A little more than a year ago, I started this newsletter with the idea that Iād sit in the early morning darkness of my home office once a week and write something. Iād just write it. Ideally, with no fussing ā no hesitation, no outlining, no backspacing ā just one-directional, unartificial writing. Web-logging like the old days of yore.
Some weeks, itās like that. But most of the time, it isnāt. Most of the time, itās bits of text added here and there to a .txt in Dropbox from my machine arsenal, at home and the office and coffee shops and hotels and airports and conferences and even spoken into my phone while stuck in traffic in my car. Like this one, which I actually dictated into Google Keep thanks to the wonders of the natural language processing technology which, I believe, will someday free us from the tyranny of the screen. But then, those bits get formed together and, believe it or not, edited. Not expertly, by any means, but I do go back over them, rereading and restructuring and rewording until I feel like theyāre ready. I only point this out to correct a mistaken impression that many readers have that I just effortlessly write this stuff. I know this from many replies Iāve gotten from many of you over the past year, most recently in the thousand-word āDear Johnā I received just this morning from a kind reader who needs to stop reading email for a while and felt badly that quitting his newsletter addiction cold-turkey would also mean missing out on Donāt Think About the Future. He wrote,
āWhat you share is very valuable. I really like your style, in fact I even envy you a little bit if the easiness of seamlessly blending grand themes with the everyday. Iād had a lot of fun and inspiration staying on your list. But I canāt. Thank you for the time together.ā
Iām glad itās been of value, and Iām glad that itās been an inspiration. But I can assure you that thereās been little ease to it; I even labor over the lousy letters. Someday, I hope to get there, where I can just write these things and just send them and just know that they sound like me and thatās all that matters. Iām trying that out right now, by the way. Thereās no outline here, no map, no plan for what this letter is going to be about, no backspacing or fussing. Iām trying to just go forward. I did that once before in a 2,100-word rant about AI that was a fun experiment in there is no [Delete] there is only [Send]. But as I recall, that one resulted in a pronounced hemorrhaging of subscribers, and so my people-pleasing and vanity backslid me in to fussy essays about advertising and perceiving the machine, like this and this. But what do the data say? They say that you all liked this one the best, because 60% of you read it. Thatās a roughly 10% jump in whatās normal ā typically, it seems like 50-ish percent of you end up reading the letters I send ā if the data are to be trusted (and of course, there are good reasons that email marketers know all about to doubt the reliability of open rates and the like). So, why? Maybe itās because the subject line was, for once, the same as the newsletter itself: Donāt Think About the Future. It was my self-titled album. Maybe itās because it was a guided meditation and a lot of you are west-coast new agers. Kidding. But seriously, a lot of you are, and I like that. But maybe itās because you, like me, think a lot about time, and wonder why it speeds up so and why itās so precious and why technology is its kryptonite. I wrote:
āThink about the now. Think in moments. Small, bits of time. How they feel. Then think about stretching them out. Every second. Grab a hold of them and pull. Stretch them until they blend, one into another. Slowwwww things down. It makes life last longer. We are not very good at that, and time is ever more precious to us, isnāt it? Thatās why I chose this odd name, Donāt Think About the Future. Itās something we need to get better at. Our futures depend upon it.ā
You know, in the 126,370-odd words Iāve written to you in the last year, time has been invoked almost 600 times. Thatās not quite 1%, but time is a rich word. Itās an iceberg noun; it sits atop an enormous, swelling mass of meaning. And so, when the majority of those 126,370 words were mechanical ā the cogs and switches and fasteners of the and is and it, 600 times means something. Because we labor and toil and all the while, we yearn for more time to stare through the the trappings of this world that envelop us in a permanent haze of confusion and find the meaning of it all. Why we are here. What we are working for. Because we are all working for different futures, and we just want something real to happen.
Thatās one reason I took a sabbatical. To get some distance from the noise that my day to day routine had so voluminously produced. To defrag my life. To slow down time a bit. To remaster it, so that when I go back to work, I will use it more wisely. Of the many lovely experiences and epiphanies that have come from the last four weeks, may that one be the greatest: That Time can be an ally ā not an enemy ā of life. Though output and achievement were the opposite of my intent for this time away, everyone asks me what Iāve done with it. What am I doing? Am I making anything? Not much, and no, not really. Ah, the disappointment that canāt be hidden from faces when they hear that. Oh well. But Iāve also not done a good job of fully answering those questions, either. The real answer, clear to me now as I reflect upon my sabbatical on this, its last day, is that Iāve spent my time in seven different ways:
Thoughtful time has been time Iāve spent practicing meditation, taking walks (without earbuds or phone and often with dog), and writing (with a pen in a journal). Practical time has been filled with projects around the house that I hadnāt gotten to before, with cleaning and organizing and taking care of our animals, and cooking. I could easily make a case for how practical time is really just thoughtful time in disguise; while your critical mind is distracted by mundane labor, the rest of it can work in deep and unexpected ways. Relational time has been spent being with, thinking about, and serving the people I care about. Physical time has meant trying new things to rescue my daily exercise routine of the last decade from monotony. I can report success there. Whimsical time, in the words of a friend of mine, has been time spent doing things that are āun-Chris.ā Which, honestly, have been very few, other than, of course, taking this sabbatical itself. I havenāt done many especially un-Chris things, which Iād say are things like jumping out of planes or sleeping in the woods or shooting guns or trekking deserts. I havenāt done anything like that. Iāve stayed put. But, Iāve done things like left my house without a purpose or destination and gone where my impulse has taken me. Iāve had spontaneous lunches and walks with friends. Afternoons at museums. That sort of thing. So not exactly Wonka-levels of whimsy, but things done on a whim, which is enough to break the mold of how I typically spend a day, and thatās enough for me. Educational time has been spent reading books, listening to podcasts and watching the occasional talk online. On that note, Iāll recommend a couple of books ā What the Dormouse Said, by John Markoff and Last and First Men, by Olaf Stapledon ā and a few talks ā with Jony Ive, J.J. Abrams, Elon Musk and Sam Altman, Paul Ford, and Amit Gupta. And lastly, Iāve spent a little bit of professional time this week, thinking through new ideas and new solutions to some of the thornier problems that Iāve wrestled with for years at the office. Not at ton, of course, because Iām not supposed to be working, really, but some because when my mind wants to work, it works, and thereās little point in fighting it if the thoughts are good ones.
As this unique and special privilege draws to a close, I will cherish what it has already yielded and hope for a long afterburn. Iāve promised myself to be more intentional about making those seven kinds ā thoughtful, practical, relational, physical, whimsical, educational, and professional; in different orders and levels of priority, depending ā my timeās first principles. When I ask myself, āWhy am I doing this?ā the best answer will draw upon them. And when it doesnāt, then that will be time I will need to reclaim.
How are you spending your time? How would you like to spend it? Iād love to know what you do to bring the time you spend and the time youād like to spend into alignment. Hit reply and share your ways with me. I covet your wisdom.
ā CB, December 18, 2015
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Last week, I shared a few ideas Iāve had with you, and many of you wrote back with some cool stuff that Iād love the entire group to see, too. Tom Price pointed out this Kickstarter project that feels the same way I do about album art in the 21st century. Tom Critchlow reminded me on Twitter that heād written something similar about machines with faces. Michael Babwahsingh also reminded me of an exhibit at the Cooper Hewitt about designing practical things for people that included a very Tamagotchi-Like robot vacuum. He also shared an interesting article by Clive Thompson about FrĆ©dĆ©rique Constant, who are making a mechanical smartwatch. For those of you who canāt afford its $1,200 entry-level price tag, check out the Withings ActivitĆ©, another analog smartwatch priced for the masses. Also, hereās another home thing with a face. Keep that stuff coming!
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Recent Tabs: The /now page is a thing. āThe food was decent, but the vibes were dystopian.ā ā a spot-on turn of phrase from Robin Sloan. āIām over by the fruit bowl, listening.ā And even more on the rot of Twitter. Why sci-fi has so many Catholics. Deep thoughts on print-on-demand. The art of spreadsheets.