A month ago, I started the third year of my Master of Divinity. I will graduate in May! (Theoretically.) As everyone returned to campus, it was wonderful to be with beloved friends, peers, and colleagues again. We talked about our plans for the year and what we hope to do differently. This year, both at school and more generally, I am practicing sharing openly about my experience when life is challenging. My instinct when things are hard is usually to brace myself and keep going. But I want to communicate when things are hard rather than push, power, or suffer through, or otherwise ignore my own humanity. Especially among trusted friends.
The thing is, I tend to get things done, even when I am suffering. I am not claiming this as a gift—it is more of a curse! It is simply the way I am programmed, as an American in high capitalism, as an eldest daughter entrenched in the myth of the white self-sufficient male, as someone who was conditioned to take on high levels of responsibility from an early age. After all, I was asked to make a massive decision about my own education in the second grade. And I became the go-to babysitter for my neighborhood and church by age 11. As a result I know myself as a responsible person, and to continue living out that role, I tend to keep going. Even if my health is in question, mentally or physically. I do not want to let anyone down.
Even if my health is in question, mentally or physically. I do not want to let anyone down.
This conditioning towards being super responsible, and getting things done no matter what, has served me well in many regards. It has opened doors for me. That is worth acknowledging. Still, fulfilling my role as the responsible one is not always healthy. Work and productivity are not inherently good, although the moralized nature of working in this country would have us think so. Where is the line, I wonder, between completing your commitments and protecting your own wellbeing?
My conditioning towards extra responsibility, and maintaining my responsibilities even amidst struggle, was due partly to familial constructs and partly to our broader culture. In the question of nature or nurture, there is some nature at play, too. I tend to feel capable and take on a lot. (We could talk about the astrology but I will spare you.)
As friends repopulated my life this fall, after an intentional summer of rest and recovery, I was honest with them that last semester was hard. My family was managing a lot, multiple jobs in multiple cities, and it felt, at times, like stress was pushing me too far. I will never forget a dear friend asking me how I was doing and immediately starting to cry! The people I talked to about this understood, and some of them have been there. One of them offered a suggestion I have been thinking about since.
She told me she often finds herself in the same position and thought I would appreciate Four Thousand Weeks: Time Management for Mortals by Oliver Burkeman. She said that according to Oliver, recognizing how little we can actually do is the greatest possible life hack. His book description says more:
We live in an age of impossible demands, infinite choice, relentless distraction and spiralling global crises. Yet most productivity advice, like other modern messages about time, makes things worse. It encourages the fantasy that we might one day “get everything done,” becoming the fully optimized, emotionally invincible masters of our time. The pursuit of this limit-denying delusion systematically leaves us more busy, distracted, and isolated from each other – while postponing the truly important parts of life to some point in the future that never quite seems to arrive.
His line about becoming “fully optimized” and “emotionally invincible masters” sounds horrible. Where is the humanity in that? Ever since reading “Always Be Optimizing” by Jia Tolentino in 2019, I have resisted the idea of optimizing anything about myself—well, to a degree. The urge to do it all, and do it all well, still creeps in. I want to create art, engage meaningfully with the world in a format that pays enough to fund my life, be a devoted wife, be a loving dog mom, and tend my cherished relationships. Also: Work out. Do therapy. Read books. Eat well. Despite my deep resistance to the idea that we should mine our life for every possible little way to become better robots of production and consumption, I still find myself doing way too much!
Even when we are aware of the patterns and eager to divest from them, it is hard to distance from something that is so foundational to our culture. So when my friend said that Burkeman’s life advice is to recognize how little we can do—period—a bell jingled. I have been thinking about it since. For the past month, finding my footing in another semester, I have been relishing my limits. I think about how little I can do constantly. It brings me glee! Look how little I can do!
For the past month, finding my footing in another semester, I have been relishing my limits. I think about how little I can do constantly. It brings me glee! Look how little I can do!
I need time to rest, recharge, be with my dog, and process all I am learning. I am also engaged with some creative work (YAY) that needs time and space. On top of that, I am a deeply relational person who thrives on connection and intimacy with friends, which requires time. Taking these needs seriously helps me see that when it comes to additional commitments, or even deciding how to engage with the ones I have, I have to start by noting how limited I am.
I cannot do it all. I cannot be everywhere. I cannot be every thing to every person. I have so little time—and resources. So where do I want to direct the sweet, limited energy I have?
This past month, there have still been days where I over-scheduled myself or squeezed too much in. There have still been days where I ended up in a place not truly meant for me. There have still been moments where exercising falls to the wayside. I am learning as I go. But overall, I am doing better.
I am a cute little human, which according to Burkeman, means I only have about four thousand weeks in my life, and only 168 hours in each of those weeks. Plus, I like to sleep. My limitations, it turns out, are an absolute delight! They give me permission to stop believing I can take on everything at once. Recognizing them keeps me rejuvenated so I can give abundantly to the people and spaces I love. Though I have not actually read the Burkeman yet (I am, naturally, as a graduate student and wannabe writer, currently committed to many other texts.), this shift in thinking has me energized. My limits give me a lot to celebrate.
Dear friends, hello!!! Thank you for your patience as I got another semester underway. September’s thoughts arrived with no time to spare, and I am thrilled to be here. On another note, so many people and places I love were devastated by Hurricane Helene this week. Three places I’ve called home got hit, which gives new meaning, for me, to the phrase “hits close to home.” I really feel it. John was in the South when the storm came through and I am grateful he and our space there are okay. I am especially concerned about poor and rural riverside communities throughout Appalachia. If you have resources to spare, money can be sent directly to on-the-ground activists organizing grassroots support through Mutual Aid Disaster Relief. That’s all for now—September’s behind-the-scenes note from me is also coming soon. In it, I’ll share the other things I’ve done to recover from stress and feel more myself this fall! Until then, thank you so much for being here. Sending love your way. <3 LM
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