I had an enlightening conversation a few weeks ago with one of my artist friends. Both of us, well into retirement, are finding it harder to make time for our art than we did when we were working. How could that be? As we talked about it, we realized that the demands of our teaching jobs were so great that we needed to be very purposeful about carving out time for our art, which was not connected to our jobs. That kind of planning for set-aside time seemed unnecessary when the huge expanse of former work-time opened up in retirement. But it hasn’t worked out that way. What has been keeping me out of the studio? I know that it’s key to get to my studio in the morning (the best time of the day for me), but I also like to be at the computer first thing, to set up my schedule for the day and get to rid of any e-mails that need a quick response. But once at my computer, it's very hard to avoid following one link or another, reading the NYTimes, etc., and the first thing I know it's noon. . . I recently figured out a few things that are helping me get more studio time into my day:
1) I have switched that initial computer time to before I go downstairs for breakfast. Because I'm eager to get down to the kitchen to have my daily latte and something to eat, this has been very effective at keeping me to the truly essential stuff that I need to get out of the way. Then when I go back upstairs, I go directly into the studio. I've been staying there for as much as four hours, with a break for lunch. Then in mid-afternoon, I go back to the computer in my office, to look at accumulated e-mail and to do assorted desk tasks. I like how this is working out so far. Sometimes appointments or other responsibilities take up some of the allotted studio time, but whenever I get even just a couple of hours a day in the studio, it’s a good day!
2) As I started with this new routine, I realized that there was some computer work that is central to my art, e.g. note-taking/planning for my art work and also writing blog posts. I've always done this work at the desk-top computer in my office, but amidst the lists of other tasks, which usually need to be done by a certain time. Even when I do start on a blog post, I'm sitting in the midst of my desk environment, and it's easy to get distracted by other stuff that "needs" to get done. In the middle of studio time on one of the early days of my new schedule, I needed to do some writing, but dreaded going into the office to use the computer. Brainstorm! I could bring upstairs to the studio the laptop that has lived on the first floor, where I rarely use it. So here I am now, writing a blog post on my laptop, which now lives on the cutting table in my studio. I am surprised--and pleased--by how different it feels—that I’m doing creative work rather than "required" tasks. It’s a small change (just changing the location of a computer), but it is having a big impact.
3) I’ve started setting an alarm to wake up in the morning, for 7-1/2 hours of sleep from when I turn out the light, which is an ample amount of sleep for me. One of the joys of retirement has been not having to set an alarm every weekday morning. But if I sleep an extra hour or more in the morning, that’s time lost from my most productive time of the day. So as part of re-claiming morning time for my art, I’m setting the alarm. This too is working well.
Claiming time for my art has a new urgency for me. Over the course of the last year or so, I’ve slowly realized that I’m in a different stage of life than I was in the earlier years of my retirement. From the deaths and illnesses among friends, family, and acquaintances, I’ve become more aware that my own time is limited too. Perhaps another ten good, productive years? Yes, it could be more or less than that, but it feels very different from the 20+ years I could expect when I retired thirteen years ago. Not that I thought of it that way in 2012—instead I just felt an enormous sense of an open future with many possibilities ahead. But now I’m conscious of having entered a new stage of life--old age. Before now, my image of old age was of people who looked really old (always relative of course) and who were significantly limited physically, not a description I fit into. But now I understand old age as a stage of life unrelated to physical characteristics. For me, it’s the stage in which it makes sense to keep in mind the preciousness of whatever time I have left, and to use that time well. Understanding this has led me to the opposite of anxiety about steadily diminishing time--to a commitment to let go of things that are not so important to me (or that can be turned over to others) and to focus on the things that give me contentment and fulfillment: being with family and friends, making art, contributing to the lives of others.
As I write about this, I remember these words from Psalm 90:12: “Teach us to number our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom.” Yes.
