The myth of indispensability
As many readers of these pages will know, I have recently returned to the fray after 3 months’ of sabbatical. For mind, body and soul the exercise of ‘re-calibrating the clock’ has been enormously beneficial. It has allowed time for physical and spiritual replenishment, and given the mind free space. Like a dog let off the leash in the park, it has been able to run to the distant horizon without being called back, push its nose down every interesting hole, and roll on its back looking up at the sky.
Of course, time came to return to work, and the old rhythms are returning. They have been helped on their way by emails such as the one which said ‘I know you are not back from sabbatical yet but…‘ and the person who greeted me (ironically, I hope) after 3 months with the words ‘I gather you have resolved not to do any work’. However, it would be a shame to allow such things too much sway. A minister with too little time to think is a minister with too little time, I think.
Ruminating on some of this earlier, a contact on Twitter pointed me in the direction of an article in The Economist entitled ‘in praise of laziness’. I commend it to to you all, but here are some choice quotes to whet your appetite:
- ‘One of the secrets of productivity is to have a very big waste paper basket’
- ‘Before we schedule ourselves to death’
- ‘Creative people’s most important resource is their time’
Read on for more, if you think you have time!
Of course, the minister’s role is not just that of a creative person. They are also a carer, a strategist, a teacher, and often a manager. All these roles, though, benefit from a diary with room to breathe. The trouble is, we are often driven by other people’s impression of us. Worried that they might not see or appreciate the value of our hidden work, we fill each remaining moment with visible activity in order to justify our role. Who gains from that, I wonder?
Sometimes activity of itself can be an unsatisfying thing. When I was in Germany at the start of my sabbatical, I ordered a cup of what was billed as ‘mountain tea’. I had anticipated a cup of full-flavoured tea with a peaty flavor and a hint of mountain freshness to revive a footsore tourist. What I got was more like a weed in a cup of tepid water. What’s in your cup today?
