On fallow lands
“The trouble with attempting to master your time, it turns out, is that time ends up mastering you.”
January. A time for renewal, for plans and resolutions, and diets, and “hitting the ground running”. That darn ground. I don't mind some of it. I actually enjoy the tidying, stepping back to assess what works and what doesn't, refreshing my workspace and tools. It's a chance to look systems in the eye and pass judgment.
With the bulk of holiday food and games behind us, I did a fair bit of that last week. I spent time cleaning up my gear, charging up batteries that had been sitting idle for far too long and were on the brink of dying. I velcroed messes of cables, swapped photo books around (for visual inspiration), even brought the old Profoto A1 back to life. Not sure if I'll use it very often but allowing it to rot in storage wasn't great.
I also read, took notes, and allowed my mind to wander—which sounds much wiser and zen-like than it actually was.
A few days ago, I read a post called Let's Make 2024 the Year of Saying No to Productivity Culture, by Kirsten Powers. It's on Substack so…you know…sorry. But I very much enjoyed her take. The title makes this sound like another cheap how-to, but it isn't. I found myself nodding along throughout her entire piece.
She touches on many points that have haunted me for a while now—our relationship with time, with rest and breaks, with identity. How we've allowed society to slowly digest our entire lives, turning us into the fabled cog in the assembly, unable to escape its infernal movement. How every single moment is now meant to be hacked, somehow, and always with the same goal in mind: optimization.
We're not meant to be optimal. In bursts, sure, but not over decades. Inevitably, this becomes unsustainable and our health—physical, mental, or both—suffers. Or our relationships do. Something will.
And yet, we've built a culture that expects constant results. Not just at work, but as parents, as friends, as individuals. Resting and rejuvenation, even meditation, are now framed as performance-enhancing tools. Respite is only meant to fuel “better” output. It's always about becoming more.
But see, we're not limitless.
...
The dome of winter has settled on this Northern Hemisphere, and nature slumbers, in quiet acceptance of life's rhythm. Maybe this year we follow along, instead of “kicking it up a notch”. Maybe we accept our limits, and allow lands to go fallow. Lose ourselves in the moist hush of freshly fallen snow.
Here's to a happy one.
P.S New Year pics below—to wrap up the season :)
