The Last Word On Nothing

Last Tuesday, I finally finished sorting out two years’ worth of tax returns, stubbornly eschewing the accounting industry even as my receipts and special forms multiplied to fill the desk. I sealed the envelope then turned and opened up the Number 9 door on my Quentin Blake advent calendar.

The main illustration itself, adorned with glitter paint, is entitled “Snowman and his family” and it features an implausibly tall snowman and seven members of a scribbly family that most readers would associate with Roald Dahl stories.

Underneath Door Number Nine, I was met by a child standing on his head next to a frog, also standing on its head. On the inside of the door was written “16 days to go!” Until what, exactly? It was March 22^nd. But I saw the number and replaced the calendar against the wall with great satisfaction.

When one December my son scorned his pictorial advent calendar, having tasted the temptations of a chocolate calendar the year before, I was left with a spare calendar. Part of me thrilled to know that I could have my own, for when do those mystery doors really lose their appeal?

I enjoy a good to-do list as much as the next person, but there is a flaw in the democratic nature of a list. Each line is worth as much as the next, even if one task is to put the garbage out and the next is to write a heavily-researched 4,000-word article.

“I will open door number 1 when I have finished taking chapter-by-chapter notes on the book I’m meant to be reviewing,” said I to myself. And so I did, and on it went. Each task had to justify its place as one of twenty-four on the calendar, which after all cost my mother something like eight pounds sterling.

There are any number of productivity techniques, from the pomodoro timer that regiments your work into 25-minute increments with timed (and so, in my opinion, stressful) breaks, to David Allen’s GTD (getting things done) method. I don’t use these because I don’t really have much trouble doing my work.

I love my work, and my problem is that I am motivated to see a project through to the end not by the deadline but by the glittering promise of the next project that I get to do after this one is done. It can lead to a runaway treadmill, the feeling that I never enjoy a proper conclusion, and that all the work that matters lies before me and not behind.

An advent calendar is a classic delay of gratification ritual, and the little acknowledgement I give myself in opening a door lends a much-needed punctuation to my otherwise continuous workflow. I recommend it.

Image: c/o Shutterstock