As days and weeks rush by, I find myself wanting to fight all the more to be caught up in every precious second. Give me that razors edge where moments hang suspended for eternity, where the consequence of a mistake will bring a final swift silence. For at least in that place, moments last longer. I want the workout where seconds drag on relentlessly, because at least there I remember every moment of it. The race where 55km and six hours becomes an eternity and the pain makes me beg for it to finish. Yet those hours in the desert are bright brilliant memories, that weeks of life caught up on Netflix would be a pale flame beside. Let me shove every bit of my being into the next hundred steps on the boot-pack. The moment where I push into the edge on the last run in before the cliff. Give me that life. Lived in inches. Where pain keeps me from being anywhere else. Where glancing at a phone to check a text is unimaginable. Where the notion of hiding from the view in front of me behind a screen becomes absurd. It would seem the only life worth living is one that demands that we are here now, not waiting for an unknown future that offers some mysterious reward for arriving well coiffed and in one piece.

It is so easy to get caught up in the rush of people around me, bumbling forward, demanding that I get caught up in the meetings and tasks that perpetrate a ludicrous system. Some infinite fight towards some unknowable and unreachable goal in which every moment of time should be sacrificed in the pursuit of nothing more than zeroes and ones. Is life worth nothing more than some bizarre trade of time for an easy pass through to the other side? Distracted and demanding to be placated, society rushes to get through its weeks, its years, until suddenly, scrambling, people realize that time has escaped them. They have allowed an endless parade of daily tasks steal their lives away.