Reflecting

A birthday is perhaps the most appropriate time to reflect on time passed. It invites thought about a year of one’s life in its entirety, and comparison of that year to others. It can allow a deeper understanding of how we’re spending the only thing we really have—time—and whether we’re spending it the way we want to be.

But to reflect on a year of life is no easy task, and it is made more difficult by the reality that more recent events take on larger significance in the mind’s eye. Those events that happened 364 days ago may well have been the more consequential, but those that happened yesterday bear greater significance in how we’re immediately living life today.

The challenge is to attempt, as best one can, to get rid of the importance adjustments our minds make, and assess the events of a year without the effects of presentism. The only way I know to do this is through keeping a diary every day of the year.

A diary removes the presentist bias by showing what we thought of things as they occurred, and how we judged their importance at the time. It treats every day as equal, but allowed us at the time to make judgements of importance. When reading back over a year on a certain day, like a birthday, one can then see events as they were and how they affected one at the time.

A birthday can become hard work. Looking back over 365 days takes time, and especially when it comes to the reality of your life, it takes energy. But it’s a necessary excuse to take that time, and to spend that energy, to look back on how we’re spending our days.

For if how we spend our days is how we live our lives, and we wish to reflect on how we’re living our lives, we better record how we spend our days, and at some point we better make some sense of all that time.

The irony is that the presentist bias may be precisely what gets in the way of keeping a diary, by telling us that today is just too busy, or too important, or something or other, and that’s why we can’t write about it. Reflection takes time, every single day.

How We Start Our Days is How We Start Our Lives

I’ll admit I hadn’t heard of Annie Dillard before I came across a quotation of hers. Yet as some quotations seem inexplicably to do, hers bowled me over; made me freeze at the full stop, made me stare out the window at nothing in particular and caused that wonderful zooming-out of perspective that I often think is three-quarters of the reason why I read.

The quotation said, simply and nonchalantly, “How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives.”

Of course! Of course how we spend our days is how we live our lives. Without the “of course” the quotation may not have struck as it did; the “of course” pats us on the back and says, it’s okay, you knew this deep down, but it took a writer to bring it to the surface; don’t take it personally that you’d forgotten about it all these years. Dillard wrote this line in her book The Writing Life, which is a reflection on writers and writing, and which seems the only appropriate place for a line like that to be written.

Of all the people I’ve met, writers seem to be those who daily live the idea. Pico Iyer has embodied the idea for me; he need not say the words, for how he structures his days all points to that larger knowledge that it is these parts that determine the whole.

To structure a life at the outset is an impossible task. I was once in North Carolina on a cycling trip with the Yale Cycling Team, and we were to scale Mt Mitchell, the “highest peak east of the Mississippi”. From our small cabin we could see the mountain stretching upwards interminably, the peak, however, always obscured in a misty cloud. One’s mind could not at once comprehend climbing the entire mountain; once we began, it was only possible by breaking the hours-long climb into each visible stretch of road. I only needed to make it to the next bend in the road, beyond which I could not see, and once I made it there, I could make it to the next bend, and do this enough times and I’d reach the peak.

It is a pleasurable thought that for most of us, our lives are already broken into these neat, short stretches of road. We need only decide how to live today, and then decide tomorrow, and through these individual decisions we will live a life. It reduces the overwhelming. It breaks up lifelong commitments into daily reaffirmations, which seem certainly feasible.

And if, out of respect for Dillard’s masterstroke, even at risk of butchering it, I could offer a slight tweak to her formulation, to break those individual days down into even more manageable parts, it would be this: how we start our days is how we start our lives.

Focus on the start of each day. Get it right, do something you’re proud of in the first hour, and, slowly but surely, you’ll find life itself becomes something you’re proud of.