Chronos or Kairos?

Advice from a PhD student who got lost in time

by Giulio Bajona

It’s 8 am, and I’m in the bathroom brushing my teeth, while looking anxiously at a 5-minute timer that I’ve set
up on my phone. I’m almost done; I wipe my mouth on a towel and put the toothbrush back to its spot in the
cupboard. Just then, the alarm goes off. ‘Not bad’, I tell myself, before I rush downstairs, maniacally
wondering how much time I should give myself for breakfast.

In order to understand what is going on here, we need to take a step back and consider what changed in my
life about three years ago: I started a PhD. Before then, I had been drifting between jobs and, before then, I
had been enrolled in other types of university programmes – both undergraduate and postgraduate. What all
those things had in common – be it waiting at tables, answering the phone in a call centre or getting a
master’s degree – was structure. Sure, this structure could manifest in lots of different ways depending on the
context, but there were always at least three fundamental aspects: there was a target, a clearly specified
deadline to meet that target, and an external timekeeper (such as the restaurant’s manager or a module
leader, waiting for you to submit an essay).

When I started my PhD, I was catapulted into a new reality. I was told that I had essentially three years to
write a book (aka, a PhD thesis). That’s right. ‘You study the literature, you do your research and collect your
data, and then you write it all up’. Easy. Oh, and by the way, I could also take four years, if I really needed to.
And my research might change significantly at any given moment, but ‘that’s the beauty of the discovery
process…you’ll see’. So much for structure.

Of the three aspects mentioned above (target, deadlines and timekeeping), I soon realised that the lack of an
external timekeeper was the most radical change for me. This may be different depending on the specific
country, university and programme you’re in, but, in my experience, as soon as I started, my diary was
completely empty. It was entirely up to me to fill it in with training events, research activities and hours of
self-study. Nobody was there to keep me on track, at least not in the way that I was used to. I had to make
decisions and think about their implications. I was the CEO of this thing.

When you put it like that, it sounds powerful and liberating. But it came with a cost: time became relative. Not
only was I able to give myself days off during the week (‘It’s the first day of spring, I can’t be working’) or cut
the weekend short (‘Jeez, I really need to transcribe that interview on Sunday’), but my internal parameters
for measuring time also completely shifted. It was no longer 2019, but my ‘data-collection year’; it wasn’t 10
pm, it was ‘time to read this paper’. Even now, as I write my thesis, it may be May or June for the rest of
humanity, but for me it’s just ‘chapter 3’, because that’s what I’m working on at the moment. And yes, you
guessed it, it’s up to me to decide how long it will last. Or I could just wrap it up and celebrate New Year when
I finish this chapter. The sky’s the limit.

Gradually, I’ve noticed that this shifting perception has permeated other areas of my life and is reflected in the
unusually long time I take to do pretty much anything, from brushing my teeth in the morning to cooking
dinner at night. That’s why I have recently started using timers: a little reminder, now and then, that seconds,
minutes and hours are still passing by as normal in the outside, non-PhD-related world. They have a strong
visual effect on me; just looking at the countdown on my phone adds a sense of urgency to the task at hand,
restoring focus and efficiency.

It turns out that there is a more accurate way to describe my seemingly compromised relationship with time.
The answer comes from ancient Greece, where the concept of time was defined in two different ways. There
was ‘Chronos’, the conventional measuring of time in hours, days, months and years. Chronos is quantitative,
linear and irreversible. But there was also ‘Kairos’, which translates as ‘opportunity’. Kairos is an internal time
of dreams and possibilities. It’s qualitative and circular; it has no beginning or end. It happens in those
moments when the physical time is bent, stopped or forgotten altogether; for example, we might get lost in
the magic of a first date, a riveting book, or a warm hug.

The opposite qualities of Chronos and Kairos have led to very different representations over the centuries.
Chronos (‘Saturn’ for the Romans) has always been personified as a merciless god and a bearded old man.
He’s the Lord of life and death, a reminder of the inexorable passage of time. He’s also known for devouring
his old children, as captured in Goya’s famous painting. On the other hand, Kronos has often been depicted
as this hottie with a cool haircut and a pair of wings, a reminder, in this case, of how important it is to seize
opportunities, before they fly away.

These ancient images pervade our modern thinking as well. Writers, psychologists and life coaches urge us
all to make room for more Kairos in our lives, to embrace serendipity and risk, and to stop obsessing over
chronological time. While that is very good advice and probably rings true for many people, I also think that it
needs to be adjusted slightly when it comes to PhD life. For me, these past three years have been dominated
by Kairos. I have been given the opportunity to pause and travel back in time, revisiting ancient languages
and old archives; I have witnessed the serendipity of the research journey, the expected but mostly the
unexpected. In the process, I have forgotten about day and night, spring or winter. It’s a privilege, but it can
also be consuming.

I have come to the realisation that the magic of Kairos relies on Chronos. That sense of dream and
opportunity only makes sense if there’s an external timekeeper to remind us of how precious those moments
are. In other words, we need those moments to be just that: moments. Kairos wasn’t made to sit next to you
for three years, waiting as you complete your research. He was given wings to fly away and come back at the
most appropriate time. Kairos is possibility, not eternity.

Ultimately, I think that’s why I have been using timers around the house, lately. Obviously, one explanation is
that I’m losing it. Another explanation, however, is that, without even knowing, I was trying to reintroduce
some Chronos in my life. Some structure. Therefore, if you’re in a similar situation, or if you are just
embarking on your PhD journey, here are my two main takeaways.

1. Find a balance of Chronos and Kairos in your work life

As much as you can, plan your day in a chronological rather than ‘kairological’ way. Try to start early in the
morning and finish at a reasonable time in the afternoon, following what would be typical office hours. This
allows you to have some time for yourself at the end of the day, where you are more likely to experience true
moments of Kairos. Remember, as well, that even when you are not measuring time, your body is, through a
24-hour cycle called ‘circadian rhythm’. To maintain this internal body clock, it’s important to separate day and
night and to get plenty of sleep.

I would also recommend taking regular breaks during your workday. A very helpful tool is the so-called
‘pomodoro technique’, which consists of 30-minute intervals divided into 25 minutes of work and 5 minutes of
rest. You can obviously adjust that to what feels most appropriate for you, but the idea is that you have a
structure to stick to and, within that, you can pause at regular intervals and reconnect with an inner sense of
flow.

2. Find more Kairos outside your work

Once you have organized your work schedule according to Chronos (with a few kairological breaks in
between), you can then redirect most of your Kairos outside of your PhD. The type of activity that leads to
those moments is different for everyone. For me, it’s intense exercise, walking in nature, listening to my
favourite podcasts and writing. Other people may be more likely to experience Kairos in the company of
others, whether it be in person or on Zoom. It’s important that you find what works for you but also keep
experimenting with different options.

Wrapup

Our perception of time is very subjective and it may well change during our life. Perhaps in the future I will
think back to my PhD and feel nostalgic about these three years, when time seemed to have stopped. Right
now, as I approach the end of this journey, and as the world comes out of a deadly pandemic, I find it
reassuring to think about Chronos: knowing that life doesn’t move back and forth, nor does it go around in
circles. Life goes on.

https://ludwig.guru/blog/chronos-or-kairos-advice-from-a-phd-student-who-got-lost-in-time/