The front door to your house is a familiar colour and shape, outlined by the door frame that tells you you’re home. The lock, which you know intimately, might only open with a very specific turn of the key, at a precise angle.
The ritual of coming home is a process which makes you feel calm and relaxed – back at last, you can breathe easy.
Time can feel like a black hole, greedily eating up your precious days, months and years, leaving you reeling – trying to figure out, just like every paycheck, where the hell it’s gone.
If I told you that (in my experience) there are places where time works differently, I appreciate you’d have to take my word for it – and that might take some believing. Time is the constant we measure our lives by after all, so to be told that it isn’t always the same, depending on where you are, might seem a bit ridiculous…
Wake up, check your emails, trawl Facebook, bind yourself up with the endlessly coiling loop of twitter. During the day – probably a day spent indoors – a constant stream of information is fed to you from a phone that is essentially another computer.
By the time you get home the cycle is repeated; hours given up to staying up-to-date, staying relevant in a world in which relevance has become a second-by-second sea of a billion voices, all searching to be heard, all clamoring to be a part of something.