An Ode to (Valuable) Meetings

A large printed sheet lies on the table of an empty meeting room, showing a hand-painted hourglass on its side: a crowded left bulb, an almost empty neck, and an ordered right bulb of ticked-off shapes.

Almost everything that ruins a meeting is decided before anyone walks into the room.

TL;DR: In January 2023, Shopify deleted every recurring meeting with more than two people, and the instructive part was watching which ones people fought to get back. A meeting is a symptom: the damage was done days earlier, by someone dragging a block onto a calendar. Overstuffed invite lists are what an organization that writes nothing down looks like. If your AI avatar could attend without loss, that is a document with catering. The undelivered action item costs more than the silent attendee; it books the next meeting. Judge your AI by the meetings it prevents, then cancel one and watch.

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Where you work stopped mattering. When your AI resets started.

A close-up of an analog wall-mounted station clock with four colored arc-segments painted on the dial in place of hour numerals: three deep navy-blue segments and one mint-green segment in the lower-left position. The minute hand is slightly blurred, in motion.

The remote-versus-office debate has aged out; now, shifts run on an AI token clock you do not control.

Your AI tool reset now shapes your calendar. Claude meters in 5-hour windows, ChatGPT in 3. A heavy user on a Max plan can use an entire window in an hour, then wait four. This pacing splits your day into four shifts, making your meeting culture count against subscription tokens. Below is a proposed schedule for a modern knowledge worker, with three actions to try this week.

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