I've got issues with time, busyness and focus. I've never tackled three issues simultaneously, but I think these are sufficiently related as to merit integration.
First of all is time. Who has it these days? Do you ever find yourself bored? Ever? Is there ever an occasion when you are looking for something to do at any given moment? Perhaps you answered in the affirmative to one or more of these questions; yay, for you! But I know I didn't. No matter what day of the week or time of the day it is, there is always something that needs my attention. Academics and sleep, if nothing else.
This, of course, leads to prioritization. I don't know that I could make a blanket designation or ranking of my priorities. They seem to change -- with the exceptions of friends, which is always at the top -- each day ... mostly because they have become dictated by immediacy. Much as I try to plan in advance, my schedule and activities often fall prey to those of other people.
Time, for me, suddenly has been broken up into much smaller increments than it ever was. Minutes have gained utmost importance. Whereas I used to measure time in five minute blocks (everything I do used to be in multiples of five), now I do so by single minutes. I know that I can make it to Collis in three minutes from my dorm; it's amazing what an extra two minutes of sleeping or blitzing or "getting ready" can do. (Speaking of sleeping: I am always amazed about the fact that I never once used my snooze button on my alarm clock in high school. I never needed to. But now those nine minutes make such a difference. Remember what it feels like to go through each day without being sleepy or just plain physically exhausted?) Similarly, I measure time now in hours instead of days. When I'm writing a paper and the due date is approaching, my countdown is transformed into hours, as opposed to days. And it all too often precludes sleep; if I get to the point at 11:00 p.m. that I have 10 more hours to finish a paper, then sleep is often pushed aside. It is not an overstatement to say that time is a factor in everything I do everyday.
Enter busyness. With this new definition of time comes a new definition of busyness. Since I now measure in specific hours and specific minutes, I often feel the need to plan my meetings and gatherings and social time in adjacent time slots, thus being effective, efficient and "involved." If I can race through my day with each hour and minute accounted for, then clearly I must be doing something worthwhile. Structuring my day systematically and methodically allows me to do more in the sense that I make each minute count.
The irony, though, of busyness is something that my roommate and I theorized last night. Because we are so busy and wrapped up in our own lives here, we don't have the time to genuinely appreciate one another. We are all so focused on ourselves and our busyness that it is difficult to stop the fast-paced daily routine long enough to stop and look at the big picture. I am so intent on right now that it is difficult sometimes to notice early warning signs of an impending crisis, whether my own or a friend's.
I know that when I leave Dartmouth, what I am going to remember is not the meetings I attended or the classes I went to or the time I spent on blitz; rather it will be my friends and the conversations that I've had with many different members of the community.
Yet the fact remains that I schedule my day with strict attention to efficiency. When someone asks me what I'm doing for the day, chances are that I can rattle off an extensive and detailed list. Am I proud of that? No, not necessarily. I think, though, that it relates back to my most recent column about commitment: once I have decided to do something, I refuse to do it halfway; I am committed to commitment.
So how does busyness relate to focus? Busyness allows only for concentrated focus. I have started to live my life one day at a time; sometimes even one hour at a time. As such, it is extremely difficult to look forward to tomorrow, let alone next week or next term. I noticed last week that the days of the week have lost, for me, much of their psychological connotation. Thursday doesn't feel like Thursday used to feel; it is no longer filled with the anticipation of Friday that it used to hold. Instead Thursday is just another day that is dictated by my schedule, and it means only doing the things that I have to do on Thursday.
I worry that busyness is turning us into machines whose only drive is efficiency. I worry that looking ahead to tomorrow may upset the precarious juggling act that is today. I worry that our singular focus on today will bog us down in the mundane and unspontaneous. I worry that we have lost sight of what is truly important in life. Perhaps my worry is misdirected as I project it outward. I do, though, worry for myself.
Yet hope springs eternal in my world of idealism. I do believe that we learn from our experiences and mistakes and that, when given another opportunity -- the beginning of a term or of the academic year -- we might make the choices necessary to allow us some relief from the all-consuming busyness that has become life.
