Saturday, April 28, 2012

But Isn't There Time Enough?

I've been rockin' on my 2012 resolutions. I already managed to make reading my primary form of entertainment, to the point that I'm starting to garner a distaste for videos and the like, and am well on the way to becoming a typical voracious bookworm. My emotional health is leaps and bounds better than when I first resolved to spend a hefty chunk of time to healing myself, and am doing well to regain my previous, more idealistic self, and am setting myself up to surpass that. Finally, I've halfway completed my goal to get into fine dining, as I now have a second job in fine dining and now need to work to get another one and work my way up to prep and line cook. Life is good and getting better.

My new work schedule does, however, make me think about the importance of managing one's time properly. My free time will decrease dramatically with the prospect of maintaining two jobs, especially when I have two different shifts in one day, making me work nearly 16 hours in one go. I'm fine with that of course . . . it's all on the path to achieving what I *truly* want to achieve in life . . . but what does that mean for my other values? Doesn't that mean I have less time to read and write, or do other things?

One of my favorite things to say to myself is "There's time enough for everything; you just have to use it." As humans with a finite lifespan we consequently have only finite time, of course, but when you keep in mind in how much of that time can be so easily wasted, such as by surfing on the internet or even idly daydreaming on a walk up the stairs, how valid is the complaint that there's not enough time to live to the fullest extent that you want to? If you have time to unnecessarily daydream or to surf mindlessly on the internet (outside of useful rest), you have time to pursue values that will further your life. Anybody would be astonished at the figures if it could be scientifically recorded each individual minute we spent *not* doing something useful for our life, and then turned it into an observable sum on paper. Minutes can easily add up to years. How many years could you have spent doing something different other than daydreaming or idly surfing?

I question myself on this in the frame of other activities I'd like to maintain, such as reading and writing. All this working means less reading and writing, does it not? Aside from the pleasure and emotional benefits these activities add to my life, they also add what I believe are to be immense values to the development of my character, aiding me immeasurably in becoming exactly the person I want to become. Won't all the work I'll be doing squeeze that out?

I think not. There's time enough for everything; you just have to use it. Get up earlier and begin moving. Stay up later and pursue fruitful activities then. Bring a laptop to work to type upon during break, or a book to feed the mind. Write down little mental activities I could be doing when walking from point A to point B, so that the trip between destinations is spent constructively. Establish self-improvement goals that make you do things a little bit faster, so that you can accomplish more of value in lesser time, such as speed reading or making grammar skills second-nature to speed up good writing. There may not be time enough for everything of course, but when you focus on *only* the essentials values that will make your essential happiness, there's plenty of it! You just need to direct it in the right venues, eliminate even the slightest of wasteful minutes, and hustle.

My work at my new years' resolutions goes on, and provides new challenges. Now my next mission, on top of all my others, is to readjust my routine to squeeze every ounce of value I can out of my minutes, so that even with two jobs and an ongoing job hunt for another fine-dining position, there still exists plenty of room for private development, enjoyment, and creation, so long as I want to live. A person who truly wants to live will want to get all the life he can out of his minutes. 

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