As I grow older, I spend more and more time thinking about time itself. How it flows (ever faster!), how it feels (slow on a daily basis, while whole months seem to evaporate behind me), and perhaps most importantly: how best to spend it.

Two of my favorite ways to spend time, reading books and watching movies, sometimes compete for my attention. After all, at my age, it’s hard to knock out a few chapters and a whole movie after dinner without dozing off. And to be fair, I’ve already seen a lot of movies and read a lot of books! This means both that a) I’ve already enjoyed so many of the surefire winners, and b) my tastes are pretty refined and probably even a bit jaded. It takes a bit more to impress me after decades of consumption.

With these two competing impulses in mind, I’ve grown a lot more protective of my time, but also a lot more merciless in how I recommend other people spend their time. I may have a pathological need to finish books I start, mainly so I can render a fully informed and absolute verdict on then, but that is only so that I can say with confidence: DON’T BOTHER. For example: I, English teacher that I am, can confidently say that Dostoevsky’s Crime and Punishment was absolutely not worth the time it took to read. It’s a classic for a reason, with some fascinating moral questions to ponder and a complex central character. It’s also somehow simultaneously dull and melodramatic, and by even century-old standards, needs to be edited by about half. It’s what I’d hold up as a shining example of why we should re-evaluate the canon and find more modern examples of stories that cover similar intellectual ground if we want people to actually embrace and enjoy reading. It’s just… a slog. I’m sorry, Fyodor! I’m not saying your work has no cultural value; just that for 99% of currently living humans, this is a use of time that I simply cannot condone. And honestly, haven’t 99% of previous humans likely lived ok-to-great lives having never read it already? I’m only suggesting we present breathers not feel bad about it.

And yet… I am also reassured that no matter how much time I’ve spent on this earth, there are absolute gems of modern art that I’ve yet to discover. The best, most recent example of which is the film Master and Commander: Far Side of the World. Despite it’s unwieldy title, it is a perfect film. The period-accurate, creaky and grimy production details of this ship at sea are incredible. The cast delivers at every level from Russel Crowe as a charismatic captain down to the little pre-teen aspiring naval officer on his first journey at sea. It swings from tense and explosive action to jovial wartime camaraderie, with time to spare for philosophical asides about discovery, duty, friendship, and more. What a time! And to think, I’d shared a planet with this masterwork (pun) for over two decades and never experienced it. What a world.

I could say similar things about other movies like Charade (Hepburn and Grant?!) or Lone Star (Cooper, wow!), or Richard Powers’ Bewilderment (I could just die after finishing that one) etc., all of which are a hell of a lot more worth your time than trying to check the box on a supposed centuries-old classic. It’s not that old things are not worth our time, it’s that as we get old, our time is worth more than some slightly less wonderful old things! Tough calls have to be made, and sometimes obligations to a cultural canon must be sacrificed in favor of savoring the recently delicious. Bon Appétit!

So…
What’s an example of something you’d neglected for years, but upon finally catching, still took you by surprise with its greatness?

Conversely, what’s something you felt some cultural or peer pressure to appreciate, but upon finally experiencing, you can confidently say live up to its reputation and is better skipped?

In light of these examples, is this a reasonable way to think of using one’s time? Or is this approach a surefire path to cultural bankruptcy where we simply stop trying to appreciate difficult or less enjoyable art while sliding comfortably into brainless bliss?

As a rapidly aging fellow, of course I am naturally drawn to any shred of evidence that my best years are not, in fact, behind me. This thoughtful Atlantic article about late bloomers includes plenty of anecdotal evidence of people who peaked late, not early, which is some small comfort. However, after the initial dopamine hit of potentially not being washed wore off, there were even deeper insights to enjoy, like this great quote:

We have a notion that the happiest people are those who have aimed their life toward some goal and then attained it, like winning a championship trophy or achieving renown. But the best moments of life can be found within the lifelong learning or quest itself. It’s doing something so fulfilling that the work is its own reward. “Effort is the one thing that gives meaning to life,” the Stanford psychologist Carol Dweck once wrote. “Effort means you care about something.”

That gives hope to us olds, almost-olds, or seriously-olds! Because that means as long as there is an ounce of life left, that’s a scoop of effort left to put toward something worthwhile.

So…
What have pursuits or goals have you put the most effort toward in the last year? Or in your life as a whole?

If you could take back some of that effort and reassign it to something else, what would you choose? Why did you make that original choice, and why would you change it?

What would you love to spend more effort on in the future that you aren’t already?

Grey skies are gonna clear up; put on a revised worldview that adjusts expectations to reflect realityyyy…

When it comes down to it, we’re all chasing happiness in our own way. So it makes sense that a class that teaches happiness would be the most popular elective at Yale.

There’s plenty to discuss in this profile about what makes us happy, whether happiness is an earned outcome or more of a practiced outlook, but this self-reflective little question came ready-made for sharing here:

Pop quiz: If you suddenly found you had an extra $100, what would you do with it?

Now: What would you do if you suddenly found you had an extra hour?

With the money, chances are you’d be inclined to use it on a treat — to buy something you did not budget for otherwise, rather than paying off an existing debt. With time, it’s the opposite: There’s a good chance you’d use that hour to catch up on work, rather than go for a walk or visit a museum you’d otherwise not have time to do.

I posed these to a friend, and our answers didn’t quite match what the article proposes; both of us would use the extra time for pleasurable if good-for-us pursuits. Does that mean we’re… mostly happy? Did we win?

How would you spend an extra $100? What about an extra hour of free time?

What do your answers say about your situation and your priorities?

Definitely unfair: judging images based on beauty per square inch.

Over the weekend, I played through a video game called Inside, which I am comfortable calling a masterpiece. Its moody visuals drew me in. Its haunting environments kept me constantly on edge. Its unsettling themes left a mark I won’t soon forget. Games of this high caliber give me hope for the artistic potential of the medium. It’s that good.

It’s especially easy to recommend because I played through the game in two sittings of a few hours each, making it convenient to absorb in its entirety.

This in contrast to another recent game I also loved, The Witcher 3: The Wild Hunt, a giant role-playing adventure that I spent roughly 80 hours to complete. As I joked on Twitter: “In the time it’s taking me to finish #Witcher3, I could have listened to the entire audiobooks of both Infinite Jest and A Game of Thrones. This is not an exaggeration. I checked.”

Which is not to say that a game becomes immediately less worthy by being longer, deeper, or more epic in scope. Merely that very very long works in any medium, whether a three-and-a-half hour film or a thousand page novel, come with certain baggage. And in the case of Inside, or the original The Office, or the short story collections of George Saunders, there is a sense that every minute, moment, or page were agonized over to distill a work down to their very essence.

The obvious counterargument is that different works have different aims, and a George RR Martin book or Godfather film would not be what they are or achieve what they set out to by slimming down. But if you were to invent a metric that measures Quality Per Minute of artistic works, those shorter works would rate extremely highly, where the longer ones by their very nature would rate lower.

With Inside, that rating would be off the charts. Every minute brings some new surprise, some newly disturbing tableau, some beautiful choice of artistic direction or thought-provoking inversion of expectations. By this measure, this may be one of the best games I’ve ever played.

The question is:

Should quality-per-minute factor in to judging any work of art?

Is that metric an unfair way to consider more ambitious works that aim for a bigger, deeper explorations of ideas?

Or, are those works being unfair to their audiences when a shorter work could achieve a similar resonance without requiring so much time?

**Do not be a coward and dismiss the question. Care enough about the limited time you have on this earth to value every minute and demand more of art.