Life is Short

Life is Short. An essay by Paul Graham, January 2016.

Time you can count

Everyone says life is short. But is it, or do we just mind that it ends? As a boy, Graham wondered: would we say so if we lived ten times as long?

There was no way to tell, so he let it go. Then he had kids, and they settled it: life really is short.

Kids turn time, which just flows, into something you can count. Your child is two for one year: that’s about 52 weekends.

If Christmas is magic from about three to ten, you see your child live it eight times. Eight peanuts, eight books: not much, however long you live.

Too short for that

Does knowing this change anything? For Graham, yes. When you catch yourself thinking life’s too short for this, take it literally: cut that thing out if you can.

What is life too short for? Graham’s word is bullshit. Nearly true by definition, he admits. But the stuff has a mark: it’s fake, like junk food for your time.

You probably know your own list already: needless meetings, pointless fights, red tape, posturing, others’ mistakes, traffic, empty habits.

Forced on you

Bullshit gets in two ways: forced on you, or by tricking you. Some of the forced kind is unavoidable. Earning money is mostly errands, since rewarding work pays less.

But you may have more choice than you think. Some people have always opted out, moving somewhere with fewer opportunities but a life that feels more real.

Smaller moves work too. Pick an employer that wastes less of your time, even over money and prestige. Freelancers can drop toxic clients: more bullshit goes than income.

The kind that tricks you

The bullshit that tricks you in is your own doing, and it can be harder to remove. Whatever lures you away has to be very good at luring.

Take arguing online. Being contradicted feels like an attack, and instinct says defend yourself. But that instinct wasn’t built for the world we live in now.

Every hour you spend defending yourself is an hour of your life they’ve taken. So most of the time, don’t answer.

Online arguing is only addictive by accident. As progress makes what we like more addictive, we’ll need to step back and ask: do I want to spend my time this way?

Learning what matters

Avoiding bullshit is half of it. The other half is seeking what matters, which differs by person. A lucky few know early; most start with a mix and learn it slowly.

It’s harder for the young, stuck in the artificial world of school, where what other kids think seems like everything. Most adults wish they’d cared less.

A test for what matters

One test: will you still care later? Fake things spike, seeming urgent for a moment. That’s how they trick you. Over time, they add up to little.

And what matters isn’t always what people call important. Coffee with a friend, say. You’ll never look back on that as time wasted.

Small children help: they pull you toward what matters, namely them. When one tugs your sleeve while you’re on your phone, go and play.

Windows that close

A short life tends to catch us off guard. We assume there’s always time for that book, or that mountain, until the window closes.

The hardest windows to miss have people in them. After Graham’s mother died, he wished they’d had more time. He’d assumed she’d always be there.

We could keep death in mind, as people once did, but that feels morbid. Graham flips it: “Cultivate a habit of impatience about the things you most want to do.”

Write the book. Climb the mountain. Visit your mother. No need to keep reminding yourself why. Just don’t wait.

Savoring what you have

With anything scarce, we try to get more, and we savor what we have. Habits shape how long you live, and most of us, Graham included, could do better.

Paying closer attention may do more. Flow has a darker cousin: being swept through errands and alarms, never pausing to savor. One book title says it: Burning the Days.

Time can be slowed a little, and kids help: they bring moments too perfect to miss. It also helps to get every drop out of an experience.

Graham is sad about all he and his mother never did. His son is nearly seven; he misses the three-year-old, but has no regrets. They made the most of it.

In short

Counted in weekends and Christmases, life really is short.

Cut out the bullshit, whether it’s forced on you or sneaks in.

Don’t wait to do the things that matter most.

And slow down enough to savor the days you have.

The original is short, and better than this. Read it: paulgraham.com/vb.html