She picked out a maritime novel translated from the French off the “save small publishers” section. I picked out one of those “Very Short Introduction” Oxford books on Marx. I had studied Marx in school but felt I might glean something new from this one. We conceded interest in each other’s books and promised to read them to each other before bed, starting with hers. We did it once, then struggled to either find the free time or stay awake long enough.

She was always the rushing one, and I’d say “we have all the time in the world.” I’d say, “don’t worry.” I believed it, too; I really felt there was no rush, that all the things we wanted to get around to, we would. I understood that middle age and old age to me looked different than the common imaginary.

Recently I’ve felt sincerely that there isn’t all the time in the world. There are far more things to do than hours to do them. When I express this to her, she mirrors my expression: “we have all the time in the world. Relax.” I take a deep breath and say “Damn. You’re right.” But I don’t really feel it. I wonder if "that time" has passed or if I’m just submitting to another mode.

Graduating college felt like seeing the light at the end of the tunnel.

I liked college, more or less, but the potential I saw of how to spend my time started to outweigh the academic routine. The risklessness of school started to feel more like a shackle. There was so much I wanted to do. On the final drive home my mind raced. I couldn't stop grinning. The software I could build, the books I could read, the odd design inspirations I could chase, how much more regiment I could devote to physical fitness and language learning. I am one who is always occupied with a pursuit or three.

Knowing when doing nothing is the most productive thing you can do. Knowing when doing nothing is the most productive thing you can do. This adage has been thrown around by the design elders. "Go see a movie. Sleep in. Go for a walk in the woods" (are these things nothing?). It sounds almost paradoxical or heretical or at the very least beside the point, like taking up meditating for the express purpose of obtaining a business edge. It's thrown around in the professional design world a bit too: "designers need idle time to be productive." As opposed to engineers, I suppose. While the first instinct is that it rings true, it leaves a sour taste. Rick Rubin's thesis in The Creative Act is that original creation is really a state of being, accessible to anyone to tune in to. A generous interpretation of the designer's adage would be that we need "idle" time to "tune in."

Taking rest days. Boredom. Noticing the mundane. Chasing nothing.