Taking Back the Calendar
Last summer, I saw Harry Potter for the first time. I know, crazy. I’m late to the game.
There’s a scene in The Sorcerer’s Stone in which Harry is trying to save the day by defeating a giant green troll. After Ron knocks the troll out, it starts to fall, and Harry, sprawled on the ground, starts scuttling backwards to avoid being crushed. Spoiler alert — Harry gets away just fine.
During my first year at the GSB, I often felt like Harry in this scene — in quick retreat of a big ugly thing that threatened to crash down on top of me. That thing was not, in fact, a booger-laden, knobby-kneed, towering troll. No. It was my Google Calendar.
I filled out my weeks like a New York Times crossword puzzle: across and down, across and down — my life parceled away in neat teal squares.
As an MBA1, I constantly found myself backpedaling, letting my calendar dictate my behavior. My days were planned to the minute, weeks in advance. Half the time, the calendar pulled wizardry of its own — automatically populating classes, events, and social gatherings. I filled out my weeks like a New York Times crossword puzzle: across and down, across and down — my life parceled away in neat teal squares — and I felt the pinch.
Last year, I told an old friend that I had time to chat on the phone — “from 5 to 6pm next Thursday.” His response? “Thanks for penciling me in.” His sarcasm stung — because he was right.
Was I on the fast track to scheduling in “Feed the Kids”?
Last year, I had to create blocks of “free time” to ensure I had space to take care of non-GSB tasks. “Personal Admin,” I’ve heard it called. I was carving out space in my calendar for myself, which begged the question: who exactly was in the driver’s seat? Me, or my calendar? Further, for what was I preparing myself? Was I on the fast track to scheduling in “Feed the Kids”? As ridiculous as that sounds, is it that much crazier than blocking off “Respond to Emails” or “Work Out”? I don’t think so. There’s something too robotic, too planned, and too non-human about creating a life-script of this sort. The goal becomes completing and checking off the task, instead of enjoying the task itself.
I’ve seen enough high school yearbook pages to know that life moves pretty fast. That if you don’t stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it. (Save Ferris.) What did I miss last year? I will never know. But it’s clear that focusing on getting from calendar point A to calendar point B, without paying attention to or finding time for the bits in between, left me unappreciative of the larger, more important things. My calendar was a troll, and for the majority of my MBA1 year, I lacked the control and agency to steer it.
I’m not going to plan to call my friend back — I’ll just do it.
So here’s my solution in 2017: this year, I won’t prioritize what is urgent, but instead, what is important. This year, I’m taking back the calendar — descheduling and allowing for spontaneity. I’m not going to plan coffee chats three weeks in advance. I’m not going to plan to call my friend back — I’ll just do it. Last year, at night, after classes, I’d look at my calendar, empty from 7 to 10pm, and get nervous because I wasn’t maximizing my time. This year, I’ll just see where that open space takes me.
In my uncluttered time, I might bump into a classmate in Town Square and have the best conversation I’ve had all year. Perhaps I’ll go for an unscheduled run with a friend who’ll ask me a question that will rock my universe for weeks. Maybe I’ll just take 30 minutes, on a whim, to call someone outside the GSB right back, which may make all the difference in that relationship.
Now, back to the first Harry Potter movie. If that troll had fallen on Harry, it would have been a pretty crappy way to end the series. Don’t let your calendar fall on you. We can’t map out the future, nor can we expect the spontaneous to always be fulfilling. But we can at least leave ourselves — and our calendars — open.
