The pricelessness of unstructured time
I enjoyed reading a well-written perspective on time, boredom, regret, and the appreciation of time to oneself from Mark, at Soul Shelter. His post is about Charles Lamb’s (1775-1834) book The Superannuated Man.
I’ve always valued unstructured time. I was twenty when I aimlessly wandered around Western Europe for several months. And I mean aimless as a good thing. I had no agenda, little money, but lots of time. It was an open-ended adventure.
I remember seeing exhausted vacationing Americans with Eurail passes hell-bent on “seeing” the sights in as short a time as possible. They had a different concept of time from me. Valuing time has had its costs, but unlike Lamb’s regret for a life confined to a desk, I feel the cost has been so worthwhile.
Before reading Mark’s post, I was only aware of Charles Lamb through his quotes. His advice to his contemporary, Coleridge: “Cultivate simplicity.” Despite Lamb’s life of drudgery, he had his moments of levity:
“If ever I marry a wife,
I’ll marry a landlord’s daughter,
For then I may sit in the bar,
And drink cold brandy and water.”
Lamb suffered time poverty. With only one day a week off and one week a year to recuperate, he had almost no leisure until he reached 50. After the initial shock, he wasn’t sure what to do with his leisure when it arrived. What a shame to look forward to retirement only to be disappointed when it arrives. Slowing down is a skill that needs to be cultivated if it is to be enjoyed.
I’ve added The Superannuated Man, to my book list, but I have no idea when I’ll find the time to read it.
So little time, so many books to read about so little time!
It pleases me to announce that when my girlfriend and I “go on holiday,” we tend to not do very much… I mean, we don’t just lie around on a beach, crisping our epidermises (”epidermi”?) – how boring would that be? – but we don’t make it our mission to see everything there is to see in the place where we are doing the seeing. We do a few things… we do some lying around on a beach… and we (and here’s an interesting concept) rela-a-a-ax. We spend long periods of time doing nothing, or things which come close to nothing, such as reading, walking, talking and eating/drinking.
Sometimes we come away from our hols – and I include herewith, under the definition of “hols,” periods of time we have simply had “off” – feeling little pangs of regret that there were things we could maybe have done that we didn’t do… but then we think… “ahh well, we can look forward to doing it next time”… or… “life’s too short to be filling it with constantly *doing stuff*”…
… because – as you suggest, Chris – you in