The philosopher Kieran Setiya divides our activities into two categories: telic and atelic. Telic activities are those that we do for their end product. The purpose of telic activities is to get to the end. But atelic activities are those we do to do them. The purpose of atelic activities is that the process of doing them has value.
I give these two types of activities a bit more conventional names: practice and achievement. Telic activities are focused on achievement—be it mundane, utilitarian, or extraordinary.
the purpose of practice is awareness and groundedness, not improvement—and certainly not perfection.
Practice is about presence, not growth. Growth is future focused and creates an expectation, a gap which we need to fill and do better than last time, leading to disappointment and using our dopamine systems. But we want to move towards more flatline, stable dopamine, avoid stimulating it too much. So presence and practice engage serotonin?
There are plenty of ways that a loaf of bread can go wrong. And most of them are preventable if I’m paying attention. And, as Selassie points out, not only do I need to pay attention, but I need to be kind. If I get ticked off or frustrated by my dough because it’s not doing what I think it’s supposed to be doing, it doesn’t do any good. Nor does it help if I start unkindly blaming myself. The kind way to respond is with curiosity. Why is this happening? What could I try to fix it?
Or as L. M. Sacasas put it, “In innumerable ways we bend ourselves to fit the pattern of a techno-economic order that exists for its own sake and not for ours.” We created clocks to use as tools—and now the tool uses us.
The urgency of clock time shapes our societies. It complicates our creativity. It disconnects us from our most precious values and relationships.
Many of us face legitimate urgency—bills need to be paid, deadlines need to be met, kids need to be cared for. But maybe, just maybe, there’s a way for you to practice letting go of urgency. Maybe there’s a way for you to practice experiencing time in a way that doesn’t have to be packed with value, usefulness, or even meaning.
What would it look like, or mean if you didn’tspend every singleminute totally optimized?
What happens if we start to let go of presuppositions about time altogether?
Could we measure progress, growth, and experience with alternative metrics? What happens if we let go of measuring altogether? How does measuring or not measuring the use of our time transform what we believe to be valuable?
Ben Franklin said, “Time is money.” But what else could time be? What if time were practice? Connection? Care? Love? How does redefining time outside of a financial equation change our perception of it? How does it change the way we plan or our expectations of how time is spent?
We create so much heartache with how we expect our projects or goals to unfold in time.
We might even feel shame when we don’t accomplish everything others accomplish in the same timeframe. Our expectations create urgency.
connection to expectations, time, Maybe even dopamine?
Urgency robs me of both the pleasure of the process and the result of my diligence.
Urgency might feel like the natural state of things. But it’s not. We’ve learned to cram as much as we can into shorter and shorter periods of time—the whole productivity industry is based on this capitalism-inspired desire. To break the habit, we not only have to practice doing things differently but reexamine the stories and assumptions that have formed the habit.
How do we balance this with wanting to live a comfortable life with nice things
Could we start to recognize that plans, projects, ideas, opportunities, and problems unfold on their own time?
Could we learn that slow and indeterminate—rather than urgent—is the natural state of things? And what expectations would we need to let go of as we do?