'The time you enjoy wasting is not wasted time.’
Laurence J Peter

When I was young I had a brief fascination with yo-yos.

Loafing around the house or garden, I would focus intently on the repetitive, mesmerising motion - spooling and unspooling, winding and rewinding, over and over again. The world around me disappeared. Time stood still. Not understanding the physics, it all seemed rather magical.

Though mine was not a fancy yo-yo, I kept it as a constant companion. I learned how to make it ‘sleep’ – spinning at the end of its uncoiled string – and even endeavoured, unsuccessfully, to ‘walk the dog.’

Bored one summer, I decided to invent an evolution of the yo-yo: a device that had a more erratic, random movement. I imagined this would have a beguiling charm. For my prototype I tied a piece of string to a wooden cotton reel and bounced it up and down, revelling in its haphazard trajectory.

After a while I determined that my wayward yo-yo didn’t really work, and in fact made me look rather foolish. I’d been wasting my time…

'In his youth Albert Einstein spent a year loafing aimlessly. You don’t get anywhere by not ‘wasting’ time - something, unfortunately, that the parents of teenagers tend frequently to forget.'
Carlo Rovelli

I read recently in the FT (Tim Harford, ‘Why You Shouldn’t Strive,’ 15 December, 2022) about the distinction between telic and atelic projects established by philosopher Kieran Setiya ('Midlife: A Philosophical Guide').

Telos is the ancient Greek word for end or goal. Telic activities are those that have an objective in mind: distance run, mountain climbed, contract signed, promotion attained. Atelic activities have no specific objective. They tend to be pastimes we enjoy for themselves. Reading the paper, visiting a gallery, snoozing in the afternoon, or having a beer with My-Mate-Andy come to mind. We used to call these things hobbies.

It’s possible to engage with the same enterprise in a telic or atelic way. High achievers see most activities as a competition or challenge. They create aims and ambitions, lists and leagues whatever they’re up to. On the other hand, while sport is for the most part telic in character, my football team, the South Indies, generally played in an atelic fashion.

Setiya observes that telic projects can result in disappointment and dissatisfaction: the stress of striving; the frustration of failing; the hunger for another goal once a first has been achieved. There is a risk that an obsession with objectives can rid an activity of its inherent charms. One becomes more concerned with scores and measurement; with ticking a box or crossing off a list.

And so Setiya concludes that if we want to avoid a midlife crisis, then we should invest more heavily in atelic projects.

‘We can escape the self-destructive cycle of pursuit, resolution and renewal, of attainments archived or unachieved. The way out is to find sufficient value in atelic activities, activities that have no point of conclusion or limit, ones whose fulfilment lies in the moment of action itself.'
Kieran Setiya, 'Midlife: A Philosophical Guide'

Of course, you can argue this both ways. If you spend your youth only engaging in atelic projects, you’ll probably not achieve very much at all. Another route to a mid-life crisis.

Inevitably I suspect the answer resides somewhere in the middle: the path to contentment lies in striking a balance between telic and atelic undertakings: sometimes striving for attainment, pushing ourselves to perform; and sometimes merely passing the time, enjoying the distractions that the day affords us.

'Time isn't the main thing. It's the only thing.’
Miles Davis

I found myself wondering about telic and atelic projects in the world of work.

Work is necessarily a field of timesheets and targets, ambitions and accountability. Shouldn’t all professional activities be telic?

Actually I think it’s important that a Planner occasionally steps back from specific Client responsibilities and tasks - to take a look at social and industry change; to review competitive output; to learn of the latest technological innovations; to consider different ways of working. Such activities may not be particularly telic. But they serve to recharge our strategic batteries; to broaden our professional outlook; to refresh our enthusiasm and revive our appetite.

We all need to set aside time for Atelic Planning.

'If I had six hours to chop down a tree, I would spend the first four hours sharpening the axe.'
Abraham Lincoln

On reflection, I’m not sure there’s much risk of my suffering Setiya’s midlife crisis. If anything I need to embrace more telic activity in order to generate a little more momentum in my week. Perhaps I should put away that yo-yo and invest in a Strava…

'Take it easy, take it easy.
Don't let the sound of your own wheels drive you crazy.
Lighten up while you still can.
Don't even try to understand.
Just find a place to make your stand and take it easy.’
Jackson Browne, ‘Take It Easy’ (J Browne, G Frey)

No. 407

I don’t really have the body for sport. I’m not agile, fast or flexible. My vision is weak, my reactions are poor and I have only moderate coordination. I’m not tall enough for basketball, tough enough for boxing, or tolerant enough for golf.

So I was fortunate to find rugby. Here was a sport that seemed happy to accommodate my limited abilities. Playing as a Flanker I could push and shove, grip and grapple, ruck and maul. I could lean in and bind on; leap up and scrum down. Above all I could tackle. When the ball left the breakdown I would aim like an Exocet missile at the opposition Centre, timing my flight to hit him just as he received the pass. Crash! It was in its own way rather poetic.

There was of course a good deal of sprinting and passing to be done as well, which in my case translated into trundling and fumbling. But I managed to get by. And I’d say rugby was the only sport at which I ever really excelled.

One year the school decided that it would organise a tour of New Zealand, the home of the finest rugby playing institutions in the world. It was a mouth-watering prospect. And so we embarked on an extensive round of fundraising. There were raffles, tombolas and quizzes. There were sponsored runs, jumble sales and chicken-in-a-basket suppers.

It all got too much to tell the truth: too much rallying and tub-thumping; too much chivvying and chasing. One day a number of the disgruntled players called a team meeting and told the authorities that we’d had enough.

I was naturally a conformist child, generally happy to toe the line. I didn’t want to disappoint the sports teachers who had given me so much. But, equally, something about this obsessive, unremitting focus on a singular goal rubbed me up the wrong way. I was also conscious that Dad was in and out of work, and my family was short of money. I found myself on the horns of a dilemma.

I lost quite a lot of sleep over it. Waking up in the middle of the night, tossing and turning. Weighing up the pros and cons, thinking through the fors and againsts. Should I stay or should I go?

Over the weeks that followed the crisis meeting, most of my fellow refuseniks were talked round. But I surprised myself and held the line. And the tour went ahead without me.

When they returned I realised that I had missed a phenomenal experience. The team had seen the world and played against the best. But I had profited in my own way from the New Zealand Rugby Tour. I had learned that I didn’t have to run with the pack; that I could make my own decisions and could be resolute. I had learned that I could change. And I was happy with this outcome.

'Our dilemma is that we hate change and love it at the same time; what we really want is for things to remain the same but get better.'
Sydney J. Harris, Journalist

I read in The Times recently (18 May 2020) about an experiment conducted by Steven Levitt, professor of economics at the University of Chicago. 22,000 people who found themselves in a life quandary submitted themselves to a virtual coin toss to determine which path they should take. Questions ranged from the major to the minor: Should I quit my job? Should I propose? Should I get a tattoo? Should I try online dating? Whatever the dilemma, Levitt’s virtual coin toss gave the respondent a simple ‘yes’ or ‘no’ answer.

According to the research, published in the Review of Economic Studies, nearly two thirds of participants followed the recommendation of the coin toss.

Two themes emerged.

Firstly, people tend to resist change: only about 50 % of those told to make a change did so, while 75 % of those told to maintain the status quo followed the coin’s recommendation.

Secondly, people that make a change tend to end up more content: after six months those who had opted to change course saw a significant increase in their personal happiness.

Levitt concluded:

'The data from my experiment suggests we would all be better off if we did more quitting… A good rule of thumb in decision-making is, whenever you cannot decide what you should do, choose the action that represents a change, rather than continuing the status quo.'

A compelling provocation and one that rings true.

When I left school and went to College, I chose football as my sport. In time I became proud captain of the Pembroke 3rd XI and subsequently manager of the legendary South Indies. Over the years the game gave me a great deal of pleasure.

But it’s fair to say I was never very good at football. I was a slow, ponderous Central Defender, partial to muscular shoulder charges and late tackles. I always played football like a rugby player.

'Darling, you got to let me know,
Should I stay or should I go?
If you say that you are mine
I'll be here 'til the end of time.
So you got to let me know,
Should I stay or should I go?

Should I stay or should I go now?
Should I stay or should I go now?
If I go, there will be trouble.
And if I stay it will be double.’

The Clash, ‘Should I Stay or Should I Go?’ (J Strummer / M Jones)

No. 288

My Brief Fascination with Yo-Yos: Setting Aside Time for Atelic Planning

My Rugby Tour of New Zealand: What To Do When You’re On the Horns of a Dilemma