“Well, as I said, time has no meaning here. So if you leave, you can go anywhere, any time.” – Star Trek: Generations
What do you call a rogue sheep with a machine gun? Lambo.
When I lived in Houston, my job was all consuming. It’s been my theory that people move to Houston for one reason: to work. The climate is difficult. The freeways are often lines of cars creeping along like Joe Biden in an elementary school. One upside is that there can’t be a (Some) Black Lives Matter® protest because the Houston Astros© always steal their signs.
When I was a Temporary Texan, my life was consumed by work – and it was stressful work. Each day brought a new crisis we had to solve. It got so bad that I left home early to avoid the traffic, so I got to work early. I left work late to avoid the traffic, so I got home late. A fourteen-hour day wasn’t uncommon. I put blood, sweat, and tears into that job, so it was good that I wasn’t working at a restaurant.
The last time I went out for dinner, I asked the waiter how they prepared the chicken for frying. “Nothing special. We just tell them they’re going to die.”
For many weeks, I was gone every hour that baby Pugsley was awake during a weekday. I would, however, catch up with The Mrs. when I got home. That was a priority. We knew what we were getting into when we made the move from Alaska. Moving to Houston was, for us, entirely about work. I should have known during the job interview that something was up: they asked if I could perform under pressure, but I told them I only knew Bohemian Rhapsody.
Most (not all!) weekends I was able to keep the work at bay. I’d sleep in on Saturday, and then we’d do something as a family. By Saturday night I felt, “normal” but by Sunday afternoon I’d realize that I’d have to go back in to work on Monday and repeat the whole thing again. That made me feel pretty gloomy – it felt like time was slipping away.
This was how Sunday evening felt when I worked in Houston.
One Sunday night, however, I was getting my things ready for the next day. I was looking for my dress shoes (I was in an office that required them at that time) and couldn’t find them. Since I always took them off at the same place, that confused me.
After looking in all the logical places, the only choice then was to look in all of the illogical places. When you live alone, everything is pretty findable. When you have a wife, things move around on their own. When you have children under seven? The toilet gets clogged with decorative clam shell soaps that The Mrs. bought.
So, when I found my shoes under Pugsley’s bed, I wasn’t really surprised.
I was, however, touched. As near as we can figure, Pugsley had come to the conclusion that I only wore those shoes when I was gone all day. As near as his Gerber®-addled mind could conceive, if I didn’t have the shoes, I could spend every day at home with him.
Not bad. And I was touched.
I tried to buy running shoes the other day – but the only ones I saw were stationary.
One of the ideas of wealth is money. And I was in Houston, like everyone else, to make money.
But there’s another idea of wealth: time.
There are a group of people who are driven by playing that game and devote themselves exclusively to their business. That makes sense. The world needs people who are single-minded in wanting to change it.
Most people have read about people like Edison who never slept more than seven minutes a night and spent most of his life at work while making a fortune, and Elon Musk who famously slept in the factory to get car production worked out. And Musk and Edison both have another thing in common: they both got rich off of Tesla.
Meanwhile, the GPS is saying: “Recalculating . . . recalculating . . . “
If that’s what they choose? Fine. The idea of spending time on their passion for business is exactly that – a choice. Just like having a finite supply of money gives you a set of choices of what you can do in life, there is another budget – a finite number of hours.
And that is life. Life is made up of those hours that we use. Just as inflation eats away at the value of money, distraction eats away at the value of life.
What kind of distraction?
Well, pointless things – think Twitter® and most of Facebook™. I was on Twitter© a while back, and found it was good at exactly one thing: making me irritated.
I even take this aversion to not wasting the hours and minutes of my life unless it was a conscious decision to absurd levels. For several years of my life, I ate something I didn’t like all that much for lunch because there was no line.
I hate the idea of waiting five minutes of my life when I don’t to. This still applies even if I waste those five minutes on something unproductive. For a long time, I avoided history – I just couldn’t see a future in it.
I’m reading a book about the history of lubricating oils and bearings. Best non-friction book I’ve ever read.
But now society is built on creating and feeding distraction to people – the more distraction that’s consumed, the greater the profit level for these companies. And these are not even distractions that make us feel better – but distractions that in many cases just consume time.
I’m not sure that the idea of a “balanced” life is one that exists in reality. A human life is built up in phases. The long languid summers of youth give up to days that are packed with all the trappings of a family and work and the fullness of life. When my youngest, Pugsley, heads out into the world, who knows what I’ll do with the time?
Perhaps I’ll spend it finding places to hide his shoes.
