Better Slow Down

Better Slow Down

    Remember that song?  Baby now you're moving way too fast, is how it went; along with that came the announcement that MORE magazine would cease publication,a magazine which I will miss, for beyond it's feminist and fashion-oriented side (it was aimed at women over 50), it would often have articles and interviews which posted intriguing questions of its guests: If you could start over, what would you do more of?; what is more important to you today than it was 20 years ago?; the world could use a little more...?  That sort of thing.  But one of their earlier pieces stuck with me, opening with this: You've become a master multitasker, proudly accomplishing more in a day than some do in a month.  But doing nothing --or doing something you enjoy-- can make you productive, open and creative.  So how do you make the time for downtime?  Good question, I thought.  And the article goes on: God, are we busy.  We Google "time management" more than 100,000 times a month...a 2014 study conducted by the human resources consulting firm Randstad found that 42 percent of employees feel obliged to check their email during vacation...We spend close to two hours a day trolling our social media accounts, and most of the time, we're on Facebook.  Thank heavens that wasn't me (I'm not on Facebook)...or was it?

    At night, my mind often races with thoughts (what to do tomorrow, how to bring those old ideas to fruition, what about repairing that part of the fence, would I have time to get that part of the garage cleaned out, those sort of things).  Sometimes the jumble makes no sense at all, the swirl often sending me into a deep sleep as if that random collection of thoughts drudged up from who knows where is best sent to the subconscious file to be sorted out or re-filed for another night.  And at other times, such thoughts (vs. worries) keep me awake.  But that is all in the night...frivolous, really.  For the main multitasking occurs in the day.  Those are the thoughts and "time management" sectioning which we can't seem to drop, the "sorry but I have to take this call" or the texting-during-supper interruptions, the silent vibration in our pocket that almost seems as addictive as a drug...could be our child, we say as we glance at the text, sounding as convincing as the heroin addict.  What is that about?  I still have friends who fill up their day so thoroughly that they often budget only a few hours with us ("we can stop by at 2 but have to leave for a dinner party at 5") or forgetting to come altogether.  And while their days might be full, are they really full-filling?  So what causes this need to check FitBits and cell phones and emails?  FOMO, says the article, or Fear of Missing Out, a plague that one Swedish economist, Staffan Linder, says happens to "the harried leisure class."  Continues the article: What do you get when you cross the harried leisure class with enabling technology and FOMO?  Apparently, those of us who overwork ourselves with projects and deadlines on the job also overwork ourselves with "fun" during our time off.  Because let's face it: We've become "ping" junkies.  "We don't admit to ourselves that we're addicted to external stimulation, but we do get a jolt from these devices," says Immordino-Yang (a neuroscientist at the University of Southern California).  "When we force ourselves to decouple from them, it isn't immediately pleasurable.  At first, it feels difficult.  You have to train your brain to detach from that constant flow of information: not to expect or want it for the time you're deliberately setting aside to unwind.  As one woman interviewed for the piece said: I work on federal budgets, and one of the things we see is that we're cutting our investments.  That hurts your long-term trajectory.  I see the same thing in myself--that I'm too willing to forgo all the things that make me healthy, interesting, well-adjusted.  Cutting out the investment part for the immediate emergency of work is going to hurt me.

    The other night, we had some friends over for dinner, all of us getting a bit more tipsy than usual.  But the conversation was good, the evening hours passing by as quickly as minutes.  It was a good downtime for everyone, a brief pause in a set of harried lives (and one that took a bit longer to recover from the next day).  But it gave me pause as I brought out some of things that were important to my deceased father and of course, to my mother who is now living in an assisted-living facility with aides and nurses there full time.  Things that they had worked for and saved for and likely treasured as much as I do now with my "things" had been whittled down to just a few items (think back to how many of your parents' possessions you now have...now how many of your grandparents' items do you have?).  As much as I might feel that these "things" around me matter, I will soon be little more than a picture or a trinket to someone (I hope).  And the rest...well, off to a charity or the trash.  All those years of working and saving and treasuring...gone.  I can see it in my mom.  A new dresser, a new clock, a new bed, each looking nice and tidy in her new place...but almost nothing of her years past remains.

    The other night, I was finishing another episode of National Geographic's The Story of God with Morgan Freeman as host.  I enjoy this show primarily because he is usually accompanied by respected people in the field and the country he visits --archaeologists, professors, scholars-- each taking you to ancient sites and delving with authority into some of the many ancient beliefs.  As one example, the pharaoh Ramses had his name carved deeply into many of his temples and monuments, all in the belief that people would feel the engraving and repeat his name and thus preserve his "ka" or soul.   Now, 3,000 years later, we still say his name (although the grooves are eroding as quickly as the pyramids).  But they are all what we call (in just 3,000 years) "ancient" beliefs...will that soon be our world today, our world of cell phones and texts and important meetings?  Why even think that, you ask?  Here's one interesting answer provided by Seth Shostak, senior SETI astronomer (I did wonder if that title of senior was because of his age or his years of experience?); talking about the 2014 film Earth to Echo where contact with an alien robot is conducted by "tech-savvy kid characters" using texts, he was asked this about our search for finding alien life and the chances of such life finding us first?  His answer (to an interview in Discover): Low.  Hey, I don’t want to shortchange the aliens, but how are we advertising our presence?  There’s oxygen in our atmosphere that is the result of photosynthesis, but if that’s what they’re looking for, they could have found out that plants covered the Earth a billion, 2 billion years ago.  But if you’re talking about them finding us, Homo sapiens, that’s not likely.  We’ve only been advertising our presence with radio signals for less than a century.  Consequently, all that stuff about aliens coming to Earth to abduct and mate with us is not plausible.  And another thing: Why would they, if they even could?  I don’t go into the garden and try to mate with what’s back there.

    The piece in More suggested this exercise (from psychologist Caroline Adams Miller, author of Creating Your Best Life)...write your own obituary.  It sounds morbid (admittedly, I haven't done it but the seed is planted) but the article's author says that her own results were surprising.  As she writes:  ...What I found was, frankly, astonishing...you can see what's actually more important to you now (and it's probably not "She answered all her emails").  So just think about it or a moment...what would you want in your obit, your life summed up in a few paragraphs for all to remember (even if only briefly).  Would it be funny (one grave maker read something like, "he came, he worked, he played, he left") or would it be serious?  Would it be frivolous or would it be meaningful?  Would it be for you or would it be for others?  And finally, would it matter?   The point of this is not to make it meaningless, but to have you ask yourself what matters to you...and to you now.  Life awaits just in front of you...and it's likely not coming from that vibrating gadget in your pocket.