Time, Contingency and the Illusion of Control

Over the past two months I completed two milestones: my 60th year of life and my 20th consecutive year of sobriety. Coming on the cusp of a new calendar year, these two anniversaries present the perfect opportunity to take a closer look at time, contingency and hope. As many of us consider New Year’s resolutions, it’s also an appropriate time to think about the two faces of human fragility: resolve and regret. Hope for what might occur is often in reference to regret for what already occurred. My adventure in sobriety is something of an object lesson in that perennial human experience.

I would probably not have reached 60 years without the sustained, daily discipline of the latest 20. There is a deep irony in this. While I cannot control the aging process, every day I make a decision that makes it more probable that I’ll live another day. Today is the day I choose not to drink. Tomorrow will (probably) come, without my consent, and I’ll have to make another choice not to drink. And so forth. In other words, I cannot control time; but I can control my decisions and actions such that my time is, to some degree, “affected.”

I choose not to drink alcohol. An event that I cannot foresee may occur, but it will not occur because I took a drink. I can make a choice that affects my time, even if I cannot control that time.

But what does it mean to say that we can “affect” time? Aren’t we really saying that we affect our relationship to time?

But what does it mean to say that we can “affect” time? Aren’t we really saying that we affect our relationship to time? A more interesting irony of our lives is that what we most want to control are things over which we have absolutely no power: time and duration. We use the phrases “time management” and “organizing our time,” but we are no more able to do these things than to manage the wind or organize the sunset. Time marches on, indifferent to our desire to impede or channel it. Thus, the best we can do is make choices that affect our relationship to time. We pretend to control time, we manage and organize things within time; but time itself remains indifferent to our efforts and, in fact, has absolute control over us.

Counterfactuals are a tricky business. On one hand, we can sometimes conclude that effect X occurred as a proximate result of cause Y. However, we cannot necessarily say that X would not have occurred if Y did not happen, because an unforeseen event Z could have caused X to occur. Despite contingencies, we all make choices intended to affect both our use of time and the duration of our lives. Which is why, today,

Indeed, the emotional state of regret is deeply rooted in time’s callousness to our efforts to control it. Therefore, the solution to regret must involve giving up on trying to effect changes that cannot be completed. What is more innervating, after all, than trying to accomplish something that is impossible to achieve? Only slightly more discouraging is presuming we can make absolute commitments in defiance of our moral lives’ contingency. In theological terms, our annual pronouncement of grand, sweeping resolutions is, to some degree, an assertion that we are God, who alone is Lord over time and duration. When we say we will never choose this action again, or we will always make that choice going forward, we presume to be able to control the contingencies that make folly of such pronouncements. We try to break the shackles of time and cast off its chains, and “the one enthroned in heaven laughs” (Ps. 2:3-4).

The better, more hopeful encounter with the New Year— and with time and contingency—will be to surrender our presumption that we can control time and the selfdefeating conceit that goes with it. Or, as Our Lord instructs us, “Do not worry about tomorrow; tomorrow will take care of itself” (Matt. 6:34). Worrying about tomorrow, thinking we can control it, is the formula for failing today. Surrendering that worry is what we alcoholics mean by taking one day at a time. So, I close by wishing you a blessed Wednesday, or happy three o’clock. Let Thursday, 3:01 and 2023 take care of themselves.

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Catholic At Home

Loving Our Homes

“Oh Lizzie, it’s such a pleasure to run my own home!” My favorite line from Joe Wright’s Pride & Prejudice film is delivered with joyful zeal by Mrs. Charlotte Collins. A new bride in 2008, I was dripping with Charlotte’s same joy. I put flowers on the mantle, made everything from scratch and spaced towels evenly in the closet. Our tiny apartment had its quirks, but I was determined to make it a charming home.

Fifteen years later, that enthusiasm needs a little fanning. Our 1940s house is sweet and small. Though it’s sure to feel smaller as the children grow, I’m determined to live out the rest of my days here. Because of its modest size and high population density, the whole place can be destroyed in no time. The pressure I feel to have a clean house right this minute is mighty enough to compel every man and beast to roll up his sleeves. When I see only the mess, I know my perception is off; reality is distorted and my typical joy is non-existent. So, I made a list for myself so I see broader than the momentary struggles, and thus find my misplaced joy.

Be Grateful

Look beyond the kitchen crying out for renovation and see the place where you feed your family. The worn floors are evidence of lively toes. Your home doesn’t have to sparkle to reveal its sweet features.

Take a cue from St. Josemaria Escriva to up your gratitude: “Get used to lifting your heart to God, in acts of thanksgiving… Because he gives you this and that. Because you haven’t what you need or because you have. Thank him for everything…”

Thank God for your home by making a list of what you love about it, from functions to features. Ask your family what they like, too! Every house comes with a “to do list,” but so few have a “What I Love About You” list. Ingratitude blinds us to reality; it leads me to believe there isn’t much in my house to be happy about, but cultivating thanksgiving within myself opens my eyes to the Father’s abundant grace. Living in thankfulness, we might finally see that the challenges in our homes are lesser when compared to their more significant blessings.

Keep It Simple

It’s a peaceful experience to be in any home that feels tidy. Without clutter, I feel like I can breathe and truly relax in any room. Consider the cluttered areas that drive you crazy—what if they weren’t there silently screaming at you? What if you kept only the clothes, books, toys and decorations that have meaning or use instead of collecting things to fill spaces? Visualize your home cleared of excess. With this image in mind, approach your house knowing the end goal is joyful living.

I’ve long reveled in simplicity and minimalism from a Catholic approach. Keeping what we need to carry out God’s call for our particular lives and cutting distractions yield a freedom I didn’t anticipate. Now, every year I methodically go through each room and rid them of the unnecessary. The best part is when I find rooms made new that beckon me to sit and remain.

Know The Holy Purpose Of Your Home

“As for me and my house, we will serve the Lord.” (Josh. 24:15)

Hospitality is a gift that comes from the heart, not only clean corners and shelves. With humble appreciation and simplicity, I’m eager to make my home a blessing to both guests and the souls who live here. Conversely, when I feel burdened by our house—blinded by ingratitude and buried under extra stuff— I’m anxious about others just stopping by.

For the family, a home is a blessing from the Lord and we can delight in it more freely when it’s received and treated with gratitude. Mrs. Charlotte Collins was giddy serving tea to Lizzie Bennet simply because her space was her own. As for me, I’ll be doing my best to live in gratitude, working toward hospitality to serve our Lord—returning to Him the gift He bestowed on an occasionally ungrateful heart.

KATIE SCIBA is a national speaker and Catholic Press Awardwinning columnist. Katie has been married for 14 years and is blessed with six children.