Why would you manage time when you’re built to Own The Clock?
Your “To-Do” lists are killing you.
Your goals give birth to ALL the stress, anxiety, and depression in your life.
Your dreams are destroying any chance of persona happiness.
It’s not your plans that get “executed,” it’s your future.
Wooohh. There, I’ve said it. I feel lighter, don’t you?
Released from the burden to perform on some future stage, we finally grasp what the poet Carl Sandburg meant when he penned “Hope is an echo. It bids you yonder, yonder, yonder,” what Sisyphus would feel like if his boulder was suddenly smashed and his uphill leveled.
Now, according to today’s overly caffeinated, exuberantly boisterous con artists, the snake oil salesmen—don’t want to be sexist, the snake oil saleswomen, ohh, the snake oil salesPEOPLE, don’t you feel better, more inclusive already—whatever title they go by, these philosophical drug dealers swear otherwise. They’re like parrots. “Goals, goals, goals, goals, goals….”
Masters of illusion and distraction, gurus of the bait and switch, experts in the carrot at the end of the stick trap, they’re all too ready to sell you a timeshare on the Hamster Wheel of Tomorrow, leasing agents for down the road shanties and shacks, slum lords hell bent on keeping you mesmerized, running the rat race propping up The Motivation Industrial Complex, the Self Help Syndicate, the Higher Consciousness Cartel, the Art of Manifestation Mob.
Cue the Scarecrow in Wizard of Oz…
I could while away the hours
Conferrin’ with all the flowers,
And my head I’d be a scratchin’
While my thoughts are busy hatchin’
I would not be just a muffin’,
With My head all full of stuffin’,
If I only had a brain.
Or to bring some Al Einstein into the brawl.
“Two things are infinite: the universe and human stupidity; and I’m not sure about the universe.”
It never ends. Like planes stacked up, circling, ready to land at O’Hare, Hartsfield-Jackson or LAX on a busy Friday afternoon, or after another, in an endless stream “flight attendants, prepare the cabin for arrival.” They’re like moths to a flame, oh, mosquitoes to a bug light, especially when there’s an open mic on stage or cellphone camera around.
Like a broken record. “Goals, goals, goals, goals, goals….”
Forget that both Ancient wisdom and modern science, tip of the spear neuroscience, how your brain actually ticks, the blood and guts protocol of your innate psychology, forget that cutting-edge, peer-reviewed studies have outed these charlatans, they keep yammering away with one cognitive cure, one attitudinal opiate, one medicinal tonic to help with your trauma.
Quick question. If you’re an expert on self-help, do you really need to write a dozen books or more on the topic? Any chance you might have nailed the secret, been a bit more succinct, boil it down maybe to a few pithy sayings, little less cognitive quicksand filling your pages?
Want a secret? Don’t get burned!
Now, I don’t want to go all “Land of the Lotus-eaters” on you, drop a healthy dose of Djerba Island in your lap.
That said, I already threw in Sisyphus, so time to go greek mythology on you once more.
Returning home to Ithaca from Troy, Odysseus and his crew bump into the Lotus-eaters, inhabitants hooked on the indigenous hallucinogens, and more than ready to share with their guests. Gobbling up the local goodies, bingeing one bite after another, the newly-addicted sailors, stripped of all concerns of time, duty, all focus on the needs of life in general, sloth about in forgetfulness and comfort.
No distractions, mesmerized by the narcotic properties of the tasty plant, all they’re looking for is to munch on some more and snugly recline and relax in the yummy haze. Void of all purpose in life, completely disregarding their roles, kicking back and chomping away. The only path they were forging was to the Lotus buffet table.
Well, well, well. Today’s lotus? A steady diet, a never ending supply of distraction. It’s all about tomorrow.
Drum roll, please.
How do we win? How do we beat these shysters once and for all? How about a healthy dose of truth?
Step 1. Trash your “To-Do” lists.
Step 2. Develop a personal Code of Conduct. Goals to the trash bin. Your Code front and center.
Step 3. Make an oath that you will greet every moment in time on its own terms. No haze. Just reality.
Step 4. Ask yourself, “What can I do, right now, for the next 20 minutes, to crack the Moments code, to solve the cipher of RIGHT NOW?”
Step 5. Do whatever the blending of your personal code and the moment’s code suggests. Listen to your gut, your instinct, your still, small voice and do THAT! (Aka Magnify The Moment)
Tempered by the moment at hand, forged in THIS instant in all of time, you own the clock.
How about one more dash—the perfect ingredient to throw into the mix—of Albert?
“Put your hand on a stove for a minute and it seems like an hour. Sit with that special girl for an hour and it seems like a minute. That’s relativity.”
If it’s good enough for the Universe, it’s good enough for you and me.
Your brain’s innate protocol is to Own the Clock.
Your neuroanatomy is perfectly crafted to Magnify The Moment!
Your Neural Savvy is a built-in, permanent processing feature of your mind.
So, do your mind a favor!
The 20 Minute Victory is how we win!