In the utilitarianist's gospel, we find that time equals money. In the search for optimization, economic theory creates a culture of squeezing out every ounce of productivity and ensuring that nothing goes to waste (unless this wastage is strategic). There is a very seductive aspect to this, which leads us to believe that our personal lives should be led the same way—not just our professional attitudes. Issues arise, however, when the very act of questioning this position is considered time wasted.

It is not without cause that we find the most extravagant displays of rage upon the cancellation of flights. The just-now-excited holidaygoer may turn hulkish in a split second. Out of the 72 hours of holiday left, now there'll be only 64. Of course, that would induce anger—this holiday required a lot of effort and money. However, when every activity is weighed against its "value," life becomes a series of transactions. Even moments of rest, creativity, and connection risk being reduced to their measurable outcomes. Did I network enough at that event? Was this outing worth the expense? Am I "maximizing" my weekend? Thus, the canceled flight finds equivalency with being robbed of said time and effort.

Ironically, this obsession with efficiency often backfires. In trying to savor everything, we savor nothing but the obsession itself. The limited time we have to meet our professional goals, maintain relationships, and pursue our passions turns the possibility of enjoying the ride into a source of anxiety. Life starts to feel like a checklist rather than an experience. No wonder our digital planners have never been more in use.

To see one's life as a spreadsheet where the main goal is to have a positive number at the end is a dangerous game. What good could there be in all of those instances individually, independent of what they would sum to at the end? The pressure to make every moment count can feel suffocating, leaving little room for spontaneity, passion, or genuine enjoyment.

It takes courage to give away some precious time. The big difference here is that when time is given in seeking better health—be it physical or otherwise—it usually comes back. With interest.

In the utilitarianist's gospel, we find that time equals money. In the search for optimization, economic theory creates a culture of squeezing out every ounce of productivity and ensuring that nothing goes to waste (unless this wastage is strategic). There is a very seductive aspect to this, which leads us to believe that our personal lives should be led the same way—not just our professional attitudes. Issues arise, however, when the very act of questioning this position is considered time wasted.

It is not without cause that we find the most extravagant displays of rage upon the cancellation of flights. The just-now-excited holidaygoer may turn hulkish in a split second. Out of the 72 hours of holiday left, now there'll be only 64. Of course, that would induce anger—this holiday required a lot of effort and money. However, when every activity is weighed against its "value," life becomes a series of transactions. Even moments of rest, creativity, and connection risk being reduced to their measurable outcomes. Did I network enough at that event? Was this outing worth the expense? Am I "maximizing" my weekend? Thus, the canceled flight finds equivalency with being robbed of said time and effort.

Ironically, this obsession with efficiency often backfires. In trying to savor everything, we savor nothing but the obsession itself. The limited time we have to meet our professional goals, maintain relationships, and pursue our passions turns the possibility of enjoying the ride into a source of anxiety. Life starts to feel like a checklist rather than an experience. No wonder our digital planners have never been more in use.

To see one's life as a spreadsheet where the main goal is to have a positive number at the end is a dangerous game. What good could there be in all of those instances individually, independent of what they would sum to at the end? The pressure to make every moment count can feel suffocating, leaving little room for spontaneity, passion, or genuine enjoyment.

It takes courage to give away some precious time. The big difference here is that when time is given in seeking better health—be it physical or otherwise—it usually comes back. With interest.