When I quit a regular job in 2008, taking out more time for myself was not one of the things I had planned on. It mostly happened as a result of, well, actually not having a lot to do at times. Eventually, I started travelling a bit, tried going for walks regularly, but it was still not something I had counted on doing long term. It was an interim thing, that is all.
I was recently looking a the list of things I wanted to do in life and it occurred to me that some of those things had been on the list for years now. I have not had as much free time as I have had in the past three-years. If I could not make even a minor dent on that list in that time, the problem really was elsewhere and it has everything to do with distractions.
It was not until I quit Facebook on a whim last year the realization of how much time I would waste on a daily basis. I would mindlessly click through albums, profiles and so many other things. Looking back, I can see the same pattern in almost everything else. I have done the same thing with people, problems and anything else as long as I did not have to really deal with my own things.
After Facebook I quit almost every other social network I have been on. I have not used Twitter in a week and often times I feel this is what rehab probably is like. The elusive fix is even harder to deny myself when what I am trying to work on is not easy. Sometimes it is immensely frustrating when I manage to do little of what I am supposed to do and I can’t get around to my fixes that would otherwise give me the feeling of having done a lot without having done anything of any significance.
The good part is that as a result of all these shenanigans I am slowly reclaiming time. I have not been proud of saying “I don’t have time” for a while now. I can no longer say that. Now it is a matter of making good use of the time that I have found. I’m still working on that one.
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Time present and time past
Are both perhaps present in time future,
And time future contained in time past.
If all time is eternally present
All time is unredeemable.
Four Quartets, T.S. Eliot (http://www.tristan.icom43.net/quartets/norton.html)