I used to have too many pets.
Each time I adopted one, I was fully in love. I was enamored with the potential. Each new pet was meant to be my constant companion. So I would take it home, and love it. But eventually I would discover a new pet, and the process would repeat.
One at a time, reluctantly, I’d set one free, or find it a new home with someone who was really going to give this pet 100% of their love. I mourned the loss of possibility with each one as I said goodbye…
Before, I’d glance at each pet and feel love but guilt for not giving it more time. Now, I picture what could have been, and just enjoy the daydream.
In keeping with the crux of Oliver Burkeman’s Four Thousand Weeks: getting more productive won’t let us do everything we want. We have to choose – and the missing out is what gives the things we do do more meaning for being chosen (hopefully).