You Should Read Four Thousand Weeks

Oliver Burkeman’s book came to me at a time when I really needed to read it. I had lost the proverbial forest for the trees, and stood to benefit from taking a step back and remembering why I am doing what I’m doing. Four Thousand Weeks really delivered. 


Oliver writes,

“the real problem isn’t our limited time. The real problem is that we’ve unwittingly inherited, and feel pressured to live by, a troublesome set of ideas about how to use our limited time, all of which are pretty much guaranteed to make things worse.”

The first half of the book focuses on embracing our own limitations. He illustrates the brevity of our time here on earth and the insidious nature of our desire to achieve great things, and how that can often prevent us from getting started. He argues, by letting go of our ambition to do everything, we can roll up our sleeves and get down to the business of doing something.

Rather than focus on our (often unexamined) quest for efficiency and productivity, he argues, let’s take a step back and realize that we have precious little time here, and that being more intentional about what we choose to spend it on is a worthwhile endeavor.  Thanks to the internet and smartphones, our attention can effortlessly be given to, well…just about anything. He asks us to pause and consider what is truly worth our attention. 

The second half of the book articulates beautifully a nagging sensation I’ve been having for a long time now, which is this: there doesn’t seem to be any goal I can achieve, any destination I can reach, any recognition I can earn, that will leave me in a state of lasting satisfaction.  The moment I reach the next rung of the ladder, I realize it wasn’t the one I was aiming for after all.

Perhaps the next rung will be the one? But “the one” never arrives. 

His writing reminds me of this quote (unknown source)

“it is a tragedy to have won at a game you should never have played in the first place.”  

How often do we hear stories of those that spent their lives striving for something, achieving it, and still being unhappy?

What can be done to avoid this fate?

This book gets at the question in a way that has left a mark. It has tinted the color of my lenses, and I’m seeing the world in a new light. It has left me feeling both lighter and more empowered to go out and use my time in the way that means the most to me.

Get Four Thousand Weeks

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Did I Get It Right?

What is it to “get it right?” Think of all that baggage. 

Who decided it’s right?  Who decided what “right” is?

How can I possibly find satisfaction if I’m living into that, always searching for approval from some unknown source, some mysterious judge? 

And when I catch a glimpse of that judge’s face, I find it’s just me, and me, and me. 

I’m the author of my own story. 

The problem is, if I’m not careful then I find myself writing nothing but critique. 

And it’s always “two thumbs down.” 

Maybe I’ll get it right the next time around.

Each of us could be, 

a mirror for our own humanity, 

yet we cover it in shame. 

When I look at you, I see your goodness shining through

But from me, I feel the darkness underneath

I wish I could see me 

the way you see me,

wish I could be for me, 

who you are for me,

held and seen,

by love,

reflected in between.

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Thanks for reading!

-Aidan

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Dreaming Inside Out

I dream. 

On a journey, inside: 

To find the edges of my knowledge, 

of imagination and creation, 

the mystery of my own being, 

sharing in the wider world, 

and discover that which I have yet to find. 

I want to expand my territory, 

seek over the horizon, 

feel the wind on my face. 

I want to feel the hair standing up 

on the back of my neck again. 

I dream, wanting something NEW to emerge. 

I brave the darkness at the edges of the map.

What will I find there? 

A way to optimize in 30 days or less?  

A way to be richer, smarter, sexier, 

better at my minor scales?  

Is it a limited time offer? An exclusive opportunity? 

A groundbreaking methodology based on the latest, cutting edge scientific research?  

An A to Z approach, allowing access to all the answers? 

A better way? 

A cure for my condition? 

Maybe in the darkness I’ll discover a way to deal with my delusions, delving into the depths of dependency, doubt, and depression.  

Maybe I’ll be energized, my enthusiasm eliminating ennui, even (especially!) the existential kind.

Further in, I’ll find a flow that finally frees me of my fetters, frets, and fears.  Filled with frenetic fury, I’ll fire off feature after feature, fulfilling my most fanciful fantasies. Fantastic!

Great! 

Hooray!

But…inevitably, my alliterative, imaginary, inquest will be interrupted. 

Because this journey…is a journey of two parts.  

What is knowledge, known to me alone?

When I leave, return to the light, 

I must move through my mind, something

New. Or nothing.

Original. Or not. 

Profound. Pointless.

Quality. Quotable? 

Real. But really…

See, I’ve seen into the dark, 

And the truths I’ve found,

Unknown until,

I visited

With them,

They’re not exactly…what I thought they'd be.  Expectations haven’t met reality. 

You see, I yearn, to find my flow,

The zone, where I’ll be lifted on the zephyrs to my zenith, and like Zeus I’ll reign

Over my domain.

I yearn to become someone.

I yearn…to find…to know…but…

…mostly, I just yearn.

…until the alarm clock rings, and morning brings me back.

Still, my questions echo. Nothing answers back.

All the ground I covered in my dream, 

And I find myself, well…still me.

Inside joins with outside. 

From the darkness, I return to light. 

Today, I am. I yearn. 

I brave the edges of the map,

Where inside joins with outside,

To make something new. 

Such is the dance.

I’ll dream again tonight.

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Maybe There Are Angels

Connection, Intention, and Reflection - Part I

In terms of sheer verbosity, my inner monologue could give Shakespeare a run for his money.  

I was chopping veggies for dinner last night, when it suddenly occurred to me that I had filled every available moment of my day with thoughts, most of them a running critical commentary, giving my actions two thumbs down.  My dad called his constant commentator “Duck Tape Man” and I adopted the name for my own inner critic.  The absurdity of the name feels like an accurate nod to the quality of his contributions. 

I have noticed that every once in a while Duck Tape Man shuts up, and another voice comes through; a voice that says “yes” to scary but exciting things, that recognizes an opportunity to create, connect, or contribute.  It is such a sharp contrast to my inner critic, it makes me wonder whether it’s really coming from me at all.

There’s something there beneath Duck Tape Man, beneath the ego, the inner critic, and it seems to have our best interest at heart. 

Maybe it’s the subconscious mind. 

Maybe it’s the Self. 

Maybe it’s our creative voice.

Maybe it’s the Muse.  

Maybe there are angels. 

When I was a kid, my grandmother gave me a beautiful little jeweled guardian angel pin.  Over the years there have been times I have believed there were angels -some mysterious force looking out for me- and at times I have believed I’m all my own.  I can’t tell you my outcomes were better when I believed the angels were with me (there’s no way to know).  But I can see my darkest, loneliest days were when I believed I was alone. Maybe there are angels. I don’t know.  But I still keep that angel pin close by.

I believe both my inner critic and the quiet voice underneath are trying to look out for me. The trouble is that Duck Tape Man doesn’t seem to be helpful very often. 

The quiet voice is another matter. 

When I was seven, the voice said yes to baseball. I got hooked on baseball cards and studying statistics.  I dove into the stories the numbers told, and practiced baseball every chance I got, alone and with friends.  By age nine I was the best pitcher in my town and two grades ahead in math because of all the time I spent doing statistics.  My math skills went on to be a valuable part of my professional career, and to this day both baseball and numbers are a regular source of joy.

When I was ten, that voice said yes to guitar and singing.  I played all the time on a child-size guitar my uncle Matt got me from the thrift store for six dollars.  I learned a new song every week and played in my first live concert six months later.  Thirty years later, music is still one of the most important things in my life. 

Maybe there are angels. 

The voice said yes and I went out after work with a coworker, thinking at the time, “she must have some work questions for me that she’s not comfortable discussing at the office.” Three hours later, after one of the best conversations of my life, I realized the work questions never came.  

We went out again the next week, and the next, just as friends, of course. Duck Tape Man made it clear that it was not practical or realistic for this to be anything more. But that quiet voice told me a different story. The voice told me I was falling in love. 

 I’m so grateful I listened to that voice. We just celebrated our fourth anniversary. 

If you don’t believe there are angels, I get it. In fact, there’s a very rational explanation for all of this, that our subconscious mind has an ability to process far more information, at a far faster rate, than our conscious mind, leading us to have helpful intuitive insights that we perceive as arising from outside of ourselves.

But that is not the point I want to make here. 

No, the point I want to make is that, if you reflect back in your life, you will likely find a pattern. Throughout your life, there have been times where that quiet voice got through the incessant chatter of your thoughts and spoke strongly. 

And you listened. 

Maybe it said yes to something that has been a big positive part of your life. Maybe it said no to something that you are grateful you avoided, let go of, or ended. There’s a good chance that the success rate of these messages has been very high, that the voice has a tendency to steer you in the right direction.

So am I telling you to trust your intuition? Yes. But there’s more. The other half of this equation is easily overlooked.

When we reflect back, we find the moments we’re glad we listened to that quiet voice. But we cannot hope to identify the times we didn’t listen in the first place because our thoughts were too loud to notice what was underneath.

I didn’t notice Duck Tape Man had been going nonstop until I found myself at dinner time, chopping an onion.  Maybe it was my eyes watering that pulled me from my endless thoughts. I don’t know.  But I know, for all his blathering on, Duck Tape Man sure didn’t seem to be in touch with what was best for me.  

I want to create more space for that quiet voice. I’d like to hear it every day, preferably before dinner. 

Next week, I’ll write about the best ways I have discovered to create that space. 

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Reflections & Questions

Take a minute to ask, “when has trusting my intuition, my quiet voice, served me well?”

You can also try reflecting on times when you didn’t trust your intuition and you regretted it later.

If, like me, you come to the conclusion that you’d like to create more space for that quiet voice to come through, ask:

“What are the activities in my life that lead to a quiet mind, allowing me to hear that quiet voice when it emerges?”

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Recommended Reading

The War Of Art by Steven Pressfield

Get it on Bookshop.org

Get it on Amazon

Steven does an incredible job of getting us in touch with “The Muse” and illustrating how the universe seems to work with us when we commit to the things that arise from our creative voice. 

This book is NOT just for artists. It is relevant for anyone attempting to do something creative or additive in the world, including growing a business, or deepening a skill that we use in service to others. 

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Why Does Creativity Matter?

“I had this story come to me and I was inspired to write it. So I sat down and worked on it for about 15 hours straight.” -my friend, telling me about his latest creative pursuit

I want to start with a few words about what I mean when I say “creativity” or “creative self.” I love this definition of creativity from Brené Brown (in her book Rising Strong): 

“Creativity embeds knowledge so that it can become practice. We move what we’re learning from our heads to our hearts through our hands. We are born makers, and creativity is the ultimate act of integration- it is how we fold our experiences into our being.”

I don’t believe that “creativity,” being “creative,” or the “creative self” have anything to do with a particular skill, art, or discipline.  Creativity takes many forms. As Brené so eloquently describes above, it is ANYTHING that helps you fold your experiences into your being.

This article is my latest thoughts on why it matters to connect to our creative self, and a little bit about what stands in the way. 

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Nearly every morning it’s the same for me.  I sit down at my laptop to do my morning journaling, offloading all of the psychic toxins that have accumulated between me and my creative self since the last time I sat down. Some days, it’s a matter of a few minutes and I’m ready to go. Other days, the process takes the better part of my morning.  

Today was one of the longest days. 

Sitting between me and my creative self today was, “Why am I even bothering to do this work? What does it matter?  This is a waste of time,” and various permutations of that same persistent doubt.

After spewing a bunch of toxic stuff onto the digital page, I started to get back in touch with myself, and in touch with an answer to “what does creativity matter?”

Here’s how it matters to me: 

When I create music, even when I imagine myself creating it, I feel my whole being light up. It’s like someone plugged me into an invisible energy source.  Time goes away, and it’s just me with ideas, feelings, images, dancing in the moment.  

I have an undeniable knowing…that I am exactly where I’m supposed to be, doing exactly what I’m supposed to do. 

And I’m writing today because, when I write about this process, I have the exact same feeling. It feels like being fully alive. It’s the best feeling. 

My best days are the days when I take the time to connect to my creative self.  I am totally energized, and every other part of my day is elevated.  I am happier, more helpful, and more loving. 

So when I ask, “why does this matter?” the answer is that the process of creativity gives me my best days. Shouldn’t that be important?  I sure think so. 

What is NOT important: whether the things I create are “good” or “valuable” or “marketable” or “productive.”  

Much of the creative work I do is never seen or heard by anyone else, and it still has the same positive effect on me.  Sometimes I share it and no one says anything about it. When I share it and it has a positive effect on someone else? The feeling is magnified tenfold.

I wish with all my heart that I could go back to my 15 year old self and tell him that he should keep creating his music and share it with people, regardless of whether he had a viable music career ahead of him.

I find myself grieving. I regret those years and what could have been. All those years of leaving my creativity in the drawer, what I grieve is that I gave up so many of my “best days.”  Who cares whether anything I created would have been good? It’s all the joy, all the “best days,”  that I missed.

The chance to connect to my creative self is precious to me. Every day. I don’t want to miss any more of them. 

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It may be that, for you, the activities that resonate in this way are not something you have thought of as creative before.  I can imagine, for instance, that it might be hard to think of exercise as a creative process.  

However, I think that anything that helps us clear away the “psychic toxins” of unhelpful thoughts and internal self-flagellation must surely be a fundamental part of getting in touch with our creative selves, especially if we look through the wider lens of creativity that Brené Brown offers. 

I am repeating her quote here, since it so beautifully encapsulates my experience of creativity:

“Creativity embeds knowledge so that it can become practice. We move what we’re learning from our heads to our hearts through our hands. We are born makers, and creativity is the ultimate act of integration- it is how we fold our experiences into our being.”

What are the practices that get you in touch with your creativity? What are the things that would be a part of your “best day” everyday if you could wave a magic wand?

I’d love to hear from you.

Thanks for reading!

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