A helpful thing to know about me is that I’m fiercely protective of my calendar. Kali-level fierce. Mess with my calendar and I’ll burn down your village and smite your descendants for seven generations.

Just kidding.

Not about the fierceness. But about the retribution. I’m too soft for that. (Sam: “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! Hit the horn! Don’t let him in front of you! He almost RAN US OFF THE ROAD!!! Speed up, we can still let him know that he was in the wrong.” Me, continuing to chant along to Om Mani Padme Hum, feeling zero distress and definitely not speeding up: “I already let him in. Besides, I don’t know if my horn even works, I’ve never used it. I’m happy to sign up to try to solve global challenges like depression, but I really don’t think I have to educate other drivers on how to drive if I don’t feel like it, do you?”)

A New Jersey driver would never think that way. Sam thinks that it is his god-given responsibility to teach every other driver the right way to use the road. So usually he drives while I sit in the passenger seat chattering away about magic. Don’t read too much into the “Keely’s talking” ear plugs he wears. He assures me that he finds my topics of conversation scintillating. Especially when I talk about capes.

But this is a musing about calendar preferences, not the difference between Pennsylvania and New Jersey drivers or my marriage. So I’ll get back to the point…

A few years ago, I had the good fortune of reading Paul Graham’s “Maker’s Schedule, Manager’s Schedule” essay. In it, he calmly, compassionately and wisely explains why he doesn’t want to “grab coffee” or schedule meetings.

He may love you. He may think you’re brilliant, fascinating and about to change the world.

And–no thank you to that 30-minute touch base that you proposed.

Paul is a famous venture capitalist who now uses his days to focus on writing. And Paul can only contribute to the world in the way that he wants to contribute to the world with wide open days.

Paul lives on a maker’s schedule. A maker’s schedule, he explains, is for people like writers and computer programmers who need long, uninterrupted stretches of time to create quality work.

It’s different than a manager’s schedule, which is the kind of schedule that most powerful people live on. A manager’s schedule is filled with hour-long chunks, rotating from task to task, meeting to meeting.

Someone on a manager’s schedule may have a one-on-one at 8:00, a town hall at 9:00, 30 minutes blocked to work on a task at 10:00, then a 90-minute collaboration from 10:30-12:00. Their day looks a lot like Sam’s day, which looks a lot like his boss’ day, which looks a lot like the CEO’s day. They lead. They guide. They boss.

A maker, on the other hand, can’t function on that schedule. A maker often feels like they lose the whole day if even a single meeting is scheduled because it interferes with them going deep. A maker can’t switch from deep-focus, flow-style creative work to an hour-long chat then back again.

Not because they’re snowflake-y or entitled or otherwise in the wrong. But because that’s simply how creativity works.

Funnily enough, I don’t have time to finish this essay because I have a call starting in 8 minutes, which is hilariously ironic to me. I highly recommend reading Paul Graham’s essay. Whether you’re a maker, a manager, someone trying to be both, or even simply someone who loves a person who has a hobby/job/career/vocation, there’s useful info in there.

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