(This is a repost of what I wrote originally on 10/13/2011, for a church-group blog, which we quickly abandoned.)
Last Sunday I attended Sudbury First Parish and heard Interim Minister Reverend Gary Kowalski‘s sermon, “How to Lose Control of Your Time and Life.” I found it an interesting deviation from the sermons to which I’ve become accustomed, which have a deeper emotional impact, but often are less intellectually stimulating.
Punctuated with bursts of humor, Reverend Kowalski presented a sermon in consideration of how we spend, and perceive, time. He began by referencing a Mary Worth newspaper comic strip in which the protagonist analyzes every moment of her morning routine in an attempt to budget an extra 12 minutes for sleep, and moved on to discuss an advertisement he saw for a watch designed to count down to the wearer’s expected date of natural death. (For an example of how this works, check out the internet Death Clock.) Rev. Kowalski professed astonishment at the thought of utilizing such a device, expressing the belief that, were he to wear such a thing, rather than being motivated to enjoy every second — as the ad claims will be the effect — he would likely be paralyzed by the constant ticking down of his life on display before him.
Although my summary hardly does justice to his eloquent and amusing sermon, the gist of Rev. Kowalski’s sermon was to live in the moment and not to schedule every second, allocating, trading, and selling segments of your life without ever truly being present in it.
I had recent opportunity to put Rev. Kowalski’s theory into practice. In June I found myself without employment. Although I now have part-time traditional work, my freelancing and one-time projects result in the typical week being split evenly between scheduled days and ad-hoc free-for-alls. To compound this unusual state of being, I went a few months without replacing my broken watch.
As a result, some days off passed flitting from task to task like a moth with ADHD, yet shortly after, a day would pass when I would be absorbed in an intense project for 10 hours before realizing I’d passed the day without pausing for any breaks. If I finished a project at 8:30pm, often I simply would go to sleep and awake at 6am with excess energy from an extra long slumber, while on other days I’d refuse to break focus until early morning hours, but I didn't have to worry about watching the clock, knowing I could sleep in as long as needed to recover the following day.
I stepped outside to weed for a few minutes and discovered 3 hours added to the clock upon my return inside. With a feeling of accomplishment, as well as a joyous post-gardening calm, I continue my day without regretting the “lost” 3 hours.
One of my favorite stories was told by Native American author Sherman Alexie during a visit to my alma mater, Keene State College. Alexie spoke of a book tour stop schedule at a Reservation. Alexie was delayed (due to details which I no longer remember), arriving several hours late for his speech. When he finally arrived, Alexie apologized for his tardiness, expecting an extremely impatient and anxious crowd. Instead, a man commented that Alexie wasn’t back on “Indian time” yet: they weren’t expecting him to show up for at least another day. I loved the story, both because Alexie told it so well, and because I adored the notion of people so laid back that they were fine with their paid celebrity author showing up anytime within a few days of his booking time. I get stressed waiting for the cable guy.
In many ways, my new semi-timelessness lowered my stress, improved my health, and increased my overall happiness. However, as pleasant as this existence was, as a temporary state of being, or part-time, I can hardly imagine allowing myself to lose control of time and my life permanently. Even if somehow employment were possible in this state (I suppose there are some writers, programmers, et cetera, who are highly skilled enough to make a living by results rather than reporting to anyone at specific times), I find myself having to make an extra effort to resynchronize with the rest of the world. I have to set alarms to remind me of meetings I used to remember on my own: not just the time, but even the day of the meeting. I forget the date. A few weeks ago, filling out a form the day after my birthday, I had to to be reminded of the current date. Many psychologists have found that having a set routine is extremely beneficial — for children in particular, but for adults as well (Asher).
How do we find the compromise? The sweet spot between the peace of losing oneself and the security of routine and control? Buddhism would teach the nirvana achieved when one finally allows the loss of self (O'Brien). Most of my previous employers would teach that I should schedule every moment of every paid hour, plus several extra unpaid hours, per day, just in case they wanted to use them. As I seek to increase my presence in the work force, I struggle with this conundrum. Every method I find seems to result in another contradiction — even going to a Zen Buddhist meditation meeting means, yes, scheduling in time in order to practice losing my sense of time and self.
I began writing this expecting to write about how my recent experiences have opened me up to the wonderful world of loss of control and time. I’ve found at the end I can’t attest to this glorious state of being from personal experience. Does this bliss exist in reality, or is it just a fanciful wish? If I were to achieve it, would schedule-bound control-addicted society label me mentally ill? Would they be correct to do so?
Would I care?
Should I care?
Last updated: 21 Feb. 2012
References
- Asher, Liza. The Importance of Routines for Children. Mommd. Web. Accessed 13 Oct. 2011.
- Kowalski, Gary, Reverend. How to Lose Control of Your Time and Life. Speech presented at First Parish, 327 Concord Road, Sudbury, MA 01776. 9 Oct. 2011.
- O'Brien, Barbara. Nirvana. About.com. Web. Accessed 13 Oct. 2011.
No comments:
Post a Comment