The Google Calendar is Ruining My Life

Ok fine, not really.

You might wonder how a Google Calendar could be so influential that it inspired me to write a blog post, but stick with me. It’ll make sense soon. This all started last year, when my coworker wrote an essay about productivity. It’s paywalled, and I’m broke now, so I can’t re-read it, but I remember the gist. She wanted to know if it were possible to cram more into a day than she already does (my dream). To investigate, she consulted experts and researched time-saving strategies, only to discover that it was virtually impossible to do so. 

I devoured the article in one sitting, then messaged her on Slack. Her essay was brilliantly written, and I think people should know when you admire them (no one’s too cool for positive reinforcement!). Also, it spoke to me. As a woman, I feel trapped in a cycle of wanting to do more without knowing how to do it. I’d spent years quietly hoping to figure it out, and then bam, there she was doing online. I had to root for her! Productivity junkies stick together. 

A few months later, we were both laid off from our fancy magazine jobs. She took a break (I hope), whereas I added even more to my schedule. I didn’t know it then, but I was less concerned with how much I got done in a day and more eager to prove my value. Without work to fill the void, I needed a way to boost morale. 

Enter, scary calendar. 

In my first weeks of unemployment, I foolishly thought of Kelly’s essay and thought, ‘Okay, maybe she couldn’t pull it off...but what if I could? Each aspect of my day became a color-coded block. Light blue for administrative tasks, dark blue for fun tasks, and orange for reminders. Every Monday, I’d wake up, make a coffee, and plan my calendar like a deranged sorority leader.  

8:00 A.M. — Gym: 1 Hour (yeah, sure) 

9:00 A.M. — Breakfast: 30 Minutes (not enough time to enjoy it) 

9:30 A.M. — Job Hunt: 3 Hours (just enough time to go insane) 

12:30 P.M. — Networking: 30 Minutes (how many desperate emails can you send in 30 minutes?)

1:00 P.M. — Lunch: 1 Hour (so I can eat and stalk everyone’s perfect lives on Instagram) 

2:00 P.M. — Chores: 45 Minutes (because why would I take a break yet) 

2:45 P.M. — Freelance work: 2 Hours (if I even had any) 

... you get it. 

It was bad. At one point, I even scheduled self-appointed office hours. To do what? I don’t know. Stuff! Anything to keep busy. It worked for a while. I felt good about myself. When my roommate came home from her real job, I could tell her about all the fake jobs I’d done. I was a cleaning lady, a chef, a networker, a gym-bro, and guess what? I was tooootallly killing it. Then one day, my action-induced dopamine ran out. Google’s automated reminders stopped sounding like ‘Hey girl, 15 minutes until your next perfectly planned activity’ and more like ‘Get up, loser!’ Don’t you have something to do?

Each day became a race to prove my worth, though no one other than myself had questioned it. I was exhausted, depressed, and entirely at fault. If I weren’t so hard-headed, I could’ve saved myself the trouble and purchased Kelly’s essay. She already discovered that productivity is a scam! Remember? 

Unfortunately, I’m wired to learn everything the hard way. So, instead of chilling out or paying up, I wrote detailed to-do lists instead! Whatever didn’t fit on the G-Cal wound up on a 3x5 note pad, awaiting a check mark. 

Spoiler alert — it didn’t help. None of my “work” was working. I was still unemployed, still at a loss, and instead of propelling myself into better circumstances, I had an anxiety attack. All that pressure landed me in Carl Shurz park, with puffy eyes and the inability to do anything but stare at the trees. 

That was about three weeks ago. 

Since then, I’ve tried to uncover the root of my productivity-induced stress. I figure productivity itself isn’t the issue, but rather, the iron-clad tie between productivity and value. Before the park incident, I’d never felt so profoundly helpless. Sure, sometimes my schedule had caused undue stress, but it’d never stolen my sense. So, what gives? Psychology Today author Elliot D. Cohen suggests capitalism is to blame. 

“In this materialistic, money-driven culture, if you happen to be unemployed, elderly, handicapped, poor, or otherwise unable to contribute to the gross domestic product, whether permanently or temporarily, there is a foul odor of being negatively judged by others as second-rate, useless, burdensome, or otherwise deficient in value.” 

Brutal, but I get what he means. In today’s culture—especially in New York—the “grind” equates to social currency. Who we are is profoundly wrapped up in what we do, and if you’re not careful, they become difficult to separate. It feels shameful to admit, but I’ve only recently lost interest in asking people about their careers. And still, sometimes I wonder if that’s just because I don’t have one. 

I know I won’t stay unemployed forever. But, if I were to get a job tomorrow, would I fall into the same old habits? Would I breathe a sigh of relief at the sight of my workload, and judge those without one? I hope not, although if Cohen’s hypothesis is true, the myth of productivity could clog my mind before I notice. 

The good news is that I have a choice in how to handle it. Despite Cohen’s stark assesment, he does offer a solution — one that could transcend my next career phase, and its inevitable end. “If you want to get off this production line,” he writes, “it’s important you give up its major premise: that you must produce to have and maintain your value.” 

And so, that’s what I’ll do. For the past few months, I’ve blamed my calendar for making me feel small, as if it were mocking me. As if it even could—when really, I’d fallen for a fallacy. It took a while, but I’m happy to announce that I’m crawling my way out of that hell hole. I’ve stopped logging office hours because I don’t have an office, and don’t need designated time blocks to doom scroll on LinkedIn. And I’ve finally (!) begun to question why I feel the need to prove myself. 

If you’re in the same boat, here’s something to consider. Maybe productivity isn’t all that productive.