With the warm weather and the gradual opening of the economy, people are beginning to emerge from their pandemic cocoons. For me, this has meant getting back to some of my hobbies and commitments, but also running more errands and getting out in general. Well, in theory…
As excited as I was to visit some of the stores I have been thinking about since the pandemic closures, I found myself clinging onto parts of my pandemic schedule.
The paradox of productivity
Back in March, I thought I had gained lots of time. Without my usual commute, I found an extra hour in my day. Then, when I realized that I didn’t need to wear my ‘work’ clothes, I found even more time. Suddenly I had so much time!
My newfound sense of time initially gave me the motivation to make a lot of progress in my research. I finished a couple of papers that I had been working on, completed two reviews for a journal, and even got published in a journal (my first doi!). All in all, I was experiencing an incredible boost in my productivity.
But the truth is, that boost in productivity is a kind of lie. It wasn’t that I was working faster or better. I just had more time to devote to my research. My workplace was shut down and there weren’t a lot of options for getting out of the house and killing time. Plus, I’m lucky – I don’t have any dependents to care for and, after years of married life, my partner is okay with me being protective of my research time. This isn’t the case for all women academics, or academics who are parents, caregivers, etc.
So, when a slump finally came, I felt it worse than I did in the pre-pandemic days. Having had such a ‘boost’ in productivity, a slump made me feel like I had failed. Why couldn’t I write? Was this the beginning of writer’s block? Negative thoughts consumed me.
Even though I had accomplished so much, the couple of weeks when I didn’t washed it all away.
Pandemic thinking
In order to make up for the slump, or any perceived decreases in productivity, I pushed myself harder. That meant sticking to my ‘work’ schedule no matter what. It didn’t matter if I had planned on going for a run, or getting groceries, or enjoying the garden that I’ve been working on. During ‘office hours’, I forced myself to be at my laptop, even if I wasn’t making any real progress, and even if I could be using that time to do something I enjoyed more.
Needless to say, I became a bit of a grump. I got mad at myself, at the computer, at my partner. And when I had to stop working on my research to attend a Zoom meeting or chat with someone by phone, I acted resentful.
I felt especially torn when the warm weather finally came. I wanted to be outside running or working on my garden, or just sitting in the sun. But these ‘distractions’, I told myself, were the reason why I wasn’t maximally productive. So, all the things that I had missed so much at the beginning of the pandemic became distractions to be minimized. And just like that, the time that I thought had gained at the beginning of the pandemic was seemingly lost — all because I was convinced that I had to be working during the hours of 8 A.M. and 4:00 P.M.
Time management
My struggles with time (management) during the pandemic really came into focus for me when Katy and I were doing some research for our paper on attentive listening. One of our sources, Joan Tronto, had this to say about time:
“one of the key elements of thinking of time as money, of time as productive, is to identify the conquest of time with enhancing the human capacity to control the world. Whether through the production of wealth, searching for the ‘fountain of youth’, attempts at self-improvement (along the lines of the Protestant work ethic), mastering time reflects a broader goal of mastering the world” (p. 122-123, Time’s Place).
What Tronto says hits close to home for me. My obsession with time is really an obsession with productivity and pace; I wanted to control the research and writing process, like it was something that could be conquered once and for all.
I’ve been wanting to do everything and do it all very quickly. Slowing down or putting something off felt like failure. But when I lay it all out like this, I’m a bit embarrassed – Katy’s and my research has shown that we need to slow down and take more time in order to hear others better. Maybe we also need time to hear ourselves too.
Arendtian thoughts
According to Hannah Arendt, human activity can be classified into three different categories: labour, work, and action. We’ve talked a lot about action in past posts, so I won’t get into it much here except to say that action is how we disclose our identities; we express our freedom through action by saying and doing what we think is important.
Work refers to that which will last – like works of art. What we end up producing – things like this blog series – are examples of work because it contributes to our culture/society. Finally, labour refers to those things that we have to do because we’re human beings with particular needs. (For example, we have to cook, clean, do laundry, etc.) Our basic survival depends on labour.
An Arendtian Insight
On Arendt’s account, all three activities are important; they each have a purpose to serve. But in modern times, she thought work threatened to slide into labour. Specifically, Arendt thought that the rise of capitalism encouraged us to stray away from making lasting works and, instead, produce things that won’t last, albeit at a quick pace that will keep up with the increase in demand. This ultimately means that work would become something we do out of necessity, like labour. But,
“The danger here is obvious. Man cannot be free if he does not know that he is subject to necessity, because his freedom is always won in his never wholly successful attempts to liberate himself from necessity” (Arendt, p. 121, The Human Condition).
So, if work becomes labour, there are less opportunities for freedom. And if we aren’t even aware that work has become labour, then it’ll be as if we are in a cage of our own making and not even know it.
This seems like an apt description for how I’ve treated my work lately. Research and writing used to be a way to contribute to the library of human thought and a way to express what is important to me. But, as I’ve become obsessed with productivity and rigid scheduling, research and writing have taken on the flavour of Arendtian labour: something to be done, quickly and routinely, even if it entails violence of some sort (in this case, to my mental wellbeing). It’s started to become labouring, not working.
Summertime
So, I’m going to give up the rigorous scheduling and strict time management. The arrival of summer – and all the wonderful (and physical distancing-friendly) activities it entails – has given me the inspiration I need to let go of ‘pandemic time’. Nothing is worth poor mental (or physical) health. And research and writing mean nothing if they aren’t done with the right motivations for the right kind of goals. I want to write about things that matter, to me and to others, and that means that I need to give myself some time.
What will I do with that time that I will gain? I think it might be time to reach out to some folks that I haven’t talked to in a while. As Arendt pointed out, work and labour may be done in the presence of others, but it is never with others. Work and labour are solitary acts. So, maybe I need to go and take part in action with others, now that things are opening up again and there are important social movements going on right now.
I encourage all of you to take the time you need this summer!
Photo by Jon Tyson on Unsplash