Fallton Havenstonne

Gratitude is one of those things that we have to remind ourselves of, since it’s easy to become fixated on what we need and want. It strikes us in times when we realize how fortunate we are to have what we have, or when we lose something valuable (or when we’re on the brink of losing it), and we come to the realization that we should’ve cherished it more, whether that means spending more time with the people we care about, or not griping about how inadequate something is when it’s perfectly fine and functional (i.e. wanting a new cellphone, car, or computer, when what we have works just fine (and it’s only three or four years old!)).

In our day-to-day lives, our minds are set on the things we need to earn, achieve, or acquire. We’re driven to pursue what’s missing, what we don’t have, or what needs to be done. Regardless of all the possessions or accolades we have, there’s always something that’s missing, something that’ll fulfill us. Of course it never does once we have it, since that feeling of elation and contentment will soon begin to fade, and we become fixated on the next thing to pursue.

But in this state of mind, gratitude is hard to find. We don’t see it because we’re looking ahead rather than cherishing what we have and accomplished along the way. We must pause amidst the busyness of our lives to be grateful, and be still and allow the silence to help us discern it. Because it is only then that gratitude can be noticed, which will show us what we have–and how ephemeral it all is.

Both success and accomplishment can mean the same thing: to attain or achieve a goal. But when wealth or status are tied in with their usage, the meaning changes from one that is personal to one that is defined by earnings and wealth.

According to the dictionary, success has a duel meaning when it comes to achievement: to paraphrase, a goal attained, or a goal measured by monetary wealth (https://www.dictionary.com/browse/success). For example, one can say that they succeeded at college, or that they run a successful business. Accomplishment, however, has more to do with the attainment of a goal, and perhaps, the awards or accolades that come with it. (https://www.dictionary.com/browse/accomplishment) But to say one runs an accomplished business has different connotations compared with running a successful one. For example, a successful business is one that is defined by its earnings, but an accomplished one is recognized by its awards or merits.

When it comes to our personal goals, success and accomplishment are clearly distinguishable, since we can be accomplishment in the sense that we’ve produced many works or have finished various projects, although they might not be successful in terms of wealth. Another example could be someone who has learned a new language. They might be accomplished in the sense of being fluent, as well as being able to read, write, and speak in that language, despite not being successful in having earned money from it (i.e. as a translator or interpreter).

When we first start learning or pursuing anything, we start from scratch, with little to no rudimentary knowledge of the fundamentals. We set up goals along the way–small ones–that are like baby steps in the pursuit of higher and more challenging goals. As we master each level, progressing from beginner to intermediate, we acquire more knowledge and skills that make us more efficient and experienced in that endeavor. And along the way, we’ve been defining our successes by the goals we reached, but certainly not because of the wealth we earned.

Thus, when we define our success by our earnings or wealth, this can set us back, discourage us even. It could take years until we’ve earned anything or have become financially successful at it. It begs the question of why we even start learning anything. Out of interest? For external reasons, like wealth? Are we pursuing it because of the success we’d like to earn, or because of the experience and challenge it gives us–the creativity and thought it stirs in us?

Losing track of time is one of those things that can either be positive or negative for us. For example, if we’re reading a book or writing a story, we want to be lost in that imaginative (or abstract) world–lose track of our physical sense of time and experience a non-physical one where events can be sped up or slowed down, frozen, or broken down into abstract and composite elements. When we’re enveloped in this non-physical experience of time, our minds are fully engaged in whatever it is we’re thinking about, imagining, and we’re fully active in the experience of our own ideas and imagination.

But losing track of time can have a negative effect when have to follow a schedule, or when we have to be somewhere at a certain time. For example, if we need to leave for work, if we need to sleep at a certain hour, catch the plane (or bus), or if we’re going to a social/family gathering or an event. Being late has bearings on our lives that can effect our employment, our friendships, our goals. In all these cases, losing track of time means that we will miss out on things that are time-dependent (i.e. things that we cannot be late to), since these tardies can snowball to being late to other things.

However, the things on our schedule depend on how many there are to do, and how much time we have to get them done. In general, the more time we have, and the less we have to do, the better, since there is more leeway in terms of taking our time and not rushing to get things done (if they can be done within a reasonable amount of time). But just because we have more time, it doesn’t necessarily mean we can lose track of it.

It also begs the question of how much time we can lose track of, and if we need a half-day or a whole day (or a weekend) to get things done, whether that be reading, writing, making art, finishing a DIY project, etc. For some, it’s more manageable to not complete these things in one session, but to spread them out throughout the week (or month or year), whereas others might need a lot of time in one or two sessions without breaking them up into smaller ones.

But for me, I find that losing track of time gets harder when there are many things to do. Sometimes I want to lose track of time when I’m reading or brainstorming, but my mind starts to wander without my noticing. All of a sudden, I’ll start thinking about the next chore/task that’s unfinished or that I have to do, whether that’s making food or doing the laundry, etc.

It was much easier to lose track of time in my youth, especially in my college years, since my imagination seemed so much more limitless and vibrant, and the things I needed to do were minimal (i.e. go to class, study for exams, etc.) compared to now. I used to read for hours on end, or until it got dark, and my mental stamina was inexhaustible. It was as if my mind and body never wanted to sleep, never wanted to rest, and my mind wanted to absorb as much knowledge as it could, and accomplish as many things as it could dream of.

Now it seems like it takes two or three times more effort to read or write in a single session than it did before. I wonder if I’m now I’m running on half-empty, or if it’s simply that I’m not as motivated or ambitious as before. Whatever the case may be, I know that I still seek those periods where I want to lose track of time, or what could be described as being in the zone, for in those periods, nothing else seemed to matter–not my worries, my bills, my to-do list–and each time, it felt like my mind was free to explore new horizons and discover a wealth of inexhaustible treasures.

One thing that makes life more fulfilling is keeping things simple. To keep things simple means we are not overburdening ourselves with the worries and stresses of the day. We are not trying to do more than what we can handle, since we might end up burning ourselves out.

When I set a small list of things to do that are manageable (within a certain time frame, of course), it’s much more fulfilling after I’ve accomplished them rather than having a larger list and fulfilling each goal and feeling like I’m burned out, since I don’t want to do anything else afterward. We all know our limits, of what we can and can’t do, and how far we can push ourselves, but sometimes this invisible pressure to do more and accomplish more whispers in our ears as if we’re not doing enough.

And if we’re not doing enough, we can’t feel a sense of accomplishment when we do accomplish our goals. In fact, we’ll end up doing a thousand things while feeling like we haven’t done one. That’s what the “you can do more” or “that’s not enough” thoughts can do to us if we let them sink in our minds.

There’s a saying that less is more, and this is true in many ways. It’s not just about the quantity of goals we accomplish but the quality in which we go about accomplishing them. The less goals we have, the more quality in terms of thoroughness and detail we can put into them, since we have more time and energy to do so. Inversely, the more goals we have, the less quality they will bear, since we will have less time and energy to invest into each one.

Keeping things simple means keeping our goals to a minimum so that we can put more time and energy into them (not to mention, actually accomplishing them). There is a tremendous pressure when we’re trying to finish things in the nick of time, and even if we do, the result is a sense of relief, one that we wouldn’t want to experience each day, since it bears a feeling of “I barely made it” rather than “that was a job well done.”

As time goes on, my drive to accomplish the goals that I had set for myself from years past has slowly faded. I had once aspired to be a painter, an artist, but it has never materialized. Routines and patterns have set in in terms of work schedule, sleep schedule, social events, etc., and at the end of the day, there is little time left to pursue them.

Of course, what we want to accomplish in life (and what can be accomplished) depends on what we define as our goals, and if they’re grand or simple. For example, are we making it our goal to win the lottery or to write a book? Are we making it a goal to be infamous or to do something that matters? Are we aiming for the statistically slim, or the doable–what’s within our means?

In hindsight, not achieving everything I had set for myself from years past has worked out. Some of the things I aspired to achieve no longer interest me. For example, I discovered other things that interested me, like literature and writing. Rather, those things that interested me in my youth mattered for me then, but not as much now, since I have a new perspective and understanding of myself and the world. I find that writing allows my thoughts and ideas to flow more naturally, whereas with painting or drawing, I’m continuously struggling to fix meticulous errors and mistakes, trying to get the proportions and lines just right.

There comes a time when we realize that we probably won’t be famous or exceedingly wealthy, but we will have what we need at the end of the day. Time limits us to what we can set out to do, and the number of the things we can accomplish. We’re ultimately faced with the task of narrowing down our dreams and goals to the bare essential, and that inevitably winds up being what is meaningful to us–what defines us.

“Not enough time” is what I say to myself when time is about to run out and I’m rushing frantically to finish something. If only I had enough time, I could get everything done, especially at a high quality that I expect of myself. But often in life, we’re racing against time, or else, trying to beat it. Time is like a light in a dark tunnel that’s fading on us, getting smaller the more we get near it. When time runs out, the tunnel is pitch-black, and we feel defeated and lost.

For some people, they get things done early, to not put themselves in a position where they’re racing against the clock. Then there are others that limit the amount of things they need to get done so that they’re not racing against the clock. And then there are those that are always racing against the clock and are barely making it or are late. “Not enough time” is a constant battle for them, and to succeed, they either have to change the way they do things (i.e. start on the project early or limit the amount they have to do), or else, extend the deadline (if they can) and hope that the extension is enough.

But anything of quality needs almost unlimited time. Time is a constraint that is built in to our lives to motivate people to finish things (i.e. so that they don’t procrastinate or take weeks for what can be done in a day or two), but sometimes that time constraint can be counterproductive. If what we need is more time and not less, the pressure to finish on time can lead to details being overlooked, shortcuts being taken, which can lead to problems later down the road. It can lead to mistakes that more time would’ve enabled us to catch and correct.

For those who only want to narrow time and to increase output, their ultimate goal is the end product, not its quality or value. Whether that end product ends up being good or bad, excellent or substandard, is irrelevant to them.

But every artist knows that time is something that must be respected, not rushed. A manuscript, once finished, needs to be set aside for weeks or months before the author opens it up and reads it again. Even then, it needs editing and rewriting, and then more editing and rewriting. A painting, once it’s finished, needs time for the paint to dry and before the painter can decide whether it’s done or not. And the same goes with music, in which a song needs revising and fine-tuning, and a building, which needs touch up and maintenance after it’s built.

Quality cannot be rushed without consequences. The same goes with anything that takes time to develop, grow, evolve, and to become itself.

One thing that is hard to do when reading a book after taking a long break is picking it up again and remembering what happened. Even if we know what page number we left off at, it’s hard to remember everything that happened up to where we stopped. The plot and characters will seem hazy, like parts of a jigsaw puzzle that’s put together, and even though we might remember what events occurred, it can be challenging to know in what order they happened in (or what happened in-between crucial events).

I find that if I don’t continue reading a book within a month or two, I might as well start over. So much has occurred in my everyday life that those everyday experiences start to replace what I remembered from the book (i.e. conversations I had, chores I did, things I researched and bought, etc.) Plus, the book doesn’t bring the same experience as when I first started to read it. I actually wind up spending more time and energy trying to catch up and remember what happened and who is who rather than continuing with the story.

The same is somewhat true with writing, but not entirely. With stories I’ve written, I’ll notice that the word choice and prose of my older stories will seem vaguely familiar, but it’s not how I would write them now. The ideas and concepts of the stories will give me a feeling of deja vu, but my enthusiasm for the stories will have faded since I first wrote them. It’s like another version of me wrote those stories, but the me now would write them differently or at least incorporate ideas I’m currently interested in.

Continuity works best when we read a story on daily or weekly basis, and when the ideas we have are fresh in our minds when we’re writing. After a long break, however, whether that’s weeks or months or years, it’s hard to connect with or remember where we left off at. It’s like our minds can only keep track of what’s relevant (the here and now) rather than what’s far off.

Of course we can “sort of” remember what we read or wrote, but those memories will be choppy and vague, and we can’t quite enter back into that state of mind from our past, since new memories and new knowledge change the way we see things and understand them, disrupting the continuity we last remembered like a film that is missing scenes or a book that’s missing pages.