Four Thousand Weeks by Oliver Burkeman is a transformative book that delves into our complex relationship with time. Burkeman argues that our modern obsession with productivity and efficiency often makes us feel more anxious and less fulfilled. Instead, he encourages readers to embrace the finite nature of life and focus on what truly matters. The book is filled with insights from various philosophers, psychologists, and spiritual teachers, making it both entertaining and profound. Burkeman's voice is authoritative yet humble, making the book accessible and engaging. The reviewer found the book particularly resonant, as it helped them shift their perspective on time and priorities. The book's exploration of topics like productivity, distraction, and the passage of time offers valuable insights for anyone feeling overwhelmed by the demands of modern life.
Quick quotes
The real problem isn’t our limited time. The real problem — or so I hope to convince you — is that we’ve unwittingly inherited, and feel pressured to live by, a troublesome set of ideas about how to use our limited time, all of which are pretty much guaranteed to make things worse.
The same goes for chores: in her book More Work for Mother, the historian Ruth Schwartz Cowan shows that when housewives first got access to 'labor-saving' devices like washing machines and vacuum cleaners, no time was saved at all, because society’s standards of cleanliness simply rose to offset the benefits; now that you could return each of your husband’s shirts to a spotless condition after a single wearing, it began to feel like you should, to show how much you loved him. 'Work expands so as to fill the time available for its completion,' the English humorist and historian C. Northcote Parkinson wrote in 1955, coining what became known as Parkinson’s law. But it’s not merely a joke, and it doesn’t apply only to work. It applies to everything that needs doing. In fact, it’s the definition of 'what needs doing' that expands to fill the time available.
Heidegger next turns to humans specifically, and to our own particular kind of being. What does it mean for a human being to be? (I realize this is starting to sound like a bad comedy sketch about philosophers lost in wild abstractions. I’m afraid that’s going to get worse for another couple of paragraphs before it gets better.) His answer is that our being is totally, utterly bound up with our finite time. So bound up, in fact, that the two are synonymous: to be, for a human, is a