Sunday, March 27, 2011

the economy of time

A couple days ago, I found myself connecting Vienna's tweet about looking for whitespace in time with e's (somewhat) recent post about rebound effect/Jevons paradox. "Ah ha!" I said to myself, and later posted, "This is the Jevons paradox of life: as technology increases our efficiency in using time, our infinite demand for time just makes us live all the more frantically."

I started poking at this idea a bit more today - what exactly has technology done with our sense of time? I initially wanted to hop to the conclusion that it has decreased the value of time, but in trying to prove this, I realized that in fact the opposite is true. And the math behind this is quite simple: we are now capable of producing and performing tasks in a matter of minutes that in the past required hours, days, or even months of time. So time has only grown more precious with technology, because we can produce (and consume) more in a single unit of time than we've ever been able to in all of history.

That's a good thing, right? In many ways it obviously is, and this has contributed greatly to the level of comfort and dare-I-say-opulence that many of us enjoy today. But something in my gut protested against this thought, and it goes back to V's post about whitespace. The problem I have is this: in the present-day economy of time, the relative value of whitespace has gone way down. While technology has increased our ability to do things more efficiently, it has done nothing to help us think more efficiently. The amount of time you need to invent, to create, to consider, or to analyze has remained constant.

The net effect is the devaluing of whitespace. Or put in another way, the unprecedentedly high and ever-increasing cost of whitespace. The hour break that you take every day to just think - if you're wise and lucky enough to be able to do such a thing - is competing against an opportunity cost that's only growing as we continue to make ourselves better at cramming things that could be done in that same hour.

And it isn't just whitespace that suffers. This deflation affects everything that technology hasn't been able to (or in some cases, allowed to) touch. Whether it's the amount of time needed to read a book, complete a painting, enjoy a meal, make love with someone, or hell, get a full night's sleep - all of these require the same amount of time as they always have... and so their perceived value to us has only dropped and continued to drop. The only reason some of these things remain high on our priority lists is because their perceived and actual values are so high that, even with deflation, they still manage to come out on top or reasonably close to it.

Whitespace, however, has never had the luxury of being perceived as extremely valuable, and so it is among the most vulnerable to this deflation. So if anybody's wondering why they can't seem to make time for whitespace anymore - I'd say that the primary reason is simply that you're using your time too efficiently. And the only way to counteract that without giving up efficiency is to seriously force yourself to assign whitespace such an astronomical value in your mind that it can survive our ever-increasing demands from time itself.

Friday, February 11, 2011

in this heartbreak world

For as far back as I can remember, I have always spent my birthday alone. Sure, for many of those years I was surrounded by friends and family in some form of celebration or other - for which I am blessed - but they were always tinged by the bittersweet knowledge that my heart was always elsewhere, and usually, not in one piece.

Ten years ago, my sister walked into my room to pull me away from my computer so we could go out to a surprise birthday party from my family - only to find me crumpled in my chair in front of an IM conversation where M was telling me to leave her alone. Still shaking from the grief and the heartache, I could do nothing to explain but hand her the binder of printed chat logs from 8 months prior that chronicled the painful journey that had brought me to that day.

Since then, every birthday has been met with a mixture of anticipation and dread - it was a day to celebrate a life that I'd frequently felt was not worth living at all. The only thing special about the day was how it reminded me that while another year had gone by, I was still alone.

But every year, despite not being particularly a believer of superstitions, I would give the only gift I could give myself on that day: a wish for that person, whoever she was at the time, to be happy. And then I'd say to myself wistfully, "Maybe next year will be different." In the recent years, I'd begun to give up on that last part.


I almost made it this year. For a little while at least, it looked as if this would be the first birthday ever where I wouldn't feel alone, even as I knew well ahead of time that she would not even be here to celebrate with me. I would have been more than happy to spend the day knowing that I was in her heart and in her mind. But less than a week ago I found myself once again faced with the reality that this year would be just like all the ones before it.

And so it goes.

But in spite of that, this year is different. As I'm putting this mess that is my heart back together, I'm discovering that each and every piece of it is filled with gratitude: for having loved and been loved in return, even if it was just for one day; for the memories of the past months and of the months - no, years to come; and for a friendship that I will cherish and hold dearly for the rest of my life.

This year, like the years before, I will make a wish for you to find the happiness you're looking for. But I will also wish for one thing more: that no matter where life takes us, even if we must ultimately walk our paths separately, we will always have each other.

Saturday, February 5, 2011

remember

In times of relief, remember the moments of unbearable pain.
In times of stillness, remember the moments of insurmountable turmoil.
In times of light, remember the moments of overwhelming darkness.

In times of relief, stillness, and light...
remember the moments like this.

Monday, January 24, 2011

dream log, 20101222

She drops down onto the mat, the laughter in her eyes outshining the glow of her smile. I fall into place beside her, my own expression a mirror of hers. We lie on our sides facing each other, talking and laughing like old friends - as if we've done this countless times before.

Her expression shifts for just a second. "But I'm not ready quite yet. I still need time to figure things out. It might take a long time - maybe even until I'm 90."

"Then I'll wait for you until you're 90," I respond, almost automatically. "I'll be here for you always."

Friday, January 14, 2011

onto deeper thoughts

We make so many big decisions in our lives based on what we think is best for ourselves and those around us. Given a choice of two paths without knowing the outcome of either path, we convince ourselves that one is better than the other and move forward, never really knowing if we did make the better choice. Sometimes, we do this even when our decision causes us pain or deprives us of pleasure in the near and medium term, but we hope that in the long run we will be better off for it. Then, after a long time has passed, we convince ourselves that we did. "Dodged that bullet," we say to ourselves and to our friends in hindsight. But we say it half-jokingly at best, because deep down we realize that we really don't know if we were right.

Milan Kundera writes:
We can never know what to want, because, living only one life, we can neither compare it with our previous lives nor perfect it in our lives to come.

Was it better to be with Tereza or to remain alone?

There is no means of testing which decision is better, because there is no basis for comparison. We live everything as it comes, without warning, like an actor going on cold. And what can life be worth if the first rehearsal for life is life itself? That is why life is always like a sketch. No, "sketch" is not quite the word, because a sketch is an outline of something, the groundwork for a picture, whereas the sketch that is our life is a sketch for nothing, an outline with no picture.

Einmal is keinmal, says Tomas to himself. What happens but once, says the German adage, might as well have not happened at all. If we have only one life to live, we might as well have not lived at all.

All I know is this: while I have made many mistakes in my life thus far and am bound to make countless more, I do not regret a single one of them. Each and every mistake I have made has taught me something invaluable or led me to other wonderful and amazing things - and oftentimes it's even both, so I really have no basis whatsoever to say that my life would be better right now if I had done anything differently.

So when I look at the present and the future, and I see something beautiful and great right in front of me - I choose to pursue it without regard for whether it's best for me in the long run. Because the fact of the matter is, there is no way of truly knowing what's best for me in the long run.

Call me short-sighted. Call me greedy. Call me foolish. But I'd rather be all that. I'd rather die trying for it than live the rest of my life wondering, "What if?"

Thursday, January 13, 2011

an ordinary day

It's been a day of small pleasures: waking up to a delightful text message exchange, engaging threads on my college friends' mailing list about personal finances and Chinese parenting (the former not related to the latter), productive meetings at work, making a near-perfect cup of coffee, a happy hour where my coworkers and I stayed for the entire 2 hours because of the interesting conversations we were having (rather than the usual awkward silences, staring at the TV, and leaving as soon as we could do so without being rude to each other), a fun class with good training in the evening, and last but definitely not least, a delicious dinner with wonderful and amazing friends.

I couldn't tell you that anything extraordinary happened today - a lot of these things have happened before and probably will happen again (I hope). But when all of these small and seemingly inconsequential events all align within a single day and keep the smile on my face going through every minute of it, I can't help but take notice and feel extremely blessed and grateful to every single person who touched my life today.

It was an ordinary day of the rarest kind.

Wednesday, January 12, 2011

remember

In times of unbearable pain, remember the moments of relief.
In times of insurmountable turmoil, remember the moments of stillness.
In times of overwhelming darkness, remember the moments of light.

In times of pain, turmoil, and darkness...
remember the moments like this.