The summer of 2016 was the first (and only?) time I experienced total time autonomy. I had several glorious months of time freedom in the liminal space between studenthood and adulthood (in between applying for jobs, of course). Looking back, I was far too naïve to realize what a precious gift that was (isn’t that how it always goes?).
I lived with my now-husband (he graduated with a full-time job), so I took on most of our household duties. I wrapped my days in barre classes, chores, and creative work. I planned “get employed” sessions where I’d sit at our kitchen counter for hours, filling out job applications. And I was much better at meal planning than in any other season in my life thus far.
One of my favorite rituals was rinsing and chopping our fruits and vegetables as soon as I got home from the store, then portioning them into small Tupperware containers for easy snacking throughout the week. I loved it. Chalk it up to the dopamine hit of feeling productive while unemployed, the increased positive mental state of loving any task so long as you get to choose it, the satisfaction of eating produce without having to rinse and cut it every time, or a combination, but I loved it.
And at some point, the ritual dissipated as my schedule (and life) changed.
Recently, I’ve thought about seasons I look back on fondly and what exactly I loved about them. Last week, while filling our grocery cart, I thought, “Why did I ever stop my produce preparation ritual?!” So I committed to finding out whether nostalgia has overblown my enjoyment or whether it still offered the rewarding feeling I’ve clung to.
Luckily, it’s the latter. It’s a tiny time ritual I still know and love, 10 years later.
Tiny time rituals, as I’m defining them, contain two parts: (1) you enjoy the activity in the moment and (2) your time investment benefits a future version of you.
You invest time now and feel the reward both now and later. Some routines fit this bill, but I often find that many of my actual routines lose their luster. Tiny time rituals don’t. If you only feel good about it while you're doing it, that's a treat. If you only feel good about it after, that's a chore. A tiny time ritual is rare and falls between the two, clearing both bars.
Perhaps one of the keys to a wholly intentional life is building our own collections of tiny time rituals that we can carry forward into each new best version of ourselves.
What are your tiny time rituals?
One Thing Better: What Are You Actually Working For? by Jason Feifer
What happens when you stop being small on My Sweet Dumb Brain by Katie Hawkins-Gaar
How Not To Become an Asshole: Do Real Things in the Real World by Brad Stulberg
Abandon the Script: The Friction You’re Paying For by Emily Kyle
Maybe that was the trick to life: to notice all the tiny moments in the day when everything else fell away and, for a split second, or maybe even a few seconds, you had no worries, only pleasure, only appreciation of what was right in front of you.
I’m Alyssa Towns, and this is TIME INTENTIONAL, a newsletter exploring what it means to spend our limited (and precious) time intentionally in honor of Janet, Dale, and John.
Read more about the meaning and memories behind each section of the newsletter!
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