How to Survive Monotony with an Able Stewardship of Time

In monotony, there is not enough conflict to dramatize survival.

At least, the filmic in scope, such as shipwrecks. wilderness. alien invasions. Days are always quiet, long, uneventful, with frequent time checks disabling nodding off to limbo. Time never dies, so killing it is useless.

What happens if I let it pass without me? I am the absent in time, and it will pass, with or without my attention.

So the real skill is how to occupy time well enough that even the most monotonous day doesn’t slip through my hands.

What steps do I take to have the best time of day?

Step 1: Stop agreeing that the day is empty

This is when I wake up and nothing is urgent. Happens especially now that I’m jobless and retired. There are yet no deadlines, so I assume the day has nothing to offer.

This is a mistake. Because what happens next is a lot of staring, at the wall, at the ceiling, then noticing the cobwebs, getting annoyed, but not even rising to dust the perimeters, thinking of nothing, remaining on one angle of vision too long, googling anything not requiring naming: this is wasted time.

Step 2: Turn my coffee ritual into an anchor

Coffee is just coffee. But each day without coffee is not yet a day for me. Thus, coffee time is part of the structure, built into the shapeless moment, to give it a contour. Then the sandwich, the glass of water, walking in the garden, praying, before the main tasks, those that are paid, remunerated, given royalties.

Why this chronology for each day? Not because this is life-changing, but because moments are spelled out in stewardship like this. Ordinary coffee becoming VIP isn’t sheer projection, nor mere romanticising for Instagram inspiration. Anchoring time, giving it a beginning saying, one, two, three, start, this is a nurturing of time.

Step 3: The to-do list needs a reality check

Everything is optional when no deadlines loom in the next hour. But a blank calendar is horrific. What to list down when there’s actually nothing pressing: no priority task, no urgent task, no task requiring immediate attention, not even an errand.

Meanwhile, time doesn’t exclude tasks that aren’t usually calendared since they aren’t career-driven.

• Clean one drawer (or wash your sneakers)

• Reply to two messages (or not)

• Read two chapters of a book (actually reading should always be listed)

• Look for that eye drop, fix your glasses (what have you been putting off)

The goal is not to think that the above is not a productive list. Listing even those, for as long as I need to do them, this is productive time.

Step 4: Set the K Drama or BTS as Downtime

Often, it isn’t boredom. It’s just those writers capturing my attention with their excellent plotting and candy characters. Binge watching is a curse, but once in a while, if merely downtime, this is harmless.

Monotony is perpetuated, however, if this is all that happens most of the day. Time slows down when fiction unfolds on TV, because you are carried into the dream. Then you begin to think the dream is reality. This is fake time.

Step 5: Let the imagination wander, less aimless thinking

Why shouldn’t I let time be spent thinking about that new furniture layout? They say that for our dreams to become reality, we have to visualize it. Sketch it if I want. But should I act on it? Moving on, the boundary stops here.

The difference between imagination and drifting is simple: imagination ends somewhere. Drifting stays in the dream shadows. Imagination is creative time.

Step 6: Rest then meditate, not the other way around

I try to meditate, and my mind spirals, because both my mind and body are occupied with their own thinking. Yes, the body thinks, when it refuses to rest. I call this time numbing because, unless a full stop happens, no meditation ensues.

Step 7: One moment at a time

Slowly. Sit it down, or sleep it over. Keep at it, or put it away. But there’s that. Specific, not general. I know what it is I’m waiting to finish, procrastinate, desire, follow through, fast-forward, or prolong. I know that each has my full attention, whatever their status. Small ticks that matter for as long as I recognize that I’m ticking a moment in time.

Stewardship is the refusal to unname the hours, even when they refuse to hold still in clear forms. It is insisting that whatever version of time I am in, anchored, drifting, borrowed, restored, creative, time is not simply passing. Its surreality resists deduction, and yet it cannot be spoken for as mere, “plain time.”