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May 2017

Post image for You Never Have Time, Only Intentions

In my new house the top floor is a single room with gabled walls and a single window that looks out over the street. I go up there twice daily to meditate for half an hour, so every time I’m in that room I can’t help but think, at least once, about how much time I have left in the day.

During those sessions I’m more aware of my thoughts, and the effect they have on me, than at any other time. And I’ve noticed that the amount of time I have left after my sitting—before I have to be somewhere, or before bedtime—makes a big difference psychologically. Given what I plan to do for the rest of the day, I always have one of two distinct feelings: I have enough time, or I don’t have enough time.

I’m learning not to trust either of these feelings, because they’re based on an error in perception—when you think about it, and we never really have time. Time we talk about “having” is always in the future, where we can’t see it and don’t know what it will be like. We can’t be confident it will be there when we need it, or that it will arrive without conditions or unexpected problems.

We never possess time in the same way we possess the money in our wallets, although we talk like we do. We assume we have three hours or three days to do something, but it never actually comes into our possession. The time we “have” is never where we are, and we can never see it, unlike everything else we have: our clothing, our furniture, our homes, our friends and family. We never know our time like we know those things, so we can’t depend on it like we depend on those things. Read More

Post image for Five Things I Learned From Not Drinking for Four Months

I had my first drink of 2017 on the third of May. Last December I realized how uncomfortable I’d become with my eighteen-year habit of drinking to excess once or twice a month.

Aside from being expensive and unhealthy, I could no longer deny that alcohol often made me into a person I needed to be drunk to tolerate: snarky, flippant and oblivious.

So I decided to take four months off the drink, to evaluate what it was doing for me, or to me. I also wanted to finally learn how to operate as a non-drinker at parties, concerts, and other get-togethers for which I’d normally get drinks. Would these occasions still be fun? Did I know how to be sober?

The four months was easy. I liked being sober. There were only a few instances where I envied the drinks of people around me. Most of the time I had little desire to drink.

The final act of the experiment was to drink again—two drinks in the first session, and a few more in another session—to see where alcohol and its effects stand with me now, after four dry months.  Read More

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