If the world ends next week, there’s no point in doing anything. If the world isn’t ending next week, there’s no reason to rush.
On a walk with one of my close friends, they confessed that what overwhelms them isn’t the amount of writing, but the quiet, persistent feeling that they haven’t written enough. It wasn’t about productivity, exactly; it was about identity. Some invisible metric, some unspoken tribunal in their mind, seemed to be measuring their worth as a writer. I immediately identified with the struggle. It was a well known frenemy. I responded quickly, as if to save them from futile worry: “If the world ends next week, writing is pointless. Entirely futile. But if we don’t have evidence that it ends tomorrow, then we still have time. There’s no emergency.”
I don’t say that to trivialise time. Time is sacred. Wasting it is perhaps the gravest mistake we can make. But the fear that we haven’t done enough, that quiet tyranny, can paralyse rather than propel. It’s a useful tool, but a terrible master. To write more is noble; to worry about how little we’ve written is futile. In the end, what matters is not how much, but how presently we’ve lived (and written) in the time we’ve had.
On perspective
Seneca on Time
The Stoic philosopher Seneca wrote “It is not that we have a short time to live, but that we waste much of it.” My friend’s feeling of falling behind (of not writing enough) isn’t about lacking time, but about a kind of inner pressure to have filled that time perfectly. Seneca reminds us that the fear of wasting time can itself waste time.
Camus on Meaning
Albert Camus, in The Myth of Sisyphus, speaks of the absurd — the tension between our longing for meaning and a world that offers none. To continue writing, even when it feels futile, is an act of quiet rebellion. But so is choosing not to rush.
Heidegger on Identity
Philosopher Martin Heidegger wrote about the difference between living authentically and living according to “the they” (that is, societal expectations). My friend’s worry wasn’t just personal; it was a reflection of what they thought a writer should be. Maybe slowing down is a way of reclaiming identity on our own terms.