As I write this, the woman on the floor below is singing Beatles songs to her newborn. It is particularly apropos, because it dovetails with what has been on my mind for the last 48 hours.
"Eight Days a Week": the Fab Four exclaim how a mere seven days per week are not enough to fully express love to this nameless, faceless girl we imagine them singing to. How sweet it is to think that one could be brimming with so much emotion, that the Gregorian calendar and our feeble understanding of a time continuum is an insufficient vehicle to fully enjoy life's little pleasures. I happen to agree. Where things turn dicey, however, is when eight days a week is not enough to sift through the "trash" we are bombarded with daily. By "trash" I do not mean banana peels and rotting roast beef leftovers. I am referencing the electronic and technological build-up of garbage that is demanding we work at a faster pace (on par with robots, really) and in a harried state.
My mantra as of today: IT'S NOT THAT IMPORTANT.
I have known this to be true for some time now. About 87% of what I do is on "deadline," which is really a bloated way of saying "it'd be nice to have it on this day." Would the world stop in its orbit if it were to go by the wayside for an extra 24 hours? Probably not. And yet, we all "hop-to" as though our lives depended upon every stroke of the clock's hands. It reminds me of a Huxley novel. Welcome to the age of automatons. Dystopia is only an escalator ride away, if we choose.
As I rifle through an ungodly amount of emails that accumulated over a day and half of being away (and I specifically went to a place with no reception), I'm sorting them into piles: the "matters" pile, and the "what does this have to do with me right now" pile. As I read through the endless stream of email conversations from one particular client group (you know the kind, where EVERYONE is Cc'd on EVERYTHING, and your inbox piles up with faux snip-its and sound bites that mean absolutely nothing?), I begin to laugh when I see that no one takes the time to even read through the text sent by their colleagues, or to do their research. I'm answering questions that have been already answered, and I am watching as resolutions are made after hours of back-and-forth because someone decided to do the research necessary at last. It's comical. And toxic. And a total waste of time. My grandfather used to say: "haste makes waste." If that's true (oh, and it is), we're living in a landfill.
So, where does this insane merry go round stop? How the hell do we jump off, and manage to still be respected and paid? Here's my idea: set the precedence. Once a few of us start saying "enough," people will start listening. There's a revolution underfoot to dismantle the establishment, and it's gotten some good press. That's a big feat. All I'm asking is for you to do is dismantle the insanity of your inbox. Very do-able, folks.
In the circumstances where I don't have to reply right away, I'm not going to. Everyone can wait a moment, take a sip of tea, grab a breath of fresh air, and chill. And for those who don't get it? Well, for their sakes, I hope they find success in lengthening time to include eight days in the week. And! if they accomplish it, I sure won't be spending it under the auspices of a deadline or an inane email stream.
Reclaim your inner wisdom, your inner "clock," and allow everything that is not of necessity right now to simply drop away. Now, how to turn an inbox into a sandbox...
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