Suck. Squeeze. Bang. Blow. These oddly provocative phases of four-stroke internal combustion must each occur in the proper sequence, at the proper moment, and for the proper duration or there will be negative consequences. At best, the motor will produce no power; at worst, it will self-destruct. While human beings are infinitely more complex than any mechanical device, there’s a parallel between this process and the phases of our routine existence. Without the right sequencing, timing and duration of work, play and rest, our powers will fail and we’ll incur damage.

First, let’s define these terms. By “work,” I don’t only mean employment. I use that word here to denote activities requiring dedicated, disciplined effort which is unaccompanied by a commensurate degree of intrinsic gratification. We may like our jobs, but not enough to do them for free. Getting paid augments whatever motivation we might already have to perform the tasks involved simply because we enjoy or value them. Such recompence makes up the difference; we then deem the total return worth our time and energy. Similarly, we may like having the benefits derived from doing domestic chores–a manicured lawn, a well-stocked pantry, water-tight plumbing, etc.–but most of us wouldn’t choose to mow, grocery shop or fix leaky pipes because those activities are so inherently pleasurable. Even social events can be classified as work when done out of obligation or as a means to some other end (e.g., keeping the peace in key relationships, establishing and maintaining professional networks), rather than because we actually want to interact with the people involved. All these things I’m calling work require us to push ourselves with the help of extrinsic rewards that make up for shortfalls in our desire. The greater those shortfalls are, the larger the additional rewards we need to balance the equation. Even when we’re well-compensated in this regard, we still experience a psychological drain, and perhaps a physical one, as well. No matter how much money we make at our job, we can’t do it continuously without burning out. It’s the same for other types of work.

By “play,” I’m referring to activities that are intrinsically gratifying and don’t require payment or other results to produce the motivation necessary for our involvement. Play can still be an effortful activity, physically and/or mentally. It might even take more energy and concentration than some examples from the work domain. But the drive to do it comes from our desire for the experience itself, not some secondary gain. For example, exercise can be work or play. If I run to lose weight, offsetting the onerous demands of making time for it, tolerating its discomforts, etc., with the hope of a slimmer torso, running is work I expect to pay me in lost pounds. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be running. By contrast, if I found the act of running pleasurable in itself, I’d do it regardless of the weight reduction benefit. In this instance, it would be play. Although I couldn’t just run all the time because of the energy drain involved, I wouldn’t need to muster a lot of self-discipline to make myself do it regularly; I’d want to run again whenever I’d recovered from the last time and had the next opportunity. There may be elements of my employment or projects around the house that are–at least to me–genuinely fun and don’t feel like work at all. Some social interactions are exciting and enjoyable in and of themselves, without any additional benefit to my situation in life. These go in the play category. As you’ve no doubt already surmised, most of motorcycling does, too.

Both work and play eventually deplete our energy stores, no matter how rewarding or pleasurable they are. We need time to recharge our batteries and give our minds and bodies a break from active exertion. This is what I’ll label “rest.” It is not merely a period of passivity or sleep, although those are certainly crucial elements. It must also include disengagement from the outside world, allowing for not only physical and mental recuperation, but also a kind of psychological digestion. Rest provides space for reflection and musing that cannot occur when we’re active and goal oriented. Its defining characteristic is that we’re not trying to do anything–in fact, we’re intentionally doing nothing. When our mind is relieved of pursuing some accomplishment and it’s free to wander, we’re better able to access insight and creativity. A fresh perspective can emerge, perhaps seemingly “out of nowhere;” it had been waiting in the recesses of our mind until everything else was quiet enough to allow its discovery. Rest doesn’t only take place when we’re lying in a hammock or relaxing with our favorite music. It can happen while we’re on autopilot–taking a shower or carrying out some other pleasantly mindless task. How many times has an important new idea occurred to you mid-shampoo or while waiting at a traffic light?

Little episodes of spontaneous rest like these can be happy (or at least valuable) surprises, but in general rest doesn’t “just happen.” In the frantic, overstimulating modern world, most of us must deliberately choose to rest, as opposed to being perpetually swept up in the whirlwind of things forcefully competing for our attention and investment. Without such conscious decision-making and commitment, we may periodically collapse from exhaustion, but that’s not really rest-orative. Sitting in front of the television or scrolling through news feeds and social media almost never qualify as true rest. While the person engaged in such activities is indeed physically inert, the mental noise thus generated precludes thoroughgoing relaxation. Occupying downtime in these ways can be a method–wittingly or unwittingly–of preventing the emergence of whatever has been on hold in the back of our mind, awaiting a calm moment to reveal itself. Instead of refreshing us, such noise-filled idling can cause us to be more agitated or despondent. In these cases, what we might construe as rest is actually just a rebellion against work and a lousy consolation prize for not getting to really play instead. Genuine rest leaves us better prepared for the challenges of work and play, even if it puts us in touch with thoughts and feelings we wanted to keep at bay. We may end up more sober, but also more accurately oriented, more able to make constructive choices, and with more energy for initiative and follow-through.

Different people need different work/play/rest setups, as you’d expect. Some require longer rest periods to recover, while others get by with much less and still function quite well; the same individual’s needs will vary at different points in their life. One person does best with lots of little breaks, as another needs fewer interruptions and longer pauses spread farther apart. Depending on how aversive we find our work activities (whether on the job, at home or in the social sphere), we’ll need the joy of play in matching amounts as a counterbalance. If our play activities are too brief, seldom or low-quality to serve this function adequately, we will inevitably feel irritable, resentful and cheated, even if we receive reasonable payoffs for our labors. Those payoffs may be enough to sustain our motivation to continue working, but that’s not the same as supporting a positive mood and outlook. Unfortunately, many people plow through endless drudgery as a way of life, but they’re definitely not happy about it and usually have a grimly resigned attitude toward the future. Their “play,” such as it is, may consist of pounding beers each Friday night or a burdensome annual slog to the beach with their family in tow. While done during “time off,” these can hardly be deemed recreational activities; no re-creation is taking place, only the repetition of prefabricated, mind-numbing escapism. High-quality play involves novelty and has a psychologically refreshing, rejuvenating effect, even though it may cost a substantial amount of energy. Play-induced fatigue is a vastly different experience than being worn out from work; the former feels richly satisfying, the latter is plain old weariness. While play may not be exactly essential for survival, it is absolutely necessary for psychological well-being.

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Aside from the relative proportions of work, play and rest needed for any particular individual to feel comfortable and content with their life (proportions that are measured in terms of both time and intensity), there’s the matter of sequencing. Some folks have great difficulty enjoying their play or settling into restful passivity unless they’ve gotten their work out of the way first. As long as those responsibilities are “hanging over their heads,” play and rest are contaminated, if not impossible. They may also use the anticipation of play or rest as fuel for the exertion and endurance their work requires. If they were to play first and work afterward, they might not have enough motivation to get the job done or to do it well. Of course, the problem with this approach is that a person’s to-do list can expand to fill all available space, leaving them with little or no time for anything else. As far as I can tell, it’s terribly rare for any adult to check everything off such a list, although they may reach a point of exasperation and quit trying for a spell. This way of determining the work phase’s duration leaves few mental and physical resources for play, even if there’s a bit of time left for it, theoretically. When rest is also sacrificed, work becomes harder and less efficient.

Alternatively, other people are perfectly happy to do their playing first. They might then turn their attention to work with the satisfaction of knowing they got in their recreational time, rather than anxiously watching that time shrink and slip away as they struggled to finish up their chores. Fresh from a good play experience, they might be at their absolute best when applying themselves at work, perhaps even getting things accomplished more efficiently than if they’d left the carrot of play dangling as a post-work incentive–and distraction. Obviously, there’s also the chance such people might get carried away with their play and put off work until there’s no way to get it done in the remaining timeframe. Maybe this causes serious problems, but it’s also possible they’d rather pay this price than forfeit activities they considered extremely pleasurable and personally meaningful. I haven’t interviewed anyone about this on their deathbed, but we’ve all heard that no dying person wishes they’d squeezed more work into their allotment of time on Earth. I find that completely believable. Nevertheless, there are real dangers in repeatedly disregarding important obligations or ignoring the necessity of downtime; these deserve careful weighing, even if they’re judged risks worth taking.

Various cam profiles are designed to produce differing types of engine performance, with numerous combinations of lobe height, curvature, duration and timing yielding a wide range of power characteristics. Two motors may produce the same peak power, but deliver it in dramatically different ways, with the contrast often traceable to when and for how long they suck, squeeze, bang and blow, respectively. Likewise, we human beings perform according to the way work, play and rest are arranged in our everyday lives. If we want to change our performance, we’ll have to alter the configuration of these factors. By “performance,” I don’t simply mean our productivity output, but also the quality of our experience and how well it fits our temperament and priorities. We should all do periodic timing checks on our own behavior, considering what’s truly optimal for us, rather than letting circumstances dictate the arrangement of our cycles. Grinding new cam profiles is difficult, for sure, but misaligned timing leads to sputtering stalls and internal collisions.