Today I have been thinking about time and routine.

 I do not believe in time as we normally define it. I think time is a construction of man. That construction is both good and bad.

 It allows people to come, go, and congregate in a way that allows for productivity and order. We can take important moments and make them tangible. It is also a preventive for activity-specific chaos. It has its uses in a world that needs parameters and structure to function. However, it is a false reality; time is really nonexistent. It is, was, and will ever be without a name. Time as we know it is more like lines that give us simple-minded humans points of reference—thus the word “timeline.” Nevertheless, time cares little for these things, it just is.

 I detest routine in its many ugly forms and the almost sacred importance many people place upon it. Many may disagree, but I do not think we were made for routine. Mankind was made to wander and think and create. We have something unique inside us that we have been trying to kill for thousands of years—the natural freedom to simply be.

Why did we create a world that judges one another on what they have, not what they are, or what they could be? We are not natural-born capitalist vampires; we are naturally free and open sentient beings. Be like a child. Think…when you were seven did you care about being late to anything? A butterfly may have distracted you, or maybe a dragon needed slaying.

 8-5, forty hour week, overtime, part-time, staff meeting, extra training, meetings for the sake of meetings, the same route because it is fastest, the way we have always done it, forms, rule upon rule, newer is better—these are profanity to me.

 

Routine is the murderer of the soul—it is the insidious assassin of dreams.

 Did you ever want to be a dancer or a singer; a writer or a painter? You may have dreamed of being an astronaut or a professional surfer. Maybe routine and the world slowly, but methodically killed those things inside until one day you awoke and somehow they went from dreams to silly, childish thoughts. You cast them aside like so much trash.

When you were little, a leaf or a grasshopper was magical; did you think about how much money you were putting in the bank? Did you lose sleep over being late to school? 

I don’t think so.

Many people think or will say to me, “You are not practical. You are unrealistic. You are a dreamer. You are foolish.”

 I proudly answer with a resounding and unrepentant, yes.