Photo by James Garcia on Unsplash

If I Really Wish I Had More Time, Why Do I Keep Filling It Up?

Does doing things better just mean more things to do?

I had a strange dream the other night. Not sure what it meant. Maybe you’ll be able to tell:

I had come home from work with a brain full of things that needed to be done. I had dinner dinner with my partner, talking about places we wanted to go, relatives who needed care, our personal learning projects.

Then she suggested that I go out into the backyard and just sit by myself. I did, looking out into the sunset, and felt this tremendous rush as I realized “this isn’t work time or family time or partner time. This is me time.”

In my dream, I started crying.

I’m not quite sure I can parse out what my subconscious is trying to tell me. It’s fiendishly mysterious. Any suggestions?

My brain isn’t subtle: it knows that I’ve been neglecting my own commitment to solitude.

I’m a champion of other’s solitude (hat tip to Neruda). But for my own? Not so much.

Today is a good example. As I write this, it’s Saturday afternoon, and after a pretty hellish month at work — taking care of budget shortfalls while coordinating our…