Looking back, I wouldn’t describe my childhood as convenient.
The first time I explored the internet was using the methodical magic of dial-up. To hang out with friends I’d walk to each of their houses without knowing if they’d be there. When I wanted to get food while my parents were at work I’d adventure to the nearest gas station. At the time, these weren’t inconveniences. They were a way of life. They were my normal.
A couple of decades later it’s clear that both I and the times have changed.
Now I get slightly irritated when a coffee shop’s internet is a bit slow. I only occasionally see my friends in person and it almost always requires planning ahead of time. If I crave a bag of chips, I’ll drive 60 seconds to get them if it saves me a walk. These are my new norms - the ones subtly cultivated while living in a society desperately seeking convenience.
Moments of quiet reflection while waiting, enjoying the excitement of unexpected gatherings and embracing the thrill of a simple walk through the neighborhood are now rare. But maybe they don’t have to be.
What if instead of chasing convenience we spent a bit more time reclaiming the parts of our lives that made us feel something? The inconvenient, unnecessary things that cause our tired bodies to come alive as they remember the soul-fortifying joy of doing something for the hell of it.
Would our lives run less efficiently? Undoubtedly, but at least we’d be living them.
In a world obsessed with efficiency, enjoying the unnecessary is an act of rebellion.
I struggle but try.
A note from "Yer a Wizard, Granty!" by
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