As we grow older, our crippling fear of mortality suddenly follows us around like a sunless shadow. There is no time or space for the cultivation of our interests anymore. Hobbies can’t coexist with all our adult responsibilities. Time is running out. Whereas adulthood provides us with the realisation that Britney Spears and Disney stars aren’t the only people growing older, childhood felt more like a foretaste of immortality. The sweet childish illusion of us being somewhat special or entitled only confirmed the belief that we can’t just disappear from this planet as if we were never meant to be here in the first place. It’s almost like the world never needed us to exist. But that obviously can’t be true. We’re too unique to deprive the world of our existence. Death is an offensive bitch and we all deserve better. Here’s how to make time stand still to oppose her.
Quit any job that brings you joy, and replace it with one that requires you to fulfill tasks that are as useful as separating whole Doritos from crushed ones. Choose between telemarketer, HR consultant, and those elevator operators whose entire job is to push the button so you don’t have to. Be creative. But not too creative to the point where it gets fun. There could be thousands of pointless jobs waiting for you around the corner.
When you finally get the position, make sure you have a clock visible to you wherever you look. It’s important you count and really feel every second of your existence.
Realise how truly long one breath can take. Calculate how many breaths you have left until you have to go home. Resist the urge to google how many breaths you are likely to have in one lifetime*.
When you’re at home, make every day of the week feel like a rainy Sunday where no one knows what to do with themselves. Decline any offer that could potentially give you such a good time that it makes time fly faster. Good times are your kryptonite from now on. Resume to counting the fluff on your black trousers.
Read a book in a language you don’t speak and translate every word with a dictionary you keep next to the book you’re reading. If you’re feeling particularly brave, find the translation in another language you don’t speak before translating it to your mother tongue.
Plant a garden and attempt to make everything grow with the power of your mind.
Read poems to your plants exclusively written by self-diagnosed depressed kids on the internet.
Join those people with stands on the street who either want to A) sell you something, B) make you feel like a piece of shit for not contributing to their charity’s profit and cause, or C) convince you to join their cult. Choose the latter because you don’t have the money for option A, and option B would be too much of a contribution to a cause greater than you.
Paint your walls and watch them dry. Both figuratively and literally.
Get hit by an additional existential crisis that makes you question whether a short but fulfilled life is better than a long and meaningless one. Lie down on the floor in fetus position and wonder if you have enough time left to create a fulfilling life. Get frustrated at the paradox of having a desire to have fun in life even though that defeats our wish to make time go by slower in order for life to appear longer.
Wonder what you desire more and give up when you notice that no matter what, the final outcome will be the death. Proceed to feel the suffering condition that being human is.
Realise that you have wasted your time trying to find the answer in this blog post. Repeat cycle whenever you forget that bloggers are neither scientists nor wizards hiding behind a screen in the sixth dimension.
*The answer is about 672,768,000 breaths if we live up to 80.
Photo by Majid Rangraz on Unsplash