If one sets aside time for a business appointment, a trip to the hairdresser, a social engagement, or a shopping expedition, that time is accepted as inviolable. But if one says: I cannot come because that is my hour to be alone, one is considered rude, egotistical, or strange.
—Anne Morrow Lindbergh
Certainly, someone always needed him for something. His wife, one of his thirteen kids, a courtier, the pressing business of state. But for a few minutes to an hour every day—sometimes in the morning, sometimes in the evening—Marcus Aurelius was unreachable. The twentieth-century American philosopher Brand Blanshard marvels at what Marcus accomplished there in the “midnight dimness,” alone with his journal and his thoughts. It didn’t matter where he was or what was happening; Marcus stole the time to sit and think and write.
Do you do that? Do you take this time? James Clear, author of the wonderful bestseller Atomic Habits, said that since becoming a father, he has carved out “two sacred hours” in the morning to do his writing. Sometimes he gets more, but never less. Those two hours determine whether he has a good day or a wasted day, whether he is productive and making progress . . . or slacking.
A few minutes or a few hours—in the morning, at night, or in the middle of the day—this idea of sacred time is important. You have to carve it out. You have to stick to the schedule like clockwork, protect it as you would a doctor’s appointment or a big meeting. Of course, this isn’t the only time you’ll need. It’s just the minimum. So make sure you give it to—or take it for —yourself.
You’ll marvel at what you can accomplish in those few sacred minutes that you’ve kept all to yourself.