It’s really one of the biggies, isn’t it, and a choice which determines our days, and how they are spent.
For instance, Roy’s car needed fixing last week. He wanted me to follow him to the garage in my car, and then drive him back. I hate driving, especially down Cowley Road.
I thought about it, and then decided that the time I spent on that pointless round trip would never come again, but I could earn the money for his taxi fare quite easily, doing stuff which is somewhat interesting. “Take a taxi back,” I said.
However, the lives of those whose time is worth far more than their money, are ironically over-crowded and stressed-out. I don’t want to be them. Among the saddest thing in the world is to be time-poor. Those who have more time than money are ironically freer to enjoy life.
There is a great psychological and therapeutic value to fixing your own stuff, to working with your hands. When you have more time than money, you can enjoy this, rather than gritting your teeth and outsourcing all work to people you know are over-charging.
