Too much free time can be dangerous. It is easy to fall into temptations that offer short-term pleasure but little long-term satisfaction, or spend too much time ruminating on things outside our control. In my teens, I often reflected on meaning of life questions that had no clear answers. But as life becomes busier and obligations grew, those questions became less relevant. In that sense, busy work can be beneficial, as it provides structure and constraints to our free time and channels it to a clear objective.
Yet being too busy comes with its own cost. I want to be productive and dislike wasting time. So I often skim articles, listen to podcasts at 2.5x speed, and have back to back activities. That can be efficient, but it can also create a rushed existence in which important things can be easily overlooked. If I’m too rushed or goal oriented, I tend to be less patient, less kind, and less likely to enjoy the small joys and quiet beauty that exist.
Perhaps that is why I am drawn to Enuma Okoro’s column. She introduces me to paintings and connects them to our lives and times. I admire that way of engaging with art. But if the goal were simply to extract meaning, I could just ask ChatGPT to analyze a painting for me. What I rarely do, however, is slow down enough to look carefully, absorb what I am seeing, and connect it more deeply to life. I think that mindfulness is what I value most in her work.
To get the most out of her columns, I need to slow down, look at the paintings, and reflect on her thoughts. It is not surprising that she is a fan of David Whyte. Like her writing, his poems and essays reward slow reading and reflection. Maybe not everything requires this kind of mindfulness. But I think the more we can engage in this kind of awareness, the more alive we feel.
From her recent column:
One of the elements that I love about abstract works is how they compel us to patiently engage with what is in front of us until they reveal a new perspective, while also inviting us to learn how to sit with the discomfort of not knowing immediately what we are looking at. One of the many invitations that I think we can extract from this is to consider where in our own lives we are being invited to sit in the discomfort of not yet knowing and allowing room to slowly discern what might be in the process of being revealed to us. And also to consider what aspects of our lives may have already taken on a new shape or a new form, which is simply waiting for us to recognise it.
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