Nothing exists in isolation of everything else. Every time we choose something, we don’t choose everything else. Every time we do something, we’re dealing (or more precisely not dealing) with everything else. We’re constantly balancing constraints.
When we work on a project we’re constantly choosing between researching and creating, depth of work versus scope of work, specificity versus applicability to more people, spending time on the project versus spending time on anything else.
Constraints are in time (short vs. long; now vs. later; ever vs. never), space (breadth vs. depth; narrow vs. wide), and matter (absolute vs. relative; abstract vs. concrete). In less abstract terms: time, scope (space) and resources (matter). They combine to define the quality of something. Some constraints occur within others—e.g. space constraints occur within time, and they are interrelated—wider scope requires more time and more resources.
In reality, everything we do is limited. Time is finite and if we want to ever finish something, we need to contain it within time. If I want to finish my project by the end of the week, the scope and quality of it need to fit within this.
Instinctively, we push against constraints. As a perfectionist in recovery, I often battle with time constraints. I’m tempted to spend longer on a project in favour of quality, depth, scope. But whenever I resist succumbing my work to the reality of one constraint, I’m choosing to make it a factor of another constraint.
Every time I refuse to accept that the quality of my work will always be limited, I am making time sacrifices. The two extra hours I spend on creating my website are two hours I don’t spend on everything else—writing an article, exercising, reading, spending time with my family. Every time we push against one constraint, we’re choosing another.
Every action is its opposite, too – and the absence of everything else. Choosing one thing is not choosing everything else. Preparing is also not creating. Doing one thing is undoing everything else. Writing is not just not reading, it’s also not working on your product launch, not networking, not exercising. The presence of one thing is the absence of everything else.
My partner and I were recently staying in a small, very private, family-run chateau. The owner greeted us very warmly when we arrived and took us to their best room, which they’ve given us a free upgrade to. After we settled, we noticed that we didn’t have a key to our room. It didn’t bother us because the place felt very safe and we had the sense that we were the only guests.
The next morning, my partner, who’s prone to insomnia, hadn’t slept well because she’d been anxious about being in an unlocked room. We then had a choice between two imperfect scenarios: we could either ask for a key at the expense of upsetting the owner, or we could not at, the expense of my partner having more sleep disturbance. Only we didn’t want to choose between two imperfect scenarios. We wanted to have a perfect option—one which entailed no sacrifice.
But we were beyond the point of perfect choice, and arguably, it didn’t even exist on the first place. One could imagine that the perfect scenario would have been asking for the key at the point of arrival, when our relationship to the host wasn’t as personal. But most likely, after the warm welcome she’d given us, that wouldn’t have been neutral act either.
There is no neutral action. There are just different consequences. Every time we choose something, we give up everything else. And that’s fine. Constraints are not the problem. The problem is that we refuse to acknowledge that they are always there. And that whatever we do, we can’t transcend them. Having awareness of this and treating each choice as the unchoosing of everything else help us make better decisions. It helps us get to know ourselves, be more mindful of how we spend our time, and prioritise the things that really matter to us.