Category: Reflections

There is a major difference between time and effort. Time is the duration it takes to complete something, whereas effort is the amount of energy, thinking, or labor that must be invested to complete it.

We can spend a lot of time reading something, or time driving down a road. But both can require little effort if they don’t challenge us, or require us to learn something new.

Thus, it differs from effort in terms of difficulty, challenge. For example, if the book we’re reading contains words that are unfamiliar to us, jargon that is esoteric, or concepts that are new to us, we’ll spend more energy focusing on those things rather than breezing through the pages. Likewise, if the route we’re traveling on is unfamiliar to us and requires us to make abrupt or sudden turns, as in a city, then we’re investing a lot more effort than time to get to our destination.

Although the chapter might be short, as well as the trip, the amount of effort to complete them is much greater. Thus, time and effort are exclusive, though there can be a correlation between them. The correlation exists depending on the learning curve of what we’re trying to do. It also depends on how much (or how many tasks) we’re trying to do as well.

Having more time to work on something seems like it would make things easier. Perhaps it would. Or it might change the final product, or the work may go on indefinitely.

If we had more time to work on something, of course we could perfect it–get it to where we would be happy with it. But would it ever be perfect? Would we not find a minuscule flaw, something that we could fix later on because we didn’t see the flaw before?

Obviously, having more time is necessary if the project isn’t close to completion. If we’re progressing at a slow rate, more time would be needed–adjusted accordingly to the timeline. But more time means higher expectations, since there is more work for us to put in.

There is a window of time when we can function at our best on any given day. Of course, we can function for a long period of time, but then we are working at a less optimal output.

When writing, I can zone out and write really well for so many hours of the day. But at a certain point, the sentences begin to drag on. The writing feels less organic and inspirational, and feels more like I’m wrapping up a chapter. The momentum slows down to a halt, and every bit of effort after that is like climbing up a ladder with a bag of weights.

This window of time can apply to anything. Whether it applies to writing, painting, building, etc., our energy will run low eventually. We need time to rest, eat, or take a step away for a while to reflect on our work. Then we can come back to it again with renewed vigor.

There was a time when I made a list of all the fields I wanted to pursue. The fields were ranked from greatest to least not in terms of extrinsic value, but intrinsic value.

The great irony of life is that we might work in a field that was far from our original goal. It’s quite easy for us to change our minds while we’re in school or working, or to be drawn toward a field as time goes by. For example, someone might be working as doctor, but then they end up as a writer later on, or vice versa.

The fields we choose are more like approximations rather than absolutes. There’s no telling how long we might stay in a field, or if we’d even like it after a few years. Perhaps we stay in the field as we work on starting a business, or continue our education on the weekends or evenings.

It goes to show how flexible and adaptable we can be in the economy. Our potential isn’t fixed to one specialized skill, but is linked and interconnected to many others. Although we might choose the path that seems the most obvious to us, we’re always learning new skills, learning about the world, and wanting to pursue new goals.

When we’re off course, it can be hard to get back on track. We might not even know how or why we got off course. It’s as if we lost our train of thought, or something preoccupied us in the midst of our work.

But being off course is a temporary thing. It’s kind of like when we stumble or go in the wrong direction. There comes a point when we realize what’s happening, and we stop and move in the right direction.

Being off course can happen even if we don’t mean to be. It can occur when we’re not prioritizing the right things, or if we think we’re going in the right direction. But there comes a point when we discover the truth, and then we set ourselves on the right course. But the question is, will we stay on the right course?

There’s something captivating about seeing mountains. Whether we’re at a national park, or if we’re driving down the road, seeing mountains brings a sense of awe and grandeur to the environment.

When hiking up a mountain or around it, the adventure comes from not knowing what’s up ahead. The path can be treacherous and windy, but the view can be absolutely stunning.

Mountains have a scale that brings wonder to our imagination. There is so much to explore, so much history there. Being on a mountain gives us an idea of how grand nature is, and how beautiful it is too.

There are moments when there is no time left. It could be a project, a deadline, or any situation where we have to have something done at a certain time. Sometimes times runs out and we don’t know it until it’s too late.

When we run out of time, we adapt to it, look for other resources and opportunities. It’s one of those things where there is nothing we can do, since we can’t change time. All we can do is to make it on time the next time and learn from the experience.

But time is in itself, unpredictable, paradoxically. Not that we can’t count time, but we don’t know when time might be up, or what will happen at any give time. Being out of time can mean we ran out of time, or that time has ran out on us.

The future is twofolds. It’s something that we can plan for, and something that happens on its own.

We can plan for what we want to buy, where we want to travel, and the events we want to celebrate. But there’s a hidden reality to the future.

It comes with its unknown–its own sort of chaos. We don’t know if what we buy will be broken when it arrives, or if the place we travel to will be safe, or if the events we want to celebrate will go as planned.

What the future holds is a mystery. There is only so much we can plan for, since everything that is planned comes with its own uncertainties.

Time is something that there seems to be so much of. We take it for granted, live as if there is an abundance of it which will never be exhausted.

But who knows how much time we have left, or what setbacks will keep us from accomplishing our goals. Each day that we ignore our goals or waste our time on trivial things, we lose a resource that will never replenish–a resource that will eventually run out on us.

Time is something we have no control over. We cannot fix the mistakes of the past, nor can we redo days we have wasted or missed opportunities. We can focus on the present and the future, utilizing the time we have the best that we can. There’s so little of it anyway.

When I write, the process often feels like I’m in a state of mediation. It’s as if my mind is completely laser focused on one thing while everything around me is silent and still.

Writing brings serenity to my mood, and takes me down a path like I’m hiking on a trail through a forest. I know there will be hurdles and difficulties along the way, but there’s no time pressure or anxiety while I’m writing. Sure, there can be frustrations, definitely during the editing process, but it never feels like I’m wasting my time with it. I know that I’m accomplishing something–something I can look back on as a kind of reflection of my thoughts and ideas.

To meditate is to concentrate, to focus, and to block everything else out. When we write, it does the same thing, only its aim is to put words on a page. The same could be said with art in general: painting, music, sculpture, etc. When we create something, we mediate on an idea, vision or sound, which brings peace within us.