The Disease of Productivity
I've been struggling lately with feelings of guilt. Nothing too bad, but no matter how hard I try to shut it up, there's little voice nagging me: I should be working more, working harder. Objectively, there is no reason for this. I'm meeting my obligations. I'm not letting anyone down, but whenever I sit choose to read a novel in the middle of the day or take a long walk in the autumn sunshine, I'm cautioned that I'm wasting time. I'm pretty good at silencing the voice, but it reasserts itself whenever what I'm doing isn't somehow moving my life forward.
What a bummer.
If only I'd not wasted all that time, I might have that big house by now, that vacation home, my daughter's inheritance would be secure, I'd have reached all my retirement goals. If I'd only worked more I could now just relax without a care in the world. I could finally afford to be irresponsible. But I'm not where I should be and it's my own fault. If only I was more motivated or driven or fearful, I'd be somewhere by now.
I can go down that rabbit hole, but then I remember that I'm not alone. Indeed, I don't think I know anyone who is not at least a little bit afflicted with this disease of guilt over, say, CONTINUE READING: Teacher Tom: The Disease of Productivity
