Bernard O'Shea: Time blocking correlates with reduced stress and greater job satisfaction
Bernard O'Shea: "If all else fails, sure, there's always 'sometime next week'!"
I'll never forget the day I realised my relationship with time was about as stable as a poorly balanced barstool. There I was, legging it out the door while texting a friend, "I'll be there in five minutes".
If only... I was actually 25 minutes away. But five minutes felt believable in the moment. Probably because, in my world (let's call it 'Irish time'), traffic, distance, and even reality itself can apparently bend to my optimistic intentions.
The same friend gave me what can only be described as a 'time intervention'. I always thought I wasn't the worst timekeeper in the world but when they laid out the frequency of my misdemeanours, I had no real comeback.
There was no, "Look, it's alright Bernard, I'm just saying". It was derived in a Roy Keane-style dictation: "You constantly being late shows no respect." They were right.
"Ah, go on," I'd say to myself. "What's an extra 20 minutes between friends?" But somewhere between my phone and my friend's rolling eyeballs, I knew this had to change.
Or did it? I could lean into my chronic lateness instead of fighting it.
That's when I stumbled on 'time blocking' — that fancy productivity trick where you divvy your day into neat little boxes: 9:00–10:30 for writing, 10:30–11:45 for calls, and so on. Easy, right? The only catch: at 9:00 sharp, you write. At 10:30 on the dot, you switch tasks. Any deviation, the whole scheme goes sideways.
If you've ever been in an Irish household, you know that 'I'm leaving now' could mean 'I might wander out in half an hour, provided I don't get trapped in conversation with the neighbour'. We're also easily distracted by the kettle's whistle, which, in Ireland, must be answered immediately, or your mammy will have a conniption. Could I blend bulletproof scheduling with the freewheeling chaos of Irish time?
Historically, Ireland's perspective on time is as bendy as a damp book. Rural life revolved around the sun, and ceilidhs kicked off 'when people turned up', not when the big hand hit 12. Even today, we give a sympathetic wink to lateness. If you're meant to ring someone in the morning but only get around at noon, you'll probably hear 'Ah, sure, no worries' rather than a lecture. But if you're my perpetually punctual friend — bless his organised cotton socks — my flexible sense of time can be downright maddening.
A 2017 study found that systematic time management (including time blocking) correlates with reduced stress and greater job satisfaction. Think of your day as a busy roundabout; time blocking is the traffic light that keeps drivers from colliding.
Handy, right? But if you're forced to abandon a lovely chat because your alarm screeches, "IT'S 10:30, SWITCH TASKS, NOW!", you might feel like you're wearing a straitjacket instead of a cosy jumper.
You might find your lateness as charming as Brad Pitt walking a puppy with a wagging tail, but for many folks, it's about as welcome as a fly in the soup. Time is the one resource nobody can buy more of, no matter how sweetly you apologise. When you turn up 15 minutes late — again! — punctual pals often feel disrespected like you're merrily marching off with their most precious commodity.
In their eyes, lateness can signal a lack of consideration or even selfishness, especially if they've had to rearrange their time to accommodate your 'I'll be there in 5' text that really means 'I haven't left the house yet'.
Put simply, while you're embracing a free-flowing sense of time, they're stuck fuming, wondering if they should have brought a book or worse still contemplating will they ever meet up with you again. In Ireland, we all know that 'I'll be there in minute' means you could be hours away.
Hence, the 'Irish-style time blocking' (patent pending) was created with 'time elasticity' built in as a free optional extra! A 2019 study in Work & Stress found that having control over your schedule — a fancy word for "autonomy" — can slash anxiety.
Translation: if your time blocks can stretch or shrink just a tad, you don't feel like a failure if you start 15 minutes late. Here goes...
Write down the main tasks you want to tackle. Then, build in a bit of 'Irish wiggle room'. Because, let's be honest, the dog might need a walk at precisely the worst moment, or the postman will rock up with a package that requires your signature (and a chat about last Sunday's match).
Add 30 to 60 minutes for surprise catastrophes or unplanned cups of tea. This block is where you sort out that leaking faucet or find yourself chin-wagging with the neighbour who's just popped around to borrow sugar (or your entire afternoon).
Let your friends and colleagues know you're trying this 'Irish style' approach. They might scratch their heads, but at least they'll know you're not simply ignoring them. If you notice your '10-minute delay' is morphing into a daily hour-long fiasco, well, maybe rein it in… just a smidge.
If you're working with folks who operate by Swiss-watch precision, this approach might send them into a twitchy meltdown. Fair play — they're just different. You'll likely still deliver on your tasks, just maybe a bit after the official clock says so.
Over time, your calm acceptance of life's random interruptions might even win a few converts — perhaps they'll come to appreciate the grand tradition of dealing with the unexpected with a shrug and a cuppa.
After all, in the grand dance between discipline and delight, a little delay can precisely keep you sane and everyone else on their toes. And as any proper Irish person knows, if all else fails, sure, there's always 'sometime next week'!
