I don’t know how it was for all of you, but I have some beautiful memories of summers in my early teens before the teenage angst and hair gel set in. I remember how the days stretched out lazily like cats in the sun, the afternoons at the beach where the sun seemed to gently kiss your skin and warm you up instead of threatening to turn you to ashes, and all the beautiful books I read from cover to cover. There was time for siestas, impromptu barbecues, and, most of all, time to do nothing but be. Where did it all go wrong?
I know that this is a powerful thing to say, yet I mean it with every fibre of my being: the culture of being busy has destroyed us. Gone are the days when you could whip up a cake because you just felt like it or when you had the time to make an elaborate meal. Now, all I see are people mindlessly rushing from one appointment to another, looking like zombies. Everything is planned and timetabled; if you want to see your friend, you need to plan weeks in advance. Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m the ultimate culprit when it comes to this. My diary could probably win awards for the number of things it has stuffed in it, and yet, when I talk to the people around me, I become painfully aware that I’m not the only one.
Who remembers the days when you could spontaneously knock on a neighbour’s door for coffee and a chat if you felt like it? Who has the time or the will anymore? It’s become unthinkable that we once even used to think that was a good idea. Long phone conversations have also become a thing of the past – we simply have too many things going on at once, dragging our attention away.
I find myself repeatedly between a rock and a hard place. On the one hand, I want to cut down on the time I spend “doing things,” but most days, I’m simply trapezing like a fat, ageing gymnast from one thing to another, and it’s hard to know what I’m meant to be cutting out.
I also feel it’s harder to get things done thanks to longer work hours, ceaseless traffic, and more and more unseen pressure to fit things into the day because everyone else seems to manage to do it and even has time to upload proof on social media. I often fantasize about living in a log cabin in the middle of nowhere and then remember that I’ll still probably have to chop my own wood and kill cute, furry animals to eat. I suppose everything comes at a price.
I look forward to a time when my friends and I can exist without expectation. Here’s hoping that I won’t have to wait till I retire.
