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Amy Letter's avatar

I lived most of my life in this state, and several years ago, something in me kind of broke -- not in the bad way, in a very good way. I just hit a point where I was like, man, I'm going to die someday, and the clouds will never look like this again. The song these birds are singing will never again have quite this rhythm. My kids will never be this age again. My spouse might die before me. My pets will die before me. These things are real and they are not forever. I am not forever.

And while I get that the above might sound sad or something to someone else, for me it was unlocking the floodgates to unalloyed joy. No guilt. I take time for myself. I let shit fail. I let other people take up the slack. Not maliciously or on purpose, but because my life has to come first. The amount of me available for work is what's left over, each day, after I've watched the sun rise and cuddled my dog and truly enjoyed the scent and savor of my food, whether food for the body or for the soul.

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Donna Ancypa Holmes's avatar

I was listening to a podcast this week that reviewed Rick Rubin’s new book on creativity, where he says that discipline is not a lack of freedom, but a harmonious relationship with time, and I can’t stop thinking about that. As I get older, my happiness comes from letting go, from doing fewer things well, from admitting that there is no way I’m going to do it all, so be honest with myself about what my priorities are (see also: Four Thousand Weeks by Oliver Burkeman, a book I have recommended so often his name is in my autocorrect). This doesn’t mean I don’t do things I don’t want to; I am more active in my union than I would like, to the tune of 10-20 hours a week on top of my job, but putting that down would decrease my quality of work life substantially and I would lose a tremendous community and learning experience. So I cook and knit and read less, in order to have a harmonious relationship with time.

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