What we might learn from a falling squirrel

A few weeks back, I saw a squirrel fall from a tree.

Have you ever seen such a thing?

There was the rustling of the leaves, then the snap of a branch, then the disconcerting thunk of a small soft thing hitting the sidewalk at the park.

My daughter was in her stroller and I was beside her, on a bench. We both looked away from the person practicing on a slackline in front of us, to follow the sound.

Stunned for a moment, the squirrel scrambled to get up onto its feet and then darted around, confused for a moment, before bounding off into the grass.

I was sort of shocked, but tried to play it cool for my child's sake. (She is hugely empathetic for all living creatures who "go boom.")

"Look, even squirrels fall sometimes!" I said, probably too cheerfully.

SQUIRRELS CAN FALL? I shout-thought.

In the weeks since the squirrel incident, I've tried to make sense of what we saw; I've tried to glean something from witnessing the surprising results of a misstep, the impersonality of gravity. But nothing much is bubbling to the surface.

Nothing is impossible?

Balance is never a foregone conclusion?

What doesn't kill you might not make you stronger, might just temporarily stun you?

Nah. The best I can come up with is this: the turntable plate breaking while microwaving popcorn.

No fault. No reason (besides basic physics, of course). No deeper meaning or proof of shortcoming.

In other words: a perfect fail.

There isn't anything that isn't supposed to happen.

There's just what happens.

And there's how we react to what happens.

What comes up for you when you consider this paradigm? Leave a comment below.

How to move past the I-don't-want-tos

We all have moments when we really and truly, desperately and absolutely don't want to do something—change a bad habit, initiate a big life change, perform some dull but essential task.

Not-wanting-to often takes on a life of its own, giving us the impression that the stakes are higher: There's something wrong with us, we're stuck, we have a defect or a capital-P problem that needs solving.

Really, though, there's just a lot of brain chatter happening. Not much else.

Not-wanting-to is a normal thought experience for a mind to create. It doesn't mean we lack discipline or willpower; it doesn't mean we're lazy; nothing is actually broken here.

If you find yourself not wanting to do something—and then feeling all kinds of feelings about the not-wanting-to—here are seven ideas for you. Some are actions, some are inactions, and still others are philosophies to try on for size.

1. Acquiesce to your “I-don’t-want-to” for a set amount of time—say, an afternoon. Then, tomorrow, do the thing you didn’t want to do today.

2. Don’t do the thing you don’t want to do. Ever. That’s it—simply don’t do it and see what happens. You might be surprised to learn that there's actually very little we have to do. Sure, there are consequences for not doing certain important things—some of them rather unpleasant. In terms of our survival, however, there's not a whole lot we must do. See what happens if you don't do the thing you don't want to do.

3. Decide to just do the thing right now. Decide that wanting to or not wanting to is beside the point. You don’t need to want to do something in order to do it. Feel your feelings of not-wanting-to, and then recognize that you don’t actually need to feel a certain way in order to do much of anything.

4. Figure out why you don’t want to do the thing. See if you can uncover the thought that’s at play there. No need to change it or challenge it. Just bring the ever-awesome practice of awareness into the picture. What insights emerge when you expand "I don't want to," into "I don't want to, because"?

5. Determine the smallest possible step you can take to make an inroad. For now, do that and nothing more.

6. Hold yourself and this experience lightly. Stop making your not-wanting-to mean anything. What if, like all the other thoughts that pass through your head, this one is just another momentary visitor? What if you could feel it, think it, but not hold on to it so tightly—so that, when it's ready, it can carry on and not be a whole Thing that you've adopted for your own?

7. Recognize that desire is not a fixed state. Leave the possibility open that what you don't want to do today, you may very well grow into wanting to do at some point in the future.

Let me know if any of these speak to you more than the others. And do you have a technique for navigating your own I-don't-want-tos? Add to the conversation in the comments section below.

Ask Helen: a reader question about procrastination

Dear Helen,

I have a recurring issue: I have tasks I want to complete—but, instead of jumping in, I procrastinate with mindless (though mostly enjoyable) things like social media/YouTube clips. Eventually I realize it’s late in the day and I scramble to do the tasks. This leads to accomplishing things late into the evening, leaving little or no wind-down time. Typically, I’ll have promised myself a fun TV show or movie once I’ve completed the task, so it’s a disappointment when I don’t have the time for it. I think I’m a self-fulfilling prophecy, though; I’ve done this so many times, or have tasks take longer than expected, so I delay the tasks because I know once I start, there’s no fun/relaxing time at the end. Been doing this for years. Any advice on how to break the cycle?

Thank you!
Unfulfilled Promise

Dear Unfulfilled Promise,

What a great question! It really speaks to a dynamic that I think a lot of us create with our time—and then struggle to understand when we decide it isn't working for us anymore (or when we realize it never was).

There are a handful of things I noticed in your question—and I'll point out all of them to see if there's some insight lurking there for you—but the main takeaway is this: You're not procrastinating.

What I see you doing is putting your wind-down time first and your task completion second.

Now, most people would call this procrastination—but the fact of the matter is, I'm not sure that label does anything for anyone except pathologize a perfectly normal and reasonable order of operations. It's like eating your dessert first! Who says you can't? (Diet culture, that's who! A terribly insidious and harmful thing, if you ask me. But that's another newsletter altogether.) It's valid to, as my husband says, "pay yourself first"—that is, do the activity that brings you joy and restores balance within you before doing the thing(s) that needs to get done, but might not be particularly enjoyable.

Something I noticed in your question, though, is that you do actually prefer a little wind-down time before turning in for the night. So, that's a clue. However you spend your time throughout the day, you're someone for whom a window of TV- or movie-watching is the ultimate nightcap.

But it sounds like you're making a trade-off here. I don't get the sense that the social media perusal/YouTube clip-watching is truly how you'd like to unwind. It's a default habit. A time-filler. Maybe even an avoidance tactic (though, again, I wouldn't call any of it procrastination because that just sounds deathly serious and nothing you're doing here merits such gravity). The problem* is that it's eating up the possibility of more pleasurable wind-down activity at the very end of the day.

You say yourself these are tasks you want to complete. You might not be looking forward to the specific work that's involved (if you were, you'd likely dive right into it, dessert-first style), but it sounds to me like you're definitely wanting to knock out these specific items.

Here's something to consider: You could try to change this habit (by deleting your social media apps, by putting a timer on your phone, by giving yourself some kind of reward each time you choose to complete your tasks first), but even if you do nothing, you can rely on a built-in guidance system. There's proof of it in what you wrote to me.

What am I referring to?

Well, at some point, seemingly without fail, you decide to put down your phone and deal with your tasks. Whether it takes 20 minutes or two hours of aimless scrolling, you reach an internal limit: Your brain determines enough is enough, and you move onto the next activity. You don't have to do anything to make it happen.

Now, sure, your built-in guidance system might not be operating on a particular timetable—it perks up when it perks up, and that's when you're prompted to move on from what you call the "mindless" activity of browsing social media—but it works without any interference from you.

The data shows that doing it this way means you're likely to run out of time for your favorite wind-down activities at the day's end, but still, it's good to note that the system does work without your having to muscle through making a change.

Which brings me to my last point: Try doing your task(s) first. Just try it once. We're not looking to revise how you live your life from here on out, we're just playing around with your schedule on this one occasion. An experiment to see what happens and to see if you like the outcome better than that of your current system. Do it in the name of data collection.

And, of course, let me know how it goes! I'd love to share your follow-up with my other readers.

Love,
Helen

*I say "problem" only because it's something that isn't working for you, not because anything's actually wrong here. We're so quick to think of problems as horrible things, when, in fact, they're really excellent prompts to fiddle around with a system to get the results we want.

Don't be afraid to ditch your system

Did you hear about what various libraries all over the U.S. have been doing these past few years?

They're eliminating overdue fines and even clearing library patrons' accounts of prior fines.

And in response, materials are being returned in droves.

(From an article in The New York Times: "Since last fall, more than 21,000 overdue or lost items have been returned in Manhattan, Staten Island and the Bronx, some so old that they were no longer in the library’s systems. About 51,000 items were returned in Brooklyn between Oct. 6 through the end of February. And more than 16,000 were returned in Queens.")

Some of these books were originally checked out in the 60s and 70s!

So, the very thing that the fines were in place to ensure is what happened once the fines were dropped.

MIND BLOWN.

I mean, this isn't entirely surprising.

It makes sense to incentivize the behavior you want. A library wants patrons to borrow books, and it also wants them returned so that others will have access to them. Okay.

But there's a tipping point, right?

Someone's motivated to return their books on time because they don't want to incur fines.

But if a due date is overlooked or a book is misplaced or whatever other scenario unfolds and a fine begins to accumulate, there's some point at which that fine will transform from incentive to barrier.

For various reasons (cost, shame, limited access to services because now there's a hold on the library card, etc.), it will become easier and/or make the most sense to keep the book and avoid the library.

So, the library doesn't get the book back and it loses the patron.

And the patron gets the book (one they probably didn't even want or intend to keep in the first place), but loses all the other services that come with library access.

No one wins.

Anyway, it's not really libraries I want to tell you about today (though I am the daughter of a retired library director/reference librarian, so, you know, #librarypride!).

What I really want to do here is to inspire some fresh thinking for you:

• Where, in your life, might your system (whatever it is, whatever it's for) be precluding your desired outcome?

• Is it possible that the thing you’re after is actually in the opposite direction of your efforts to get it?

• What would happen if you changed tack entirely, scrapped your whole approach, and welcomed the returns in their own time and at their own pace?

Leave a comment below to continue the conversation.

Timer vs. stopwatch

We all know about using a timer to stay on task, but have you ever tried using a stopwatch?

I did recently, and the experience was enlightening.

It was a Saturday afternoon and my husband and daughter were headed to the park.

I wanted to join them, but I also wanted a clean bathroom and to get a load or two of laundry going. Houseplants needed watering. Mail needed sorting. There was a mountain of empty diaper boxes and other recycling ready to find its way out to the garage. The baseboards were fuzzy with dust. All bedding required a refresh.

I didn't have a set window of time, and besides that, I didn't want to race against the clock. So, a timer was out of the question.

But I wanted to stay accountable to myself. I wanted to know how many minutes (or hours!) I was actually using to tick through these tasks before I joined my family at the playground.

As an experiment, I activated the stopwatch feature on my smartphone and got to work.

Doing chores while periodically checking in on a stopwatch is fascinating!

(Well, it is if you're me. I realize I might be in a minority here.)

First of all, I was amazed at how quickly certain tasks were completed (a clean bathroom in under 15 minutes!)—but more than that, I was surprised that the mere fact of the activated stopwatch made me move through my list differently.

How quickly could I knock through the stuff that felt most pressing, the tasks that were just too cumbersome with a toddler underfoot?

What on my list could I let go of—or, at most, give a bare minimum of minutes to?

How much time on a gorgeous Saturday did I really want to spend inside, cleaning, while my family played without me?

Turns out, my limit was just shy of 90 minutes.

Yes, there was more to do. (There's always more to do.)

But using the stopwatch helped me to see that at about the 90-minute mark, I was ready to say GOOD ENOUGH to my list in order to use the rest of my afternoon differently.

This experience got me thinking that I'd like to sing the praises of both these humble tools—timer and stopwatch—in case you hadn't considered how you might use them to your advantage.

To be clear, I advocate for using them less to manage time and more to bring a level of consciousness to our experience of time.

What's the difference?

Well, I'm not really trying to leverage anything. I'm not trying to account for every minute of every day.

I'm simply observing how I tend to use my time and how long I take to do certain things (and how long I take to do certain things when I'm timing myself).

I'm also a big fan of creating containers for myself to do tasks that, if I'm not paying attention, might otherwise consume the entire day (see #2 in this post from the archive).

So, a timer and a stopwatch.

They can be used in the same situations, but tend to provoke different feelings. One or the other might be more useful to you.

A timer

As you know, a timer is a device that counts down from a specified time interval.

Great for pacing yourself, a timer comes in particularly handy when you want to restrict the minutes you spend doing something.

You can base your time interval on the amount of time that's available to you (e.g. you have 15 minutes before you need to be walking out the door), or you can choose to use a timer when you have seemingly unlimited time, but want to chunk it as a matter of strategy (e.g. you have an entire afternoon to clean the house, but you want to spend no more than 30 minutes on the kitchen before moving onto the next room).

A stopwatch

A stopwatch, on the other hand, is designed to measure the amount of time that elapses between its activation and deactivation.

Great for timing yourself, a stopwatch comes in particularly handy when you want to know how long it takes you to do something.

You can activate the stopwatch as a singular exercise (e.g. you want to see how long you actually require to complete your morning routine), or you can start and stop it throughout the day as a means of understanding "where the time goes" (e.g. you use it for each activity, to get a handle on where you spend your time and how much).

When to use one over the other

Simply put, a timer counts down and stopwatch counts up.

It's the difference between watching time disappear and watching it accrue.

Two different approaches to the same understanding, and yet, one might work better for you because it creates a particular relationship to time. A different feeling about the time you have and how you use it.

Are you motivated by steadily chipping away at a set amount of time? Do you enjoy working against a deadline, self-imposed or otherwise?

Or is it more useful for you to observe time as it accumulates? Does it help you to finish up something when you see how long you've already spent working at it?

Different situations call for different methods. Experiment with each and see if and how they change your relationship to the clock. Share your findings below.