what are you, a Sim?

There’s something about routine that I just can’t stand. The idea of creating a regimen for myself (that isn’t skincare-related) sounds so incredibly boring and restrictive that I’ve avoided it to the best of my ability my entire life. You suggest that I do the same set of activities every week, at the same time every day, without fail, in order to be ‘successful’? Oh my god, bore me less. Groundhog Day (1993) isn’t a comedy… it’s a horror film.

I resent that my negative outlook on something most people consider to be ‘essential’ could paint me as irresponsible, unreliable, or *gasp* capricious. But if I were any of these things, I wouldn’t be capable of holding down a job or paying my bills on time or doing all the other things required of adult people. I know I have to commit to some level of routine in order to survive, but by the third day in office every week, forcing myself out of bed and back onto the hamster wheel we call ‘life’ is a struggle. More often than not, three consecutive days of doing the same exact thing feels like one too many. Seriously, what am I, a Sim?

I believe most young people (especially those in the creative sector) can relate to this. This is why I refuse to drink the ‘Gen Z are lazy’ kool-aid that the Telegraph and the New York Post are selling. It’s more likely that young people struggle to envision themselves feeling fulfilled in an environment where each day looks to be indistinguishable from the next for the foreseeable future. How can we realistically be content riding a steady wave of ‘certainty’ when the world around us is in a state of increasingly unpredictable flux?

Being a younger Millennial on the cusp of Gen Z-dom, I get it. A relatively constant state of mild chaos is the kind of lifestyle I know I’d thrive best in, or at a minimum, feel most alive in. It’s abnormal how much adrenaline I derive from spontaneous texts like ‘shall we grab dinner in Soho after work tonight?’ or from following my nose to the perfume section of Selfridges to do some window shopping during lunch. These things help meet the bare minimum of my need for ‘spur-of-the-moment’ activities.

I love experiencing something unexpected or doing something differently ‘just because’… even if it’s only taking the scenic route home on a sunny day or popping into a bookshop I’d typically stroll right past. More than anything, being spontaneous is about exercising free will. Forcing a break in the matrix. Sticking it to the man. Remembering what you like and who the hell you are.

This need to deviate the mundane might have something with my childhood. But my family would probably argue that I entered the world this way, kicking and screaming and pushing back on doing things in the way they were expected of me. Let’s just agree on that, because I’m not in the mood to psychoanalyse myself today.

It does bother me, though, that society generally considers it unrealistic or naïve to desire a life that’s constantly evolving to take new shape. Especially when you’re on the cusp of being 30-years-old. An age where – for some ridiculous reason and especially if you’re a woman – the world starts to view you as borderline geriatric.

By now, your wildest dreams should be laid to rest. You should be falling naturally into the rhythm of having an ultra-secure career path, and most of all, you should be building a solid plan for parenthood. You’ve got to settle down eventually. You can’t do what you want forever. My friends and I often say that we wish we had a decade between 29 and 30 just to live for ourselves a little longer.

While I’ve definitely shed many of the reckless traits that defined my 20s, I feel compelled to resist crossing completely over to the dark side, adopting the idealised, regimented version of a ‘successful life’ bottled up and sold by self-improvement content creators online. My algorithm knows better than to show me that utter woke nonsense, but when it slips through the cracks, it only makes me double down harder.

You know, the influencers who film themselves waking up at 6am to do their daily journaling, matcha-ing, yoga-ing, and avocado-toasting and seem like they’re having a human experience so close to productivity perfection they’ll soon start twirling and levitating into the heavens like a Sky Dancer fairy from the 90s.

Instead of feeling inspired, I can only think of how adopting their routine would make me the most miserable, exhausted version of myself. I’m the fairy from that one vine.