Come on in, sit by the fire.
Feet up, arms folded. Comfy? Excellent.
Let’s talk about death. And happiness.
At the moment, death seems pretty inevitable. Maybe our children’s children will discover the secrets of immortality (I suspect it’ll have something to do with cyborgs), but our generation will undoubtedly tango with the Grim Reaper one day.
Since our time on Earth is limited, I’ve been thinking about how I spend (or waste) said time. Specifically, I’m worried about the amount of happiness I get out of my day. There are so many humdrum parts to a typical day, tasks we have to complete in order to serve a larger goal. Like being stuck in an office for eight hours. Misery for the sake of survival—unless you like office work, in which case you’re already dead.
Eight hours a day.
Forty a week.
2080 a year.
86 days spent doing something you dislike, which doesn’t include the time spent commuting to and from work. Working to further someone else’s goals. That’s the reality of most people on the planet.
Yeah, I know: there are some very practical consequences to just doing whatever you want at any time of the day. Nothing would get done. Chaos would reign supreme. Society as we know it would crumble.
But a guy can dream of doing—only doing—what he loves, can’t he?
What’s that Queen song? “I Want To Break Free”? Oh yes.