There’s always that mad rush – to finish. Chores, tasks, responsibilities, neverending duties. The list of items that come at us one after the other, or a few together. We puff and pant, we splutter, we catch our breath. Quick, quick, quick! In the next five minutes!
Traffic drags us back. We begin to panic. Time is running out! The backlog looms before our eyes. We could have finished three tasks in the time we were stuck on the road. We try to get ahead, by working in the vehicle: making calls, delegating, distributing, and making promises we can’t keep.
At the end of every day, in our tasks list, despite the mad rush to get everything done, there are still a few that are not. That’s okay, we tell ourselves. They’re low priority. I got the high priority ones done. I will tackle these, maybe during the weekend. If we don’t, either we fail someone else or we fail ourselves.
And so the weekend continues to be a rush too.
Satisfaction is getting up to 80% of the tasks done.
We flop before the TV to relax – we have thirty minutes before the next race begins. We’re timebound – our life is boxed. Each task in a box.
Vacation is boxed too. You’re allowed two weeks to get away and do what you want to.
WhatsApp gets a few minutes between boxes.
Somehow we proceed from one day to the next, shoving each hour out of the way. If you aren’t running, you might be a social outcast or something. Or maybe you are wealthy enough not to be partaking in the race. Or you have a real reason, which we don’t want to hear about.
Is life supposed to be this continuous race, or are we doing it wrong? Or is it that we do not have a choice anymore?