Slowly and Methodically
Posted: February 7th, 2010 | Author: eetion | Filed under: focus | Comments OffThe question I had positioned in my sights was, how can I get more enjoyment out of every moment? The answer, I found, was to consciously attempt to go through my moments slowly and methodically; if successful, I would have found the particular moment to be slightly more enjoyable than if I hadn’t changed my way about it.
I knew the answer, but I didn’t know if it made sense to pursue it –it seemed kind of silly- or if the benefits were as dramatic as I’d hoped they were for any given moment. So I decided to search for ideas and links to the topic.
I needed something to validate the assumptions. Proof would be nice, but a sweet explanation or even an aha (!) moment would do. Meanwhile, I would test out the theories while at work, doing things slowly and methodically, only to come home and drop the idea altogether –though it was effective at work, I only sort-of pursued the idea initially. I didn’t quite understand it all, both the problem and the presumptuous answer or idea, so I kept digging, even within my own daily events.
Working my way through my to-do lists, I often found a task that didn’t seem like something I wanted to do, regardless of how important or urgent it was. In the midst of my steady productivity, reaching a task like that and finding out that I have no good solution, really felt like I was hitting a brick wall. Sure, I know to break the tasks into smaller chunks, focus on one thing at a time, and keep moving forward, but then that doesn’t guarantee that I’ll appreciate, much less enjoy, doing the task.
There are a number of solutions to actually getting something done that you might not necessarily want to do. You could piggy back the task on something that’s desirable; for example, you could run a race faster only so that you can win a prize or if you could wake up early just so that you can get to work earlier to leave earlier. In both cases, it’s not the task that you want to do just to be doing it; it’s the end result that you’re seeking and the task is just a vehicle to get there. That’s not to say that doing that is a bad idea, but it would be nice if you could also enjoy what you’re doing.
In the book Flow: The Psychology of Optimal Experience, the author shows a graph which identifies the sweet spot of “optimal experience” where you perceive your skill set to fit up just right against the challenge at hand:
Many times, I found my to-do list to be filled with tasks that originate in the gray areas of that graph (anxiety or boredom, mostly anxiety). And, if I’m to check off all the items on my list, those tasks would still have to be done at one point or another. So then, why would I want to do the task? Even if the task matches my skill set that doesn’t mean I’ll want to do it.
After thinking about it for a bit, I figured that two other factors came into play when thinking of whether or not I wanted to do a task: 1) how much personal gain the task gave me and 2) how much I would have to personally invest to get it. I’ve represented this idea in the following graph:
Previously on this blog, I talked about making a Flow Chart in order to get past some of the items that populate the anxiety section of that graph from the book. I can break a task down so that it’s less intimidating and fits my skill set, and then the task is do-able. I can also say to myself that I want to do the task because it is piggy backing a higher task such as putting food on the table or one of the other basic human needs as Identified by Maslow (sans the hierarchy).
But even then, while I might do the task, I would hardly be paying close enough attention to fully enjoy the doing of the task; I might speed through it with a hardened determination in the name of one of my goals or needs. My gratification from doing the task would be short lived, serving mostly as a concluding remark to the doing of the task. That’s not ideal.
Optimally, I would both do the task and enjoy doing it. The idea that I will enjoy doing the task is enough to swing my graph closer to the “personal gain” area since I’d be gaining enjoyment out of it. But how do I get that enjoyment from an otherwise unwanted and only do-able, task?
I knew how, kind of. My mind was open to anything with a hint of “slow and methodical” in it at this point. I needed good examples of this in action. I took a look at the media I consumed, and I found it. I took a look at the people I knew, and I found it. I even remembered some of my history, and I found it. I found it in isolated events and situations but it was there nonetheless. I needed these examples to refine my own answer to the problem – a simple and practical answer is what I was looking for.
In the television series Monk, Tony Shalhoub plays the role of an outstanding police detective who has, among several phobias, a compulsive drive to pay attention to detail and arrange things in a neat an organized matter. It makes sense to attribute his success as a detective to his compulsive nature. Watching him meticulously organize his dishes and create his lunch for work, you would think he was creating some sort of detailed masterpiece but he’s just doing dishes and making lunch.
At my job, I used to pride myself on my ability to turn over drawings rather quickly using cad software. But there’s a guy I work with who puts out at least three times as much work as I do and does so while paying close attention to every single detail –compared to me, he hardly ever makes a mistake. I once had the opportunity to watch this guy work and see what tricks he had up his sleeve –with his consent of course. It soon became apparent that this guy both enjoyed what he did, and also did it ridiculously slowly. “How is it possible that this guy puts out so much detailed work when he works so slowly?” I would ask myself this while watching him slowly press and release the keys on his laptop.
While browsing my news feeds in google reader I ran into an article from lifehacker titled The Shipbuilder’s Office. This was one of their articles that featured one of their readers’ workspaces – the owner of the workspace typically writes a few words about the nick-knacks on their desks, the monitors and computers they use, the type of chairs they sit in and more. This person’s workspace also had a large shelf on the wall that held some model ships, planes, and such. The owner of all that stuff mentioned that he’d spent two years making the two more detailed looking model ships for a total of four years altogether.
Now in each of those three aforementioned examples, I see “slow and methodical”. And when I see that, I also see joy. It’s obvious to me that the people in the examples enjoy what they’re doing or what they did.
You might have seen someone in their driveway waxing and buffing their already waxed and buffed prized vehicle like it was some holy thing –or maybe you’ve seen an example of that in a movie or on tv. Doesn’t it look like they’re enjoying what they’re doing? I’ve heard it, the babying of one’s vehicle, referred to as a “labor of love”. There are countless other examples of similar things.
So it’s there, we all probably do it in isolated events, but I think it’s worth it to try it out on a full day of life. I tried it and it definitely feels good. Speaking plainly, all you do is make an effort to literally move your body and limbs more slowly and methodically, focusing on one task and then another.
After my initial quasi-run, and after digesting all the information (the same stuff I just regurgitated in this article), I decided to populate an entire day focused on doing everything methodically and slowly. I woke up, breathed deeply and slowly moved my body to the edge of the bed in an upright position. I gently slipped into my socks, feeling every thread of it comb the skin on my cold feet. Once the rest of my clothes were on, I could feel their weight sort of just hanging off of me swaying when I moved. Stepping outside into the elements felt like I had stepped on the surface of some far away paradise with sensations and noises coming from every direction. It was sensationally chaotic. Throughout the day I would notice so many little things and hear so much more than I would previously. Walking from one point to the next was like slipping into a warm bath of experience. I felt like some sort of zen master.
Work was easy, my to-do list was easy, everything was moving at the same speed (slowly and methodically). My breathing was even slow. I did a good job of catching my knee jerk reaction to do things quickly, and turning the moment around so that instead of rushing I did whatever I did slowly and methodically as if in every moment I was making a fine piece of art.
But so what? What’s the use in all of that? Is it even an important thing to do?
Until recently (today) I thought it was just a neat and worthwhile upgrade to life. Now, I no longer think it’s a novelty; now I think it’s important.
In a documentary on Netflix called “10 Questions for The Dalai Lama”, at 26:30 (total run time 1:26:36), the narrator talks about the sand mandala that Tibetan monks spend up to a month meticulously designing and building, only to destroy it shortly after it’s complete. This is done to show the impermanence of things, people, and such –or at least that’s what I read and heard so far.
How amazing! Can you imagine spending all this effort and energy making some masterpiece and then destroying it once it’s finished? I, for one, cannot – not yet at least. Since having heard about the sand mandala, I’m interested to try doing something similar so I can really feel the effect.
Aren’t our goals and projects like the sand mandala? US president Obama recently put an end to the constellation project, and a lot of the people working on that project have lost their jobs or worried that they’ll be out of a job soon. I happen to have met some of those people. It’s easy to sympathize with someone who complains about all the events they’ve missed, like their kids little leage games, date night with the wife, or sleep, only to end up out of a job due to the project getting scrapped. It seems like a huge waste of time, sacrifice, and tax dollars.
Aren’t our lives similar to the sand mandala? We spend years upon years, intentionally or unintentionally, making our lives what they are now while at the same time our lives could end at any moment. Sometimes we rush and set ambitious goals for our lives that, in reality, we might not live long enough to achieve – anything could happen.
Even if you could predict that you would live for exactly 70 years, why wait that long to enjoy it? Because of the unpredictability and smallness of the end result, I think it’s not only beneficial to live your moments with more attentiveness, but it’s necessary in order to experience an upgraded version of joy. You sacrifice and risk so much, too much, if you don’t.
Doing things slowly and methodically is worth it. Even if you can’t do something slowly, it’s worth it to pay attention to the sensations of the experience. If nothing else, it does help make moments more enjoyable; it’s also free and easy. Try living a day slowly and methodically, where the intention is doing things for the simple act and enjoyment of doing them.
On that note, I’ll leave you with more words:
“Life passes most people by while they’re busy making grand plans for it”
“The journey is the reward”
“Live as if you were to die tomorrow. Learn as if you were to live forever.”
“In between goals is a thing called life that has to be lived and enjoyed.”
“The tragedy of life is not that it ends so soon, but that we wait so long to begin it.”
“How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives.”
“For a long time it had seemed to me that life was about to begin–real life. But there was always some obstacle in the way, something to be gotten through first, some unfinished business, time still to be served, a debt to be paid. Then life would begin. At last it dawned on me that these obstacles were my life.”