![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
elfsI mentioned the Dalton Conley interview at Salon earlier today in the context of his quote about how we're effectively a polygamous society. I found it because Andrew Sullivan quoted it to add that all that was fine but snark about how gay marriage would destroy America.
Conley has much more to say in that interview, one of which has struck me throughout the day. He points out that knowledge workers are not limited by deliveries, resources, or materials on hand. Even in the past, office workers had to stop when they got home because the office materials were still at the office. "Bringing your work home" was a momentous event-- or an ominous one-- that often involved a heavy briefcase with files and books.
Parkinson's Law was first formulated by Major C. Northcote Parkinson, who worked in an administrative position in England during World War 2. He dealt with an unending stream of daily paperwork from on high to on low and vice versa, always just at the breaking point. One week, all three men above the Major are suddenly missing: one goes on leave, another becomes violently ill, and the third is called north on urgent business. The flood of paper ceased, and yet both the base operations and the entire war continued without pause. Major Parkinson later said, "There had never been anything to do. We'd just been making work for each other." He then went on to famously write Parkinson's First Law: Work expands so as to fill the time available for its completion.
Putting Conley and Parkinson together, I realized that my life, at least, is a recipie for exhaustion and depression. If work is always available, if there are no hard limits on what I can do, then "work" (which as Parkinson wryly notes does not add up to accomplishment) can easily expand to fill every waking moment.
I have struggled most of my life with an oppresive form of ADHD, an annoying combination of distractablity and a pressing, urgent, and constant wish to feel "informed." I am not informed, however; often I am merely reguritant. I am distracted by this comforting infobulimia from other pressing responsibilities that are not "work" but are life, like connecting with friends and taking care of my family.
This isn't news. I've written about this before. Sometimes, when the habit gets bad, I simply write one of these to remind myself that the tools are at hand, the to-do list with a thoughtful list of concrete accomplishments, not merely tasks, separated into two very important categories: my job, and my life, and never the twain shall overlap.
Conley has much more to say in that interview, one of which has struck me throughout the day. He points out that knowledge workers are not limited by deliveries, resources, or materials on hand. Even in the past, office workers had to stop when they got home because the office materials were still at the office. "Bringing your work home" was a momentous event-- or an ominous one-- that often involved a heavy briefcase with files and books.
Parkinson's Law was first formulated by Major C. Northcote Parkinson, who worked in an administrative position in England during World War 2. He dealt with an unending stream of daily paperwork from on high to on low and vice versa, always just at the breaking point. One week, all three men above the Major are suddenly missing: one goes on leave, another becomes violently ill, and the third is called north on urgent business. The flood of paper ceased, and yet both the base operations and the entire war continued without pause. Major Parkinson later said, "There had never been anything to do. We'd just been making work for each other." He then went on to famously write Parkinson's First Law: Work expands so as to fill the time available for its completion.
Putting Conley and Parkinson together, I realized that my life, at least, is a recipie for exhaustion and depression. If work is always available, if there are no hard limits on what I can do, then "work" (which as Parkinson wryly notes does not add up to accomplishment) can easily expand to fill every waking moment.
I have struggled most of my life with an oppresive form of ADHD, an annoying combination of distractablity and a pressing, urgent, and constant wish to feel "informed." I am not informed, however; often I am merely reguritant. I am distracted by this comforting infobulimia from other pressing responsibilities that are not "work" but are life, like connecting with friends and taking care of my family.
This isn't news. I've written about this before. Sometimes, when the habit gets bad, I simply write one of these to remind myself that the tools are at hand, the to-do list with a thoughtful list of concrete accomplishments, not merely tasks, separated into two very important categories: my job, and my life, and never the twain shall overlap.
