Writing something that's on public forum for a considerable time is a task. While it is surely an extension of the state of mind, I feel it's a responsibility to have good content. Something that stirs me up when I get back to reading this some day or maybe works for someone who's in a similar state of mind. Reading and writing, that way, have their own little inspirational backdrop.
Over the past few days, I've been trying to work on optimising time. There is the part of rest that is different for everybody. But what happens to the rest of the active time? Planning and thinking sometimes robs a lot of time. Social media usage when uncontrolled takes the lion share. Its not a good idea to shun any of it, but maybe an effective moderation of these would perhaps work, depending on what you really need to do, or what productivity you want to bring to the table.
I recently stumbled on an instagram reel. A dude is hurriedly walking and talking (apt, considering the subject). He says you get just 75 summers and 75 winters if you are lucky and so on. I like the opening of the video. Immediately grabs your attention. 75 summers. I'm on the 38th one now. That's just 50%. Also, optimistically hoping that I'm indeed lucky. That's how time is, right? On one day there are grandiose retirement plans, on one day there is a lackadaisical attitude, on one day when you are just about to sleep, there are a hundred ideas that you want to execute. But 75 summers. Fuck.
Again, there are ways to interpret this. Would you rather sit and cry over spilt milk or would you turn industrious suddenly and make sure everything is put in place? When you are lacking a little perspective, what might also help is dividing time into even further smaller factions. That's when you get a struggle of the 5 minute deal. Content on instagram robs your time. Social media where misleading headlines of videos are all done to get the said number of hits or views.
The point is, time is just the way it is. It is a vast canvas given to us painters. What do we fill it in. Would we surrender to unknown people painting our canvas in their own colours or would we find a way to paint it ourselves, even if its two mountains and a sun?
