What’s Actually a Waste of Time?
I remember once, while I was working an early job in my field, someone told me I was wasting my time. That might sound confusing or frustrating, maybe even insulting, but I was an attorney at the time, and it’s hard to insult most attorneys. I was confident that my job made an impact, if not in my bank account. I was proud to do it, and I’m still glad I did. I moved on from that conversation and worked several more years in that position.
Wasting time is relative, and you get to define it.
The Feeling of Wasted Time Is Personal
For me, “wasting time” is a feeling — like when I was a kid and had to dust the wooden banisters on the stairs. So tedious, and I was convinced that no one ever noticed it. I loathed it. I still remember my mom saying my small fingers could get between the rails so well (something I would say to my kids today with similarly infuriating results).
But my definition of wasting time has changed over the years. What feels pointless in one season might be healing or necessary in another. Not that I dust nearly as much as I could now, but Swiffer dusters make me feel like I’m in the animated “Beauty and the Beast” from the 1990’s. I’m caring for my home and family. I get it now.
Small Moments, Big Insight
One job that fell off my resume years ago was my summer at Schlotzsky’s Deli. I was not great at my job, but it was certainly not a waste of time. The customers were what I learned: the ones who yelled through the drive-through window like I’d just insulted their mother, and the ones who kindly walked up to the window to note that apparently, I’d forgotten the turkey in their turkey sandwich.
That restaurant is long gone, but I still remember dropping a huge jar of jalapeños. Well, it was mainly juice with just enough floating slices to refill the tray. The glass broke, and I cut my hand trying to grab it; it looked like a briny sea as I looked out over the floor and rubbed my stinging hand.
But what stuck in that moment wasn’t the pain — it was the kindness. My manager, who couldn’t have been thirty years old, guided me to take care of my hand before worrying about the spill. No doubt she was seeing the same thing I was, and it was more of a pain for her than it was for me. But how we show up matters — in any role, any setting, any place.
I’m not in food service today, but that wasn’t wasted time. Over food, I learned that the way we spent time—whether in caring, preparing, or simply making a sandwich—could make a difference in how someone’s day unfolded, and that their reactions moved the story along, too.
We Used to Know This – Productivity and Meaning
There are ancient cave paintings with horses and bison drawn with too many legs and overlapping outlines. They were discovered through a modern lens, people who looked straight at them with clear light. Then, years later, historians realized that in low, flickering firelight, the images would have appeared to move.
That’s early animation, using what they had and the time they were given, and no one wonders if the original artists wasted their time. We wonder why they painted the beautiful things they did, but we don’t scoff and say they should have been out hoarding more for the winter. We don’t wonder why they didn’t create a cartoon series or the wheel. We just wonder.
Productivity is certainly important – we are here because our ancestors understood the assignment. But once there is enough, time spent making something beautiful, doing something interesting, or simply being is not wasted time.
Make sure you know your definition of wasted time.
Wasting Nothing
So maybe that colleague who told me I was wasting time saw undiscovered potential. But maybe time isn’t ever wasted when we show up, pay attention, and allow the moment to unfold while being who we are.
Does your definition of “wasting time” need an update?
What if the real loss isn’t time, but overlooked possibility?
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