Show Notes
Important or urgent
Sometimes, like right now, I feel overwhelmed. I'm racing a deadline for finishing this book. But I've got a million and one other things to do and loads of people clamouring for my time (see the previous chapter about busy-boasting…).
I came to my shed this morning determined to make inroads into some chapter edits. But then I discovered my website had been hacked and required immediate attention. I responded calmly and maturely by yelling, 'Agggghhhh!' at the top of my voice. This is one of the many advantages of working in an isolated shed.
But life is always like this, isn't it? Unless you're living an Instagram existence of hygge, feng shui, green smoothies and yoga poses, then your reality probably involves running for buses, drowning in emails and a bewildered astonishment at how fast the year is flying by.
It helps if you can separate what is urgent from what is important. Superficially the two words are similar but extrapolate your life a few decades, and they lead to very different destinations. Urgent shouts more loudly than Important. But Important is, well, important…
When I reached a similar crunch point writing my last book, it needed drastic action to escape from the urgent and focus on the important. I took myself and my manuscript off to a mountain hut in the Lake District where there would be no phone signal, no clock and no demands on my time.
It was a foggy winter day, but I was soon sweating as I hiked up into the hills. I had a grid reference for the hut's position, but I was a little anxious about finding it in the mist. It is an old miners' shelter, built of grey slate, lying low to the ground on a rocky hillside. I did not spot the building until I was about a hundred metres away from it. I grinned with relief.
I pushed open the low, unlocked wooden door. Inside it was cold and dark. I dumped my pack on the stone sleeping platform under the solitary window and rummaged for a candle. The bothy was basic but beautiful and perfect for focusing on what was important. I lit a fire in the wood burner then fetched water from a nearby stream to make coffee. I pulled on a woolly hat and took out my pens and papers. It was time to write.
All of a sudden, 24 hours expanded into an abundance. There were more hours available than I could possibly concentrate for. I could clear my brain either by jumping into a deep, cold waterfall or hiking up the hill behind the bothy. I woke when my body told me to wake up, relit the fire, ate breakfast, then worked solidly on my book until I needed a break. Sometimes, I stared out of the little window down the valley towards a distant lake. In three days, I made a month's progress on the book.
Heading for the mountains with a rucksack and a back-breaking pile of firewood is perhaps a drastic option. You may not need to go that far if you do some ruthless differentiating between the urgent demands and what is actually important.
On the first Tuesday of every month, my calendar pings a reminder at me. That's standard, of course: my life is ruled by a crowded calendar (because I am the King of Busy). But this is one ping that I always enjoy. Indeed, the busier I am, the more I appreciate the interruption. And that is because my calendar tells me to 'Climb a Tree'. It reminds me to step away from the aimless conference calls and the interruptions and spend 20 minutes doing something which I will never regret.
It is a pleasant way to measure and notice the seasons as well as to reflect on my past month and contemplate what might lie ahead.
I hope that I never deem myself too busy with urgent tasks to do something as important as climbing a tree.
OVER TO YOU:
1. When did you last climb a tree?
2. Do a brain dump of everything in your head, from your life goals to the weekly To-Do list. It will help clarify what you should prioritise and what's best to delegate or delete.
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What is The Doorstep Mile?
Would you like a more adventurous life?
Are you being held back by a lack of time or money? By fear, indecision, or a feeling of being selfish or an imposter?
Living adventurously is not about cycling around the world or rowing across an ocean.
Living adventurously is about the attitude you choose each day. It instils an enthusiasm to resurrect the boldness and curiosity that many of us lose as adults.
Whether at work or home, taking the first step to begin a new venture is daunting. If you dream of a big adventure, begin with a microadventure.
This is the Doorstep Mile, the hardest part of every journey.
The Doorstep Mile will reveal why you want to change direction, what’s stopping you, and how to build an adventurous spirit into your busy daily life.
Dream big, but start small.
Don’t yearn for the adventure of a lifetime. Begin a lifetime of living adventurously.
What would your future self advise you to do?
What would you do if you could not fail?
Is your to-do list urgent or important?
You will never simultaneously have enough time, money and mojo.
There are opportunities for adventure in your daily 5-to-9.
The hardest challenge is getting out the front door and beginning: the Doorstep Mile.
Alastair Humphreys, a National Geographic Adventurer of the Year, cycled around the world for four years but also schedules a monthly tree climb. He has crossed the Empty Quarter desert, rowed the Atlantic, walked a lap of the M25 and busked through Spain, despite being unable to play the violin.
‘The gospel of short, perspective-shifting bursts of travel closer to home.’ New York Times
‘A life-long adventurer.’ Financial Times
‘Upend your boring routine… it doesn't take much.’ Outside Magazine
Visit www.alastairhumphreys.com to listen to Alastair's podcast, sign up to his newsletter or read his other books.
@al_humphreys