Time and the Supermarket Cart

I went shopping today and, as I was about to return the cart to the trolley bay, I spotted one abandoned in the middle of the parking lot. It stood there alone, between cars, like an object forgotten by the world.

I wondered how fast we must live
to have no time even for that.

That image says something about the way we all live. Always between two journeys, two responsibilities, two notifications and dozens of thoughts about what comes next. Rarely are we fully anchored in what we are doing. Rarely do we remain truly present in a moment.

I inevitably thought of Octavian Paler's "We Have Time", a text that continues to resonate deeply precisely because it remains so relevant. Although it belongs to another era, it seems written for our world: a world that runs constantly without quite knowing where it needs to arrive.

· · ·

I no longer know who bears the "blame" for this collective rush. The rhythm of the music we listen to. The culture of speed in which we grew up. Films that have accustomed us to the idea that everything must be intense and fast. Social media, where silence almost seems a waste of time.

Or perhaps simply the fact that we have grown so accustomed to running that moments of calm have begun to unsettle us.

All of these things, taken together, probably amount to no more than thirty minutes in a day.
And yet, they could radically change the way we feel life.

We run constantly toward the next thing, the next stage, the next goal, as if existence were a race to be finished as quickly as possible. In all this rushing, we risk losing exactly the things that make life worth living: attention, stillness, presence, the small gestures that make the world more bearable.

· · ·

The greatest luxury of the modern world no longer seems to be success, money, or speed.
The true luxury has become the ability to move slowly without feeling guilty.

To be able to sit in silence for a few moments. Not to turn every second into a competition.

Because no matter how fast we rush, we will not arrive anywhere sooner in the end. We may, however, arrive more exhausted, more hollow, and more estranged from ourselves.

And sometimes, all we need to remember this is to look at an abandoned cart in a parking lot.

P.S. I took it back to its place, so it could socialise.

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