This is an excerpt from one the books I am writing, Robotic Confessions.
One of the characters go sees his therapist to find out where his time goes? He swears he is very productive with his time but just can’t seem to figure out where it is all going.
His therapist, who has shoulder mid-length hair, and always seems to be in a good mood, lends her ear.
“I am not really complaining,” he says after their small talk. “I just need to know where my time goes.”
Client’s cup of tea
He takes a sip of his tea, provided by courtesy of the office.
The client states a few casual observations and then says, well, I got sent here because my cohort says I am always saying, “I have no time.”
He is talking less now, eying her.
His conversation continues about who was responsible for sending him and talks a little about his issues.
After 30 minutes have passed.
“If you are ready for help, I can give you some homework.”
“Homework?” he says. He never liked homework but reluctantly agrees to it, knowing there was not an alternative.
“By our next session, jot down a list of what you do and compare with what you actually do?
The title of his homework, he called it, “Where does my time go? “
He kept an eye on his time for a whole week and finally got down to work and created the list.
A summary of where does my time go?
“My 24-hour time bank. This list makes up my tasks and whereabouts during the weekday, which is what I wanted to capture. My weekends are usually busy running chores.”
| what I like to do | what I actually do |
| meditate in the morning | blast the music and surf on the phone |
| walk to places | rely on modern transportation services to surf on my phone |
| eat right for one meal | eat whatever I see |
| go to work | work |
| read an hour of a book a day | hooked on all visual media, mostly what is closest to me, and that is my phone |
| Do fun activity a day | surf on my phone |
| sleep eight hours a day | surf on my phone when I get up and before I got to bed, and when I get an alert |
A WEEK LATER
The client gives her the list.
The therapist glances at it.
“Hmm!” she says. “Based on what you stated, I must ask, are you enjoying what you are actually doing vs. what you think you would like to do?”
He ponders. Why didn’t he ask that question to himself and then struggles to give her a reply?
For twenty minutes straight, he stares at her, then at the floor, really thinking about it. Another twenty minutes have passed, he looks at his watch. They are both quiet.
Ok, time was running up. Still no comment from him.
“Well, it looks like we have more homework to do.” she says.