The Joys & Perils of Unstructured Time
While this generation is challenging the way we think about work, productivity, and the daily grind, we are also grappling with a new vastness of time and possibility, asking ourselves “now what?”
Let’s agree on a few things, even if momentarily: your job is not your identity, your output does not define your worth, the workings of internalized capitalism churn up anxieties within you about the value you bring to society based on how you are spending your time.
We have more space between who we are and how we make a living, and we’re not used to it. It’s uncomfortable because it’s new. But remember: discomfort does not equal danger. Discomfort does not necessarily mean you’re doing something wrong.
We also have more unstructured time, as becomes frighteningly clear around the holidays when it’s culturally acceptable to not work on days of the week we usually work.
Many people have matured in environments where the power of granting permission for how we spend our time has simply been transferred from our caregivers to our bosses.
After so many years needing others to “approve” taking time for ourselves, we forget we have ultimate control over our time and how we spend it. We always have the ability to decide when we want to work, rest, or pursue pleasure. As much as it feels like you have to show up for work, you don’t. You choose to show up for work - if nothing else - to avoid negative consequences such as losing income, healthcare, or social approval.
(I fully recognize jobs are literal lifelines for most people - and - I believe that if these jobs were lost by choice or by chance, people would find another way to survive, because they have to.)
The perils of unstructured time spawn from tensions between
our need for social acceptability (the messages we receive about what we should be doing relative to our peers in order to maintain the safety of belongingness)
our sense of self worth (which is often a messy entanglement of internalized capitalism, external factors, and genuine self love), and
the yearnings of our bodies and spirits (who speak timidly until they must scream)
The parts of ourselves that assume we have to go to work (taking away the choice preserves the energy required to explore alternatives) are at once confronted with the jolting reality that there’s actually a world of choice beyond the doors of our hardened routines.
The plethora of choice creates a certain decision paralysis that is exacerbated by the anxieties of not doing enough, of not being enough. The anxious brain still hastily equates doing with being, although the settled brain is starting to recognize this new space between who we are and how we make a living.
Simply put, having more choices creates more anxiety because we are scared of making a poor choice. Any behavioral researcher can tell you this. I prefer to summon Maggie Nelson, who discusses the “moment of liberation” (a great joy) versus the “practice of freedom” (a perilous responsibility). I invite you to read her book or listen to her on this podcast if you have the capacity to do so.
To reduce her profound reflection on society to the very simple individual concern at hand:
The moment of liberation = finishing your last hour of work before taking time off. How good does that feel? (“I’ve been waiting for this!”)
The practice of freedom = negotiating how you spend your time when you are no longer consumed by working in a structured environment. How agonizing does that feel? (“What should I do now?”)
So we must be careful not to assume the tension of unstructured time is an inherent problem. The tension is a sign that we feel responsible to ourselves and to society. We want to do right by Self and others, which shows we care. We care so much that we’re worried about causing harm.
Let’s go back to the space between who we are (being) and how we make a living (doing).
I’m currently reading How to Change Your Mind by Michael Pollan*, which is admittedly a bit of a stretch to bring into this conversation given how many wonderful books on work culture are out there, but something feels reorienting about the incredible vastness of different states of consciousness that can be accessed through psychedelics or otherwise.
When our selves and our bodies experience high levels of stress, everything gets really small and intense. Our survival skills kick in and our vision narrows. We fixate on things like emails and performance reviews and that look someone gave us in a meeting. The brain, once again under distress, equates what we produce with the value we bring to society.
In contrast, when our bodies are settled and receptive to deep contemplation, we might realize that none of these things hold substantial weight in the essence of life. Especially when sitting with grief, as we all have done, it becomes clear what matters and what doesn’t. Do we really want to spend all of this time working? What aspects of living are being neglected because of how much we work? Excuse the banality, but we only get one shot at this. Grief teaches us this in ways we find comforting to forget.
Here’s a reflection from one of Michael’s trips:
“True, one had to favor doing in order to get anything done, but wasn’t there also a great virtue and psychic benefit in simply being? In contemplation rather than action? I decided I needed to practice being with stillness, being with other people as I find them (imperfect), and being with my own unimproved self. To savor whatever is at this very moment, without trying to change it or even describe it.” p. 280
And contemplation on habit:
“Each of us develops our shorthand ways of slotting and processing everyday experiences and solving problems, and while this is no doubt adaptive - it helps us get the job done with a minimum of fuss - eventually it becomes rote. It dulls us. The muscles of attention atrophy.
Habits are undeniably useful tools, relieving us of the need to run a complex mental operation every time we’re confronted with a new task or situation. Yet they also relieve us of the need to stay awake to the world: to attend, feel, think, and then act in a deliberate manner. (That is, freedom rather than compulsion.) If you need to be reminded how completely mental habit blinds us to experience, just take a trip to an unfamiliar country. Suddenly you wake up! And the algorithms of everyday life all but start over, as if from scratch.” p. 15
If you’re thinking, “cool, cool, but what should I DO with all of this unstructured time?”
I’ll be a true therapist for a moment and ask you to consider:
Why are you asking this question?
What are the different parts of you that are telling you what should do with this time?
Where are you feeling tension? Where are you feeling openness and possibility?
Do you really need to “do” anything? Can’t you just be?
Did you even read this blog post? :)
And, I’ll be human and suggest the following:
Turn off your phone for two hours. Delete your social media apps for one day.
Do something cool out in the world and don’t tell a single soul about it.
Do a 5-minute guided visualization exercise to envision what a perfect day would look like for you.
When you’re consumed with work, start making a running list of all of the things you wish you could be doing instead. You can come back to this once you actually have the time. Here are some ideas to get you started...
Actually sit down at a cafe and enjoy a coffee
Read a book in bed
Go to the farmer’s market
Stay in comfy clothes all day
Make a new recipe
Binge watch a series
Sleep for as long as I can
Catch up with a friend I miss
Ask yourself what values you’re living out right at this very moment. Laying on the couch shows you value relaxation. Spending money on a massage shows you value self care. Putting off chores to meet up with a friend means you value connection. Everything you do is valuable in some way - you don’t need to “produce” anything or make money from it in order for it to have value.
Take good care of yourselves. You know where to find me if you want some individualized support with this.
*A very important note on this book from Michael Pollan: the commodification of indigenous healing practices has been incredibly destructive to the native lands, people, & culture from which they originate. I’m still working on education & unlearning around decolonizing these spiritual practices and thinking carefully about the who, how, and why of participation. Fruiting Bodies Collective in Oregon has been a great resource for this.