Once again, half as long

My third chapter isn't a draft: making time for what matters

Was it July or last week when I said I was taking a break from writing weekly posts so that I could focus on my book? I don’t know.

There’s a joke Felix tells that I can’t remember, but the punchline is this: “What’s time to a hog?” I say it whenever I’m late or when something takes longer than I planned.

What’s time? Indeed.

According to my local weather service, the length of the day today was 11 hours and 46 minutes. Less daylight than dark. Soon, we’ll set the clocks back one hour. It’s my favorite day of the year—the day we all receive the gift of time.

I won’t waste it, even as cozy as an extra hour under the covers sounds. I’ve got shit to do.

This time of year, I feel an urgency to nest, to prepare for winter. The wood is stacked. The gardens given up. I’ll put porch furniture away and rake leaves. Wash summer dust from the windows. Pull on woolly socks. Bake pie.

But also, my calendar is full. The conflict between restorative wintering and my to-do list is a battle for the ages. Moreso, the older I get.

For every year we live, our remaining years become a smaller fraction of our lives. I can’t explain the math (English major), but I feel the truth of this in the back of my throat. So many words piled up, stuck and jumbled, from waiting for me to find my voice and take my writing seriously.

I complain about not having enough time to write incessantly. I say, “I have the time, but something is holding me back.” I whine about my lack of commitment and focus. “If it’s something I really want, I would make it a priority.”

If it’s really something I want….nothing holds me back.

Nothing is holding me back from writing. I put it off because writing is hard, and because I have many marvelous ways to spend my time—and also tick, tick, tick.

There is a line in the movie A River Runs Through It, where the father, played by Tom Skerritt, edits his young son’s essay. “The art of writing is in thrift,” the father says, editing the paper. He edits draft after draft, repeating to the boy, “Once again, half as long.”

The goal is to write a story where every word shines.

So, too, is the story of my life. I want every minute I have to shine, so I fill my schedule. Writing, my supposed priority, often finds itself at the bottom of the list behind community organizing, household chores, workshops, bike rides, naps, and pie.

Before I can write, I must clear the list of to-dos and whine about how I will never finish my book.

A new way to think about time

I found an early post by

Nicola Slawson

that broke open a new way to think about time. She writes this about Matt Haig’s The Midnight Library:

“The beauty of letting things play out and being curious about what happens rather than focusing on the things you haven’t done yet and the life you could be leading if only you got your act together.”

Being curious about what happens is how I want to rethink the concept of time, how I will make space for what matters.

Curiosity is the enemy of priorities.

I’ve been anxious about the waning of time and all the things I want to do that remain undone. I wonder what would happen if I followed the beauty of letting things play out instead?

What would happen if I made time for curiosity?

My sweet friend

Jenny O'Connell

calls herself a “time optimist,” and happens to be the most curious person I know. Her method of keeping time isn’t about the calendar, the clock, or the to-do list. It’s a way to record “what really happened.”

After a car accident left her shaken, Jenny quickly filled her life to the brim, not wanting to have any regrets. Years later, a few words scribbled on a calendar in a remote Alaska cabin changed how she kept track of time.

Saw a badger. Double rainbow. Snow.

Jenny realized “it wasn’t my packed calendar that made me feel alive—it was the moments in between.” Read her beautiful essay, Keeping Time ⬇️

Keeping Time

Tick-tock

I’m turning the page in my planner to October in a few hours. I usually start a new month by re-listing all my unfinished to-dos. If I don’t change my attitude about time and priorities, tomorrow morning, I’ll write in my journal something like, “I once again didn’t spend time working on my book,” and list half a dozen other woulda-coulda-shouldas.

None of my self-recrimination or whining will make time stand still or make time more precious. I wonder, then, what if I tried Jenny’s method instead?

Sunrise coffee. Held a plank for more than a minute. Started a new book. Watched copper leaves shimmer in the breeze. Thanked a friend. Got mad at myself. Apologized.

Thanks for reading!

Work hard. Be Brave. Believe.

Catherine

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P.S.

I’m accepting essays for the Moments of Change series. Send me your stories!

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