Another weekend, another break in the pattern of life, another chance to catch up with all that I miss everyday.
Who invented 9 to 5 anyway ? Sigh.
A search on Wolfram Alpha tells me that I’ve had 2141 weeks in this world – not too many ! and perhaps not many more weekends to go.
Time. You can’t rush it. To truly enjoy anything, to absorb it, reflect on it, make it part of yourself, you need time – infinite time, or at least the illusion of infinite time. And yet almost everything we do in these busy lives is constrained by time. Real or artificial, imagined or imposed – there are always deadlines. Dates to abide by, appointments to keep, timelines to follow.
How did we manage to come up with a work style so far removed from human nature ? Everyday, millions of people drag themselves out of bed, get dressed, drive to their offices, and pretend to do something important. Even when your heart is shouting at you to stop, to take in the beauty of the moment, to reflect, to stay close to loved ones, to let yourself go – duty calls and you are back to where you started. To what end ?
Perhaps it is the only way. I’m no anthropologist. Maybe this is the only way the human race could have progressed. Maybe the alternative would be anarchy. Maybe.
Or maybe there are other means. Maybe, unlike artists, we’re just not measuring the right things. Maybe we’re just too caught up with our own self importance to understand there are other ways to do something important.