Sanctuary and the Texture of Time
A book came across my desk that I read during my recent stay at our North Carolina cottage this July. It’s called 4000 Weeks and was written by Oliver Burkeman. An interesting take on productivity, this book points out a sobering fact.
A human life contains, on average, 4000 weeks.
Now, some of us get more weeks and others get less weeks, but this is an average. And before you think WOW that’s a lot, do the math of taking your years on this beautiful planet multiplied by 52 and what you get as a sum might surprise you.
Mine sure did: 2,964 weeks spent in these 57 years.
But it wasn’t that number that was so shocking, it was more what came next when I subtracted it from the 4,000 average weeks. I ONLY HAVE 1,036 WEEKS LEFT?!
Now before you jump in and remind me that we never know how long we actually have and we should be grateful for any weeks at all (and you would be right to point that out), you do have to admit that math does give a moment of pause.
Because what if it’s right?
What if I really do only have roughly a thousand weeks left? That’s only one thousand weekends. One thousand Friday nights to celebrate the end of the work week. One thousand Saturday mornings to luxuriate in my soft bed. All of the sudden that sounds really small. And kind of scary.
It really struck me.
And it made me ask a very important question: what then can I afford to care about?
What is important enough that it should figure into my remaining, wild and precious weeks?
I had to consider this carefully. Because, after all, I really do think that life is wild and precious, all evidence to the contrary. Nevermind the hours spent scrolling through social media or the times I stressed over nothing or when I freaked myself out over situations that ended up working out just fine.
So then I did what I do when in a quandary: I made a list.
A list of what can I afford to care about right now:
My journey – my inner quest, my response to Aristotle’s often used phrase: “Know Thyself.” Without this, I spin out – no grounding, no center, no stability. It is the oxygen mask that lets me then care for everyone else.
Showering those around me with as much love and kindness as I can possibly muster. My family, my friends, my colleagues and clients and community – sharing with them, supporting them, serving them is what my life is about.
Creating and sharing sanctuary with as many people and situations as I can – modeling it, living it, designing it, writing about it, talking about it. YES. This is my work in the world.
As I was creating this list, there were many things that didn’t make it. Things like caring what other people think, the weight I gained while ensconced in the mountains this past month (it turns out that when I have time to cook abundantly, the eating is oh so good), the buttons I didn’t sew back on. It’s been quite clarifying.
So now my challenge is to keep this in mind, use it as a filter for both current and future activities and opportunities. Is this task or opportunity worth it? Does this count enough to make it into the weeks I have left?
I’m sitting with this understanding and the dawning realization. I’ve been sitting with it all month. Honestly, it’s a rather uncomfortable realization. But it’s also an important one. And I’m taking it to heart.
I’d love to hear how this resonates with you. Are you willing to do that same math for your own life? And what makes the list of things you want to care about? Please, please share with me. I’d love to hear your thoughts on this!
With love and gratitude,
Lisa