Am I using my time well?
Writing poetry poorly, or mediocre at best,
with no commercial merit to the words I write,
not a side hustle with profit in mind, but out of
genuine pleasure in putting words to page,
to hold my pencil lightly in my fingers,
to look down on a blank notebook page,
and to whisper to my muse,
I am ready.
Am I using my time well?
Hiking a long loop through ponderosa pine forest,
over rocks and roots, ascending a steep landscape,
slipping on scree slopes, driving poles into soil
to pull myself up, demanding my body exert itself;
or starting at a trailhead, hiking out, to a peak or a lake
or a vista, returning to the trailhead, when clearly
the most efficient way of getting from point A to point A
is to have never left at all.
Am I using my time well?
To immerse myself in a novel or a book of non-fiction,
to lose all track of time, to forget to eat my lunch,
not reading to better myself, or to become more productive,
or to earn more money, or to attain more likes,
but to converse with the living and the dead,
debate their ideas as if we are enjoying a coffee together.
Am I using my time well?
Playing bridge and drinking wine with friends,
laughing at some quip, being present and listening,
with no advantage to my economic productivity and performance.
But isn’t this the point?
Isn’t this what I hoped work would lead to?
Leisure?
True leisure?
For me to be able to use my time unproductively,
to follow where my curiosity leads me,
to experience the joy of fellowship,
to lose myself in my hobbies, only for contentment?
I must answer yes.
Yes, I am using my time well.
