On the Hastiness of Life

The Second Pillar

Contrary to widespread belief, I am still alive. And so is Damn Good Thinking. 

Following a tumultuous year, multiple false starts on my end, and a steady supply of life's oddities thrown in the mix, we are going to get it right this time. I can only hope that you find the work ahead insightful enough to catch your interest, and engaging enough to make you think. 

In the previous installment of this series, I discussed my relationship with chronophobia, i.e., the extreme fear of time passing. While this bizarre yet all-too-common affliction kept me on my toes for a good decade, discovering the principles of Stoicism and reshaping the expectations and pre-conceived notions I had about life helped alleviate the constant existential angst that was plaguing me. And yet, despite having pored over the wise words of Seneca, Epictetus, and Marcus Aurelius, I found myself racked with a different sort of dread. This time, however, I wasn't so much concerned about the length of time I had left on this Earth. Instead, I noticed that life tended to move quite hastily—days flashed in front of my eyes like headlights on the Autobahn, and whatever I activity I was engaged in seemed unfulfilling and piddling. After finding a way to cope with the inherent uncertainty of the breadth of life, I was now intensely preoccupied with its pacing. This peremptory issue, while eerily similar in its effects of mental anguish, featured a distinct difference to my previous conundrum: it could be regulated. 

Time Dilations

A quote often misattributed to Albert Einstein goes something like this:

“When you sit with a nice girl for two hours, you think it's only a minute, but when you sit on a hot stove for a minute you think it's two hours. That's relativity."

While it's unlikely that Einstein every uttered this exact quote (as its first appearance was in a March 1929 edition of "The New York Times,"¹ where it was merely noted that this was one of the anecdotes surrounding Einstein), the quote offers an interesting observation about time: it contracts and dilates. While this can be true of time as a universal concept (as is indicated by the theory of special relativity), it is also true of our perception of time. Any activity we are engaged in, whether actively or passively, can make time feel as though it is speeding by, or dragging on endlessly. Naturally, anyone who has ever had to take a class or lecture in a subject he dreaded has made the same observation. Interestingly, this concept seems to imply that perceived time dilations occur solely in displeasing or otherwise uncomfortable situations. Consistently, it follows that pleasurable activities result in the perceived contracting of time. Well, if that were the case, all any of us would have to do to make our lives feel as long as possible would be to lead the most mundane, unrewarding, stultifying lives possible. Instinctively, that seems wrong. There has to be some sort of balance, a deal, perhaps, that we can strike with Father Time so that the fulfilling moments of our quotidian existence end up lengthening the time we feel we have invested in them rather than shortening it. 

The Economics of Attention

For a while now I have been intrigued, and intimidated, by the effects of modern technologies, food quality, and pollution on our ability to focus. When looking at contemporary technologies, it is no secret that the advent and broad adoption of mobile phones, social media, and portable entertainment devices has resulted in an apparent shortening of our capacity for intense concentration over extended periods of time. One of the more interesting and expansive explorations of this issue is Johann Hari's Stolen Focus. It is a meticulously researched and skillfully composed investigation into the alarming decline of our ability to maintain our focus. Perhaps one of the more interesting parts of Hari's exploration is his deconstruction of the "attention economy." 
This term was coined way back in the early seventies by distinguished political scientist and Nobel Laureate Herbert A. Simon, who posited that "in an information-rich world, the wealth of information means a dearth of something else: a scarcity of whatever it is that information consumes."² He further clarifies that, "what information consumes is rather obvious: it consumes the attention of its recipients." And finally notes that "a wealth of information creates a poverty of attention and a need to allocate that attention efficiently among the overabundance of information sources that might consume it." 
In Stolen Focus, Hari describes the devious methods--ones that Silicon Valley tech giants embraced and employed so eagerly in their respective pieces of software--that are built into the devices and applications we use (especially social media) to occupy as much of our attention as possible. Instagram, Facebook, TikTok, YouTube--these are some of the primary culprits in this scheme, one that is universally acknowledged yet insufficiently addressed. Stolen Focus is a fascinating read that is worth both your time and attention, as it shines a bright light on these issues, outlines their rise to prominence, and critically examines how they are affecting our minds.
So, as several brilliant minds are solely dedicated to creating media that capture as much of our mental space as possible, our ability to concentrate is eroding fast. The longer and more intensely we engage with said media, the hastier our lives seem to be. Add the Sisyphean tasks that characterize a sizable portion of our being to the mix and you have a wonderful cocktail of severe existential trepidation. Thankfully, there are several methods that Hari recommends to his readers to help them fight against the perils of the modern world. The most fascinating amongst them is the idea of "Flow."

"Be Water, My Friend"

If you have been fortunate enough to be utterly engrossed in an activity, so much so that any perception of time seemed to have melted away, you have successfully experienced a state of Flow. This mental and physical state is a concept observed, researched, and popularized  by psychologist Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi in his groundbreaking book Flow: The Psychology of Optimal Experience. According to Csikszentmihalyi, Flow is the state in which people are so involved in an activity that nothing else seems to matter; the experience itself is so enjoyable that people will do it even at great cost, for the sheer sake of doing it. What seems to be universally true (or at the very least anecdotally true for everyone) is that entering and maintaining this state of complete absorption and focus is something that children can experience quite effortlessly and at a great frequency.
Circumstances and places that seem bland or customary to adults are effortlessly transformed in a child's mind. An empty lot turns into Camp Nou, a densely forested patch of land transforms into a battlefield, a sandcastle on the beach becomes a thriving community teeming with life--anything is possible through the eyes of a child. We all, invariably, tend to have memories of such experiences from our youth. The understated norm of these experiences is that they are all characterized by a state of Flow, this force of supreme immersion in the activity at hand. I now invite you to think about the life you are leading currently. Assuming you are an adult, you may come to the disappointing realization that you are severely limited--or even completely handicapped--in your capacity for attaining this Flow state. It may seem to you that your mind is endlessly preoccupied by the spate of bills you have to pay each month, the amount of maintenance you have to perform both for your physical body as well as every single appliance you own, and keeping up with the Joneses. Suddenly, you may come to realize that Flow is a concept of the past, a remnant of a more carefree, less anxious existence. As depressing as this realization is, however, it simply isn't true. 
In 2003, Csikszentmihalyi & Hunter noted that flow states are volatile and subject to contextual changes, thus indicating that psychologists cannot assume that flow experiences stay the same across adulthood³. However, a study published in 2022 on Flow Experiences Across Adulthood, gave credence to the continuity hypothesis of flow experiences, indicating that such states appear to be generally stable across adulthood. Age seemed to have a minimal to small positive relationship with the prevalence, activity context, and frequency of flow experiences⁴. Other aspects of this same research (as well as previous papers that have been published on the subject), provide more context on the exact situations and circumstances that can trigger a flow state in adults across different age groups, thereby showcasing that adults are indeed capable of experiencing flow, just not in the same way that they did when they were younger. As it turns out, we are all still capable of facilitating these periods of intense concentration on and dedication to a singular task, even as adults. And when such a state is reached, life is not as hasty as it once appeared to be.
By focusing on activities that allow you to enter a Flow state, you may find that time seems to pass more quickly. Conversely, when you are not engaged in activities that bring you Flow, time can seem to drag on endlessly. By creating more opportunities to engage in Flow activities, you can effectively create a form of time dilation that makes your days feel more fulfilling and your efforts more impactful. 
Theoretically, though, as the amount of time you spend engaging in a specific activity increases, so does your competency in said activity. It follows, then, that you would become increasingly comfortable when engaging in that activity; it isn't as elusive and/or difficult as it once was. If you are the kind of person whose immersion in a subject/activity is affected by its difficulty, then you might end up experiencing fewer Flow sessions. How can you, then, sustain this level of concentration and commitment more consistently? 

The Beginner's Mind

In my early teens I developed an intense curiosity for religious studies, specifically for Eastern religions. It was after reading Kazantzakis's semi-autobiographical work Report to Greco and seeing the impact that the teachings of Buddha had on the author that I began my own exploration of Buddhist philosophy. I did not embark on this examination for spirituality or pretension, mind you; I kept encountering nuggets of Buddhist ideology in popular culture, yet had no reference for them, so I felt inclined to investigate more closely. It was when studying Zen Buddhism that I came across the teachings of Shunryu Suzuki, a Japanese priest of the Soto lineage, who become the so-called founding father of Zen in America (yes, before you judge, my studies of Buddhism had a Western point of view to them). Suzuki's Zen Mind, Beginner's Mind is often recommended as the best first book for Westerners to read on Zen. While the text has special significance for Zen meditation practitioners and enthusiasts alike, its biggest impact on me revolved around the concept of the beginner's mind.
"In Japan we have the phrase shoshin," Suzuki writes, "which means "beginner's mind."⁵ The goal of the practice is always to keep our beginner's mind." Suzuki highlights that continuous practice--in Zen and, in my opinion, life in general--makes one "liable to lose the limitless meaning of original mind." He sees our "original mind" as open, self-sufficient, and ready for anything. He further suggests that the more demanding one's mind becomes, the more prone one becomes to err, to violate one's own principles, even on a moral level. "In the beginner's mind there are many possibilities;" Suzuki posits, "in the expert's mind there are a few."
When thinking about this last quote in the context of Flow states, a mental light bulb lit up for me. By maintaining a beginner's mind, we can preserve our enthusiasm and curiosity. Mastering a discipline can make us arrogant, thinking we have attained the highest form of wisdom possible. Arrogance makes our minds impliable, our imaginations inert, thus causing us to enter a torpid state. To lead lives of profound experience we must approach each activity without the ego of the proficient, nor the irresolution of the dilettante, but the innocence of the amateur. 

TL;DR:

With the passing of each day, our world, at least to me, seems to be getting exponentially complicated. The faster we go, the better optimized our outputs are, the smarter our devices get, the duller our experiences seem to become. To rekindle the fire that jolts our minds awake with excitement in the morning and keeps our bodies going until we lay in bed at night tired but satisfied, we must find the things that we can immerse ourselves in with total dedication and without guilt. When we find those things, we must preserve them with all our might, always maintaining a beginner's mind. This, my friends, is the second pillar of the pursuit of a fulfilling life: Flow

1. 1929 March 15, New York Times, Einstein Is Found Hiding On Birthday: Busy With Gift Microscope, (Wireless to The New York Times), Quote Page 3, Column 3, New York. (ProQuest)

2. “The Age of Attention.” Stand out of Our Light: Freedom and Resistance in the Attention Economy, by James Williams, Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, 2018, pp. 12–16.

3. Csikszentmihalyi, M., & Hunter, J. (2003). Happiness in everyday life: The uses of experience sampling. Journal of Happiness Studies, 4, 185–199. https://doi.org/10.1007/978-94-017-9088-8_6

4. Tse, D.C.K., Nakamura, J. & Csikszentmihalyi, M. Flow Experiences Across Adulthood: Preliminary Findings on the Continuity Hypothesis. J Happiness Stud 23, 2517–2540 (2022). https://doi.org/10.1007/s10902-022-00514-5

5. Suzuki Shunryū et al. Zen Mind Beginner's Mind. First ed. Weatherhill 1970.