The Time of My Life

It's an odd thing, but I don't have any more time than I did before.

Well, that isn't strictly true. I have more time of my own, but I have more things that need doing. Suddenly the magic underwear genie doesn't replenish the supplies any more, and food isn't there to eat unless I prepare it. The house gets gradually grubbier unless I de-grub it, and the lawn still appears to be growing in October. And the various friends aren't going to socialise with me without my personal input. Roll on the twenty-six hour day and the four-day weekend, I say.

The great thing, though, is that none of this is scheduled. Work still requires me to be there at particular times (except when I unset my alarm thinking I'm setting it, as I did last night), but the rest of my time is my own to use as I see fit. The freedom is extraordinary.

By my calculation, an average of fifty-eight hours per week of my old life required me to be in particular places, and that is a very conservative estimate of the actual time used because it doesn't take travelling into account. More to the point, though, all those activities were tied to certain times, and that meant that they dominated everything else. Work from seven in the morning to four in the afternoon, followed by a meeting at six or seven. That doesn't leave space for anything much at all, and healthy eating is only possible if there is somebody at home to make dinner.

I found myself explaining the other day just how many things I haven't done in my life by way of recreation, and in discussing it I concluded that the principal reason was that I have only ever had one afternoon per week to fit such things into, and one afternoon is always too precious to waste trying these things. The rigidity of schedule and shortage of time meant that everything had to be planned in advance if it was to happen at all.

As it is, when somebody phones to say they're in the area and can I meet them for dinner at eight this evening - as happened yesterday - I can now say "yes". And very nice too.

Mostly, the change has come as a completely unmixed relief, and I haven't looked back at all. Just once, while out on a Saturday afternoon, I have caught myself thinking "I'd better be planning to get back soon, or it'll be late enough for the family to worry", only to realise that their worry levels are now independent of my whereabouts, except that I suspect they fear I may be getting up to non-brethren-approved tricks, and they might be right.

The habit of planning evening activities around meeting times also dies hard, in that I have been used to thinking of certain nights of the week as better than others for things that need any length of time. Mondays and Wednesdays were usually the only options. And I still find myself leaving things until Wednesday when there is no reason at all to do so.

Still, if that's the most noticeable damage from a lifetime of disciplined structure, I'll count myself lucky.