How do you find the time?
It’s a simple, and somewhat hostile, question.
So, I’ve spent most of my week sniveling, shivering, and all the other joys of a serious cold. I’m glad it wasn’t COVID-19, with all its side effects, but that doesn’t mean I enjoyed the experience.
I enjoy the lost time even less.
All in all, it’s at least three days lost this week, and it was a busy one to begin with. Not horrendous or anything, just busy, with a tight schedule. Nevermind the meetings that got pushed, thus eating away at future me’s hours, it’s the things I needed to get done. The deadlines, the promises, the goals — all pushed, shaken, shattered. As is now my next couple of weeks because they weren’t blank, and they now got the semi-lethal injection of the Burning Hot Mess that is urgent things.
So, I ask again: How do you find the time?
The time to do what you want to.
The time to do what you need to.
The time to realize your dreams.
This is what we’re struggling with, isn’t it? What we want to make work, and bend to our will with elaborate planning schemes. GTD this, sprint that, whatever this – it’s all a delusion when it breaks down.
And it will, break down, I mean because we’re human, fragile, and the world has a way of interfering with not only your life, but your carefully laid plans. It sure does with mine, at least, and I’d wager you’re no different.
Three days lost, give or take. That’s twenty-four hours of work that needs a new home, more than half a week. If you’re a busy person, like I am, it’ll have ramification for weeks, months perhaps. And all that for the sniffles, really. How fragile is this system of mine, of ours?
Well, I’m not one to dally on the past. I’ve taken this opportunity to clear out my to-do inbox, bit by bit. Not necessarily by completing the tasks, but rather re-evaluating them on the grander scale. I look at all my lists every Monday, glance at them really, and then schedule my week. It works fine. But this time, I’m not only evaluating tasks, I’m breaking down the system. Deleting the lists, scrapping anything that isn’t crucial, clearing the calendar. I’ve killed projects older than some finer whiskies in my bar, that’s how serious I am.
And all because of the sniffles. It’s marvelous, and perhaps scary, what this little disease can do.