It's time, time, time...
time-anxiety
I have this mood tracker. I log my state into this spreadsheet at intervals throughout the day. It keeps a tally of the days too.
On January 4th, I looked at the counter: 1.1%.
Four days in and already 1% of the year is gone. Wait, that can’t be right.
I double-checked the formulas, and typed =4/365 into a cell. Sure enough, 1.1%.
1% of the year is gone and I’ve not even started on my goals. Oh, FYI, we’re at the end of January. 8% of the year’s gone.
I spent the month cleaning up mess and clearing last year’s residue. It’s still not done. Time flies. Life is short. What else?
Maybe I’m obsessing a bit much over this small number. It’s like I’m tracking my weight before and after every meal, every day. A percentage point feels trivial. Yet time is anything but trivial!
Why did I subject myself to this water-drop torture by numbering my days?
The time anxiety was partly prompted by my turning thirty. 30 laps around the sun. My frontal lobe is finally, fully developed (I hope). That milestone comes with a heavy realization: everything I do is consequential.
I guess, I had to induce this sense of urgency for myself. Not to chase the clock—I’m old enough to know progress in anything is non-linear—but to make the days count for something.
To enjoy the good days, and even gratefully accept the down days. It is about putting the things I actually want to build into clear focus, while learning when to be idle and blessed.
There’s still < 92% left to the year. I better get going.