Weeknote 31+32/2025: Turning off autopilot
Learning how to live a little more in the present
Hello!
I think it’s a good time to address one of the reasons I began this Substack two years ago and highlight some (frankly quite obvious) warning signs that you are focusing on the wrong life priorities.
A few years ago now, when I lectured at college, one of my students described how they added clear sticky-back plastic to their laptop cover before covering it with stickers. This meant, they explained, that if they ever wanted to sell their laptop, it would take a few seconds for the cover to be pristine again and, as a bonus, their stickers could be put in a frame as a permanent artwork if desired. They then kindly offered their roll of plastic, and I began building what you see above in earnest.
This same student, during a class earlier in the year, had asked me a few gentle questions about my coffee-drinking habits, sleep patterns, kindly suggesting I probably had some level of ADHD as I ticked off many recognisable traits. About half the class nodded sagely in agreement and then analysed a few strategies I found had made my college day more manageable: the large A4 week-to-view planner with space (on Saturday and Sunday) for student notes; the plastic tub I carried with me to each class in lieu of a designated space; my use of alarms on my phone to remind me of class schedules or meetings.
Each was an indicator of my desire to be more organised and more in control of my environment. Each balanced my tangential nature of relating teaching concepts to stories. Whether their analysis was true remains to be discovered - I do know that other lecturers complimented me on my organisation (which came as a huge shock) and I’ve realised for a long time that my teaching style involves relating abstract concepts through storytelling.
I learned a whole lot about myself and re-examined what being a good educator was during my time as a lecturer. There was, I found, a gap in my experience. It was incredibly rewarding, for example, to be able to support adults achieve qualifications they hadn’t been able to while at secondary school. A regular teaching day consisted of a few three-hour lessons, so I was often able to schedule time to meet smaller groups or support 1:1, things that cannot happen in a highly structured, time-pressured secondary school day. I settled into a routine and - before I knew it - my first year as a lecturer was almost at an end. There was a lot of work involved in creating lesson resources (as always, I’ve never inherited resources since I was in my first role at Inverurie Academy), marking and thinking about accessibility, but I felt pretty confident I had this under control.
Around the same time, I was completing a little bit of work with another company in the evening, helping to moderate their support platform while building its popularity and sense of community. Again, this was rewarding work, and I was able to take insights from college lecturing and apply them to the support network and vice versa.
For example, I found that short, focused videos really helped users solve problems on the support network and modelling this behaviour allowed many to share videos when demonstrating more complex problems. I applied this to my classes to support students to learn web design, Python coding and project management. There was a lot of work involved in creating these videos, responding to user queries and concerns and thinking about how best to engage the community positively, but I felt pretty confident I had this under control.
One sunny evening in late May, I had just finished work at the college and had collected a coffee to accompany my meander back to the car parked at the beach in Aberdeen (pretty much the only place which offers free parking in the city) and decided to phone my mum for a catch-up. The irritation and frustration were evident from the first few seconds of the call, and it was at that point that I realised I hadn’t been in contact with her since mid-April, not even through WhatsApp. My mum rarely shows anger, so when she hung up the call after twenty seconds or so, I knew that I’d been a particular disappointment.
I had focused my attention on my lecturing work and my community moderation so much that I had switched into autopilot. I’d kept in touch with those living with me and my work colleagues, but had closed off everyone else. This was both inevitable and an indicator of skewed priorities, but was one of the first indicators to me of feeling absent from my own life.
Before calling to apologise, I took time to reflect on why I hadn’t been in contact. It hadn’t actually felt like much time had passed since our previous conversation and it was a genuine surprise to realise that six weeks had gone by. People affected by disassociation, depersonalisation or derealisation often experience time distortion where time might feel sped up, slowed down or patchy. They often describe reduced emotional engagement too, where important events feel a bit muted or unreachable on an emotional level. It feels like life is happening around you, preventing your participation.
Many years ago, when my dad was alive, we would connect through irregular phone calls - often instigated by me. Conversation was tricky with him at times, even though we had a good relationship up until my mid-teens when he detonated the family by moving out. The final ten years of his life had a similar pattern, at least it did when I asked him what he had been up to: “work and bowling” was his answer. Whether he just wanted to downplay what he considered ordinary or demonstrate that he had a life balanced between responsibility and pleasure I’ll never know, but I do now wonder if he had also felt a disassociation with his own life.
He was not always like this. In person, he told the occasional story. I remember vividly him describing a moment at school when a teacher threw a heavy chalkboard eraser at him for swinging on his chair at the back of the room. My dad caught the eraser and pinged it back to the teacher, swinging forward on his chair as he did so and generating substantial force. Of course the teacher was caught unaware and my dad suffered the belt for his quick-thinking retribution, but his bright eyes and laughter as he retold the tale demonstrated a moral value I see in my own and my son’s actions at times: the refusal to be intimidated or to accept unfair treatment without responding.
I wonder now if that bright-eyed storyteller was still there somewhere during those later years, buried under the weight of routine and disappointment. The thought unsettles me because I recognise the pattern: slipping from moments of defiant presence into years of going through the motions. That phone call with my mum was my own eraser moment. Not a chance to show defiance, but to recognise that I'd been caught just as off-guard as that teacher, unprepared for how far I'd drifted from the people who mattered most.
Keen readers will already know I’ve recently read 4000 weeks by Oliver Burkeman. His book really resonated with me as I tried to understand why I felt disconnected from my own life. It shouldn’t be that way, should it, if you’re well organised, establish good connections with students, tell stories, make videos, de-escalate flame wars online and generally feel like you’re in control? Oliver’s contrasting views are complemented by David Brooks who explored how to live a more meaningful, grounded and present life. Both welcome limitation: Burkeman’s acceptance of finitude and Brooks’ call for humility in accepting personal limitations and the need for grace and growth.
How I interpret this suggests that while work is a necessary and inevitable part of life, it should not dominate and define my entire existence. David Brooks’ suggestion of eulogy values got me thinking - I would be appalled if someone suggested at my (hopefully distant) funeral that they will remember me primarily as a well organised, hard worker, but I’ve not yet thought about what I’d rather embody.
At my dad’s funeral nearly twenty years ago, I didn’t speak at the service. His best friend did so instead and offered an insight into a man who filled the areas of his life outside work with fun. The night before he died, he had been at a Halloween party and I am so grateful to have grainy, bumpy video footage to remember him by. At the wake, friends from across the UK told me tales that confirmed he was living a full and happy life, and that he sought out opportunities to make evenings or events memorable to others. The joy in which many of his friends described a moment in Milton Keynes when he instigated filling an underpass with colourful bouncy rubber balls still makes me smile but simultaneously regret never hearing this tale directly from him.
Through these reflections and recent readings I’m beginning to feel like I understand how skewed my priorities have been. Oliver encourages acceptance of the limits of time and advises against trying to do everything or chase endless productivity and efficiency tweaks. Work as a practical component of life needs to be managed, but must not overshadow what truly matters: presence, joy and meaningful engagement with life.
So how does this look in practice?
I indicated in my last weeknote that my son was awaiting his exam results. I’m pleased to say that he did well and even exceeded expectations in some of the subjects. Like his grandad, he seems to be developing into a very capable engineer! We celebrated his results by visiting TGI Fridays for the first time (there is a silly reason we’ve not previously been, my partner and I used to work for Daytona which TGI bought over a LONG LONG time ago). The food was great and we even got a discount as we were celebrating results day.
My partner and I took our dog for a long walk around and through Hazlehead Park in Aberdeen. We sat down in the middle of the rose garden to enjoy the sunshine and I sketched out a few ideas for this weeknote until, hilariously, our dog suddenly got the zoomies and ran off with my pen. He might have been reminding me to be more present.
We visited my partner’s mum at her care home in Carnoustie where they had organised a family fun day. Cue ten pin bowling with a sponge football, golf putting challenges, giant dominoes and hook-a-duck challenges. It was really well organised and involved the whole community in caring for their loved ones and their friends at the care home.
My partner and I spent the weekend near Inverness, staying in a pod on the Black Isle and exploring nearby Rosemarkie. We spent Saturday at Belladrum festival near Beauly and enjoyed brilliant weather and some excellent musicians! For us though, the highlight was the variety of activities we experienced together - from stargazing from the comfort of our pod’s hot tub to exploring Inverness’ botanic gardens and the 3km walk from there into the town centre.
Thanks for reading and have a great week xx