This morning, as the Sony agents fixed our TV to the wall, I gathered up all the unread issues of The Spectator that had been scattered around the apartment over the past few weeks and wondered for the umpteenth time why I can never find enough time for reading. It’s not just reading that suffers; writing, photography and many other things I’d like to do all suffer the same fate.
My best time for reading was rather perversely when my job was the busiest because although I was very busy it demanded extreme amounts of travel and the Blackberry had not been invented yet. The photo below is a sample of the cards that came with this travel habit, these particular ones from 1995-1998 being the stragglers left over at the end of a very busy few years, the ones I gave Zosia to play with. A photo of them a few years earlier would have seen double the amount of cards and all of them “gold” or “senator”.
This amount of travel was ridiculous but it did allow me to get a lot of time to myself and therefore get a lot of reading done. Nowadays, I’m very happy to have reduced the travel significantly, but do miss the uninterrupted time.
There’s no question in my mind that the majority of people today live lives not considerably better than robots – work, chores, work, chores and so on with an incredibly small amount of time for either family or self. Changing this, giving people more free time, will almost certainly reap rewards not just for the individuals but for society as a whole and yet we seem to stuck in this headless chicken rut of 9-5 for 5 days every week and trying to cram 3-4 days of personal stuff into just two.
One day. Perhaps…..