my phone, what do I want to have high propinquity? What can I carry with me or place on my desk that would bring inspiration and joy? Maybe a pen and notebook, a photo of a loved one, or a wristband with a message that inspires me. The power my phone has over me is extraordinary. But the propinquity effect can serve me as well. I just need to think through how.
1. Cultivating emptiness is how we gain peace. Once on earth, 22 embodied emptiness, a willingness to see the world without a lens. And without a lens, 22 was no longer trapped; everything was beautiful. Joe was trapped by his failures, defined by who he wasn’t, as opposed to who he was. Terry was defined by his need to be right, ultimately manipulated and used by everyone around him. But it’s easy to knock emptiness. It’s not efficient, nor can it guarantee outcomes. Characters like Terry can impose their will on the world, and it often works. But in the long run, emptiness brings peace. Emptiness creates the conditions for connections, purpose, flow, and wonder. Terry and Joe had a hard time connecting because they imposed their lenses onto everyone else. When 22 as Joe remarks to Dez, Joe’s barber, “I can’t believe you never told me about your life before,” Dez responds, “you never asked.” Look at the world with fresh, empty eyes, and the depth of world reveals itself.
2. Our negative self-talk is the most debilitating thing we experience. When 22 is reliving bad memories, previous comments from Joe are warped and replayed to attack them. Someone may say something bad to us once. But if we replay it in our minds 500 more times, who is really hurting us?
3. Life is our presence to it. The lost souls walk the dark sand because they turned inward, missing the life just in front of their eyes. It’s why they look down instead of ahead.
4. Our life purpose is created not destined. It can be anything. From playing the piano, to witnessing a leaf fall. We are the universe observing itself. We assign the purpose. The objects that 22 gathers — the lollipop, the half eaten bagel, the leaf — all seem infinitely important in 22’s hands. But when Joe puts the items on his piano, they lack spark, they’re not special. It’s not the what that matters, it’s the lens we look at it through. We can attain our dreams, but just as Joe saw after finally playing with Dorothea, it’s just another moment. And if we’re not present to that moment, that meaning fades.
5. We can experience death, rebirth, and redemption right now.
6. Everything is art. Everything we do is art.
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