2008. Wow. That didn't take long. Why is it that the older we get, the faster time seems to pass us by? I recently read a Bill Bryson book (kudos to that guy), and he made reference to how painfully slowly time travelled when we were young.

It got me thinking, how I too, used to idly waste away holidays, complaining to anyone who would listen at how hard done by I was, because I had nothing to help me pass the time.

I remember sitting in front of the TV and waiting for 12 o' clock to come around so that the signal would be turned on. I swear to you, that colourful logo and horrid elevator music with the digital clock deliberately clicking by, tedious second after tedious second, is a mental experience I will never manage to shake off.

My how time flies

Yet here we are, at the beginning of 2008, and I can barely remember a moment that I actually dreamed of time moving by faster than its current rate.

Okay, yes, there were those run–in's with my boss, those awkward silences at the end of even more awkward dates and of course the wasted hours spent in queues and banks where I longed for time to hurry itself on. But apart from that, the year seems to have once again slipped away, without much effort it seems.

So why does this happen? What makes us stop counting seconds and instead wishing for them? Is it because we start to full our lives with more things, I mean, when you're seven years old your Monday's itinerary might look something like this:

Now, many years later, it's all about waking up, going to gym, eating the right meal, caring for your latter half, going to work, getting home, paying bills, worrying about bills, making lunch for the next day... you get the picture.

So it seems, as I write this, that this disregard for time comes naturally as we grow up. Or am I wrong? With the passing years, its apparent we all give time the finger, stop respecting it for what it's really giving us, and just shove as much as humanely possible into it. I guess we can pat ourselves on the back for not being lazy, but seriously— how much of it is a good thing?

Losing imagination

Look at it like this. When we had eight hours a day to ourselves, we were forced to use our imaginations, we were forced to be creative and we were forced to come up with ways to amuse ourselves. What's more, we did it in the most natural, naive and innocent way.

There were no politics, no admin, no unnecessary and demeaning opinions from anyone. We were free from this real world we readily inhabit, free from all realms of adulthood. And yes, maybe it's not much use to the economy if none of us ever grew up, but surely we'd all be a lot happier.

I remember one school holiday my friend and I were beyond the sane state of bored. Thus we did what any eight-year-old would do — we made a pot of popcorn on the stove top without the lid on. Have you ever? The sheer thrill of standing peeled to the back of the kitchen wall while the pot exploded tiny popped corn cannon balls all over the place with a horrified maid watching in was exhilarating to say the least.

Once over, and once we both made the realisation that neither of us had died and the house hadn't burnt down (one of the risks we knew we were taking into consideration), we laughed and laughed until we cried. Then we retired to the lawn where we lay on our backs in the sun on the grass, completely satisfied with what we had accomplished.

Satisfaction guaranteed

Now it seems, I will only be satisfied if I have gymed until I have worked the pizza from last night off my ass, met several deadlines, caught up with old emails and done the grocery shopping.

What has happened to being satisfied with small things? What has happened to taking time out to get bored? And what the hell has happened to those simply childhood pleasures? Why as adults do we insist on confusing everything and every situation possible? It's unnecessary and stupid, and a wait for it, a waste of time. We spend so much time thinking about our futures, worrying about setting goals and planning routines that we forget all about the small things, the tiny childhood pleasures that make us happy. And I'm not talking five-beers happy, I'm talking mouth-compelled-to-turn-up-in-the-corners happy.

So for this year, I urge you to rediscover a few small pleasures that free your mind from the realistic and mundane pace of adulthood, and make you laugh out loud or smile to yourself. Whether it's putting sprinkles on your cereal or running around the garden in your undees with the sprinkler on, do it, be childish, and watch, because I promise time will unravel itself in front of you and lay itself down, allowing you the sheer luxury of maybe, just maybe, being bored once again.

Happy New Year...