Here’s a bit of irony: I decided to leave the classroom and start a small run-from-home business so I could spend more time with my kids during their earliest years. But I often find myself complaining that my kids leave me little time to do my work, even though I chose this work so I could spend time with my kids.
Alas!
I’ve noticed this pesky little trend in myself, and in others. We often act as if our busyness is absolutely dictated by our circumstances, but our circumstances fluctuate while our busyness holds steady. It’s almost as if we’re addicted to busyness, can’t live without it, even though we’re always complaining about it.
There’s a little virtue in that, and we could call it mindless production. It could be be motivated by all sorts of things: a belief that busyness signifies importance, a hope that our busyness will stave off disaster, greed. For me it’s the second two. I often want to work more, so I can pad my financial cushion, so I’ll be less affected by whatever disasters are coming.
There are even times when the little virtue of mindless production robs me of the joy and purpose that led me to my initial decision. You can’t enjoy the early years of your children’s lives when you’re constantly making and remaking mental lists or sneaking off to the computer to type a few more words, check a few more metrics.
I don’t have a big virtue to serve as an antithesis to mindless production, I think the big virtue depends on what’s driving the mindless production. For me it comes down to putting my work, or “production,” into the larger context of its purpose. Does the amount of work I’m doing suit my financial needs as well as my need for a creative outlet? If yes, then it’s enough. But there is no amount of work that will mortgage mine or my family’s future. Remembering that helps me see past this particular little virtue.
This post is part of a short series on Natalia Ginzburg’s The Little Virtues. You can read the first post here.