Productivity, Time, and Purpose

Productivity vs. Creativity, Temporal Phenomenon, Spring to Life, Ikigai, What’s Left Behind

I.

Productivity vs. Creativity 

Why is it that creative people find it so hard to be productive, and productive people find it so hard to be creative? I consider myself both, but not necessarily at the same time.

While I can get creative things done, like these 5 Big Ideas, I often find myself staring at a blank screen for days before the right words materialize and I write them down. Such a process would be deemed unacceptable in a corporate environment. Every minute is one that could be spent producing more widgets, and every minute counts. There is no time to stare at a blank document. And certainly no time to think. Thinking can be done at home, on your own time. Not the company’s time.

Consequently, corporate workers continue to pump out more productivity, often at the expense of their creativity. And then they wonder why they feel so burnt out. It’s because, while they’re technically being “productive,” the things they’re producing are drab. Emails, Slack messages, Zoom meetings, reports, data entry, program updates, etc, are not creative things; they’re administrative things. And that’s what corporate workers spend the majority of their time doing.

Imagine if companies prioritized hiring people for creative tasks and actually allotted adequate time to complete such tasks. For instance, a company might hire an automotive designer tasked with producing an ingenious design for the Virtualvan—her company’s answer to the Tesla Cybertruck. Over many months, the designer would dedicate herself to one creative project (and spend countless hours staring at a blank canvas) while neglecting unnecessary emails and declining meeting invites.

However, in today's corporate environment, the designer’s colleague may label her as “unproductive” for not responding to every email and attending each weekly meeting. While the designer completed only one patentable design over several months, her colleague sent 1,906 IMs, drafted 874 emails, attended 139 Zoom meetings, and prepared 25 reports. Technically, the colleague was more productive. But did all that productivity produce anything of real value?

II.

Temporal Phenomenon

This Big Idea draws inspiration from Joe Zadeh’s article The Tyranny of Time in Noema Magazine.

Clocks slay time... time is dead as long as it is being clicked off by little wheels; only when the clock stops does time come to life.

William Faulkner, The Sound and the Fury

Productivity is inherently tied to the concept of time. However, the way we measure time is not an accurate reflection of its true nature. Clock time is a human invention that has been, and continues to be, reshaped to suit social and political purposes.

One of the earliest instances of coordinated clock time dates back to the mid-19th century in London, when public clocks synchronized with Greenwich Mean Time (GMT) so that railway lines could have standardized timetables. “Railway time,” as it was called, was initially a commercial decision to help rail companies manage routes and sell more tickets… and it worked. But, in a way, this decision led to the commodification of time itself, as capitalists seized the opportunity to pay employees by the hour rather than daily or after completing a specified project.

As the perception of time evolved, human worth became intertwined with hourly productivity—regardless of the quality of workmanship. Not only is time viewed as a commodity to be spent; it’s also perceived as something that can be wasted. The fear of wasted time often hinders creative pursuits, as these endeavors require significant time investment, and their outcome is uncertain. Creativity is a divine, yet labor-intensive, process and it is utterly unaware of the ticking of a clock. And, sometimes, it consists of staring at a blank canvas for hours on end.

But when our creative works are finally complete, they somehow transcend the time it took to complete them. Perhaps that’s because they’re timeless.

III.   

Spring to Life

I once came across an article that proposed setting New Year’s Resolutions in the spring rather than mid-winter. The rationale was that spring days are more conducive to forming good habits. For instance, if you set a resolution to walk the dog outside at least four days a week, it’s much easier to start this new habit in the spring—when the days are longer and outside temps are more tolerable—than in the middle of the darkest, coldest season of the year. 

Nature follows seasonal patterns. Trees and bears go dormant in the winter, and they spring to life come March. In spring, trees burst forth with their cherry blossom, magnolia, lilac, forsythia, and plum. While bears emerge from their slumber—hungry, ready to mate, and with new cubs. (Note to self: avoid bears in spring.)  

Humans, too, are natural beings influenced by the changing seasons. Our circannual rhythms change as the seasons do, altering our mood, behavior, and hormones. During winter, folks in temperate regions find themselves wanting to curl up on the couch with a heated blanket and a good book, not walking outside in the snow, starting a new project in the wee morning hours, or staying late after work. 

Unlike winter, spring is a season of renewal and growth. It’s an opportune time to set a new goal or resolution. And it’s an even better time to reevaluate who you want to be in the world. Are you living up to your potential? What exactly is your potential? I reckon it’s the perfect season to begin figuring that out. 

Snowy walks with Cooper. This didn’t last long.

IV.   

Ikigai

The purpose of life is to discover your gift.

The work of life is to develop it.

The meaning of life is to give your gift away.

David Viscott, Finding Your Strength in Difficult Times

Social media self-help gurus frequently post diagrams like this one. Then they say, “to live your best life, you must find your ikigai (i.e., your reason for being) in the middle.”

I’ve experimented with various cognitive exercises like this one and, for the most part, all they did was reaffirm the path that I was already treading (i.e., the wrong path). Upon completing the exercise, I would generate numerous “job-title ikigais” for which I believed I was qualified. For instance, at one point, I thought my ikigai was to become a VP of Sustainability at [Big, Important Company]. However, if I were honest with myself, I didn’t actually love this choice, nor did I consider myself to be the best at it, nor did I think the world needed it. Having previously worked with corporate sustainability teams, I know their focus leans more toward public relations than doing good in the world. And I’m more interested in the latter.

Nevertheless, one thing was clear: I knew I could get paid for this ikigai. So, I truthfully acknowledged one of the four requirements while my mind tricked me into believing in the other three. It’s tough to be honest with ourselves when money is involved. Our desire for wealth and status, driven by our ego and superego, often compels the rational mind to justify decisions that align with our ego’s desires rather than our own. We trick ourselves into believing that we love something when we really don’t, we think we’re the best at something when we know we’re not, and we believe that the world needs something that we know it doesn’t.

In my experience, discovering your calling (or ikigai) is less of a rational exercise and more of an intuitive one. The calling emerges from your subconscious, and it isn’t always as desirable as the myriad options provided by the mind. Instead, what surfaces is something that’s unique to you—the thing that you were designed to do. It fits all the criteria for this ikigai exercise without the mental deception. And we know that our calling is ours because we feel its potency deep in our gut. To believe in our calling and our capabilities, we must have faith. If our fears are stronger than our faith, we’re inclined to bury our calling and succumb to the multitude of thoughts swirling around in our minds. But these thoughts seldom provide lasting satisfaction. And we change our minds all the time.

What doesn’t change is that gut feeling.  

V.   

What’s Left Behind

Art is the signature of civilizations.

Attributed to Beverly Sills

When we die, it’s not our productivity that leaves a legacy; it’s our creativity. Centuries from now, future generations won’t marvel at the volume of emails and widgets we produce; they’ll be captivated by our creative achievements. They’ll be astonished by the philosophy, architecture, engineering, literature, art, and technology that define our era.

The most awe-inspiring wonders of ancient civilizations don’t stem from the productivity of their merchants and shopkeepers. We couldn’t care less about how many textiles and spices they sold on any given day. What truly fascinates us about civilizations like the Roman Empire is the extraordinary creativity that flourished during that time. When we travel to Rome, we make sure to visit the Colosseum, Pantheon, and the ancient Roman Aqueducts. We delve into literary masterpieces like The Aeneid by Virgil, The Metamorphoses by Ovid, and Meditations by Marcus Aurelius. And we admire Roman mosaic art, sarcophagi, and cameos in the finest museums.

When faced with the choice between productivity and creativity, I suggest prioritizing the thing that will be most remembered. Productivity is fleeting, but creativity can last many lifetimes.

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