Oliver Burkeman subtitled his book 4,000 Weeks “time management for mortals”. Time and mortality are tough subjects that Burkeman faces head-on and with creativity and humor uncommon to self-help books.
I’ve been wrestling with time since December 22, 1987, when I tossed my wristwatch in a wastebasket at the Troy (OH) library an hour after I was fired from a senior leadership position in a large company. I then wrote a list of things I’d rather do with my life than continue my “pants on fire” existence.
Like most people, the early years I focused on “time management”, using my Franklin Covey planner and developing habits such as “first things first”. This works to a point but over time, I “sharpened my saw” so finely that it cut me. Now while encouraging good planning, I also warn folks that “planning without a sense of humor and self-forgiveness can cause mental illness”.
Burkeman’s theory takes this another step by using our mortality as context for planning. Essentially, his path suggests that we do less, better. Time saving devices are just that, they save time for other things. Amazon, Uber, and our IPhones give us more time to do...what?
The faith my parents gifted me says there’s something beyond human time. My friends who practice their Jewish faith say a good life is its own reward. In either event, I’ve become more satisfied in my life as I’ve learned to use time stretching exercises that I started working on that day in 1987.
I plan my work, then work my plan. Getting things done fulfills me, coaching others inspires me. It’s always a slog but wins give me confidence, satisfaction, and self-worth. But most of all, they make my leisure time more leisurely.
According to Burkeman’s formula, with good luck I have about 500 more weeks in this mortal coil. Whether 20 or 1,000 weeks remain, I’ll eventually get the inevitable terminal diagnosis. When I do, having been a brilliant time manager will be just as useless as how much wealth I’ve accumulated.
Instead, I simply want to look back (and forward) and say I’d squeezed my orange to the peel.
Peace,
Tim McCarthy