The life you want won’t schedule itself

Lesson #35 of 40

As I approach 40, I’m embarking on a year-long project to reflect on the lessons I’ve learned in four decades of life. This is lesson #35. You can read the full series here.

Proof of change.

If scientists needed an example of a capitalism-addled brain, they could study mine. Left to my own devices, I overwork. I sit at my laptop far too long, hunched over, typing until my back and shoulders ache. I stare at screens until my contacts are bone dry. I push through until my bladder is set to burst.

And then, at the end of the day, I feel empty. Wrung-out. There’s little energy or interest left for anything outside of work.

It’s no way to live — and, thankfully, I no longer do. I’ve changed my ways. And I’ve done it, in part, with the same discipline and tools that once fueled my overwork.

It will not surprise you to hear that I’m a Type-A person. I love a well-organized spreadsheet, a detailed calendar, a thorough to-do list. I love these things so much that I’m not sure how well I’d function without them. Even on days off, I time-block my schedule, making space for what I want to do and need to complete.

As much as I’d like to be a go-with-the-flow-type person, I’ve made peace with this side of me. And I’m now using this proclivity to my advantage — using my productivity tools to carve out space for rest, connection, and play.

Every day, I write down what I’d like to accomplish and when. I time-block activities, giving myself an hour to work on a client blog post, for example, followed by a 15-minute screen break. If something is truly non-negotiable — whether for a deadline or my own sanity — I block off my calendar so no one can schedule a meeting with me during that time.

To separate work from home life, I create a daily “commute,” devoting the first and last half-hour of my workday to taking a walk or puttering in the garden. It gives me a buffer I wouldn’t otherwise have. I likewise block off my child’s school breaks. While I can’t always take the time off, holding that space gives me flexibility for unexpected childcare gaps — or, perhaps, a spontaneous zoo trip.

I live by recurring calendar invites: Sunday dinner with family friends, coffee with my mom on the first Friday of the month, and (ideally) a monthly personal inventory day to book appointments, check in with myself, and tackle lingering to-dos. I’ve also been trying to get better about scheduling the next hangout with a friend before the current one ends, swapping a vague, Let’s see each other soon! for a concrete, How about three weeks from now?

Because here’s what I know — what we all know: The life you want won’t schedule itself. There’s never enough time for everything, but we can reclaim some of our time by deliberately making space for what matters. When I prioritize walks, friend dates, and even 15-minute stretch breaks, I remind myself that I am more than my work. That life is about more than productivity. Creating space for rest and joy is a tiny, lovely act of rebellion — one I have to remind myself to keep up.

As Oliver Burkeman put it, “The world is bursting with wonder, and yet it’s the rare productivity guru who seems to have considered the possibility that the ultimate point of all our frenetic doing might be to experience more of that wonder.”

I wouldn’t call myself a productivity guru, but I do consider myself a workaholic in recovery — trying to reclaim my time, block by block.

Of course, this is what works for me, someone who enjoys structure and has the privilege of setting her own schedule. Your mileage may vary. Everything — daily walks, lunch breaks, phone calls with friends, long-awaited vacations — goes on my calendar. Because I am a Type-A person, for better or worse, those things actually happen.

If my calendar tells me it’s time for a break, I listen.

The other day, I listened to a podcast interview with Dr. Jordan Grumet who talked about the “life review” process in hospice care. Patients are asked big questions: What were their most important moments? Which relationships meant the most? What are their biggest regrets?

Grumet believes “the best way to have a good death is to have a good life — because we tend to die the way we lived.” That led him to wonder: Why do we wait until the end of life to ask these questions? Why don’t we reflect on them now, while we still have time to act?

His observations reminded me of a conversation I had with an acquaintance who had recently left her high-stress job as a television news director and was considering self-employment. She had tons of great ideas — she’d clearly put a ton of thought into her next move — and asked if I had any advice.

I did. My head swarmed with practical topics: taxes, health insurance, chasing down unpaid invoices. Instead, I blurted out, “Eat lunch away from your desk.”

“Okay?” she said, pen poised, waiting for something more substantial.

“No, really,” I insisted. After years of working in environments where breaks were rare, I knew how foreign it felt to take a real lunch break. I also knew how momentous it could be — to actually take time to make lunch, sit down and eat it, and (here’s my favorite part) read a book while doing so.

Even now, many years into freelancing, giving myself that midday pause is a gift.

As silly as it sounds, I can easily envision a reality where I never made that shift — where, on my deathbed, I regretted rarely taking a proper lunch break. After so many miserable years of powering through, shoveling down food while staring at a screen, I’m grateful for this one small course correction.

Don’t worry, I eat plenty of non-photo-worthy lunches, too.

The life you want won’t schedule itself. As with every lesson in this series, this is something I’m still figuring out. Sometimes, my overworking tendencies creep back in. I wonder if, someday, I’ll trust my instincts in the moment, instead of relying on a schedule I lovingly set for my future self.

Of course, as much as it pains my Type-A self to acknowledge, you can’t schedule everything. We control what we can and do our best to accept and adapt to the rest.

Last week, my mom turned 70, and this weekend, we’re heading to New Orleans to celebrate. When I asked how she felt about the milestone, she said matter-of-factly, “It feels like the beginning of the end.”

She’s not wrong. But that doesn’t mean this era has to be sad. If anything, it’s all the more reason to take the trip. To ask those big life-review questions. To live her (hopefully many) remaining years informed by her answers.

My family and I have had this trip in our calendars for months. Getting a big group with little kids on the same page isn’t easy, but we made it happen.

Well, mostly. Less than a week before our departure date, Billy’s grandfather died. He was 94, so it wasn’t unexpected, but it’s still sad, as death tends to be. Death is always a moment for pause. For reflection. For thinking about the departed’s life and, naturally, our own.

Billy will be in Pittsburgh with his mom this weekend while I’m in New Orleans with mine. It wasn’t what we planned, but it’s what life gave us. And we’ll make the most of it. After all, time is never guaranteed.

xoxo
KHG