Since graduating, time has gone strange, compressed, like the world hit fast forward. Like that pause at the top of a roller coaster, a lifetime of anticipation, then the drop. It is fun, but you know it will be over before you can name the turns. And I keep wondering, do I even choose those turns, or am I just along for the ride?
I don’t want to live fast. If time is mostly perception, maybe there is a way to stretch it.
Here’s my working theory: novelty slows time down, monotony compresses it.
The scenes I’ve lived a hundred times play at 4x speed. Wake, scroll, work, email, repeat. Blink and it is Friday. But when something new happens, the seconds widen. The beautiful stuff, the raw moments, arrive in slow motion. Think about the last summit you reached, the first listen of a favorite artist’s new song, the view or conversation that made your chest sting a little. In those moments you were fully there. No buffering. No extra tabs open in the back of your mind. Just presence.
That’s the tension I’m sitting with. I want to build something that leaves a dent in the universe, but the day to day of building can blur. Another to do list. Another late night. Another calendar square swallowed whole.
So I am borrowing a page from Griffin Washburn, also known by his stage name, Goth Babe: MICRO-ADVENTURES
Nothing complicated. No expedition level logistics. Just quick, intentional breaks in the pattern. Things you can do before work, on a long lunch, or with a single weekend. Little sparks of novelty. A way to re-seed your timeline with moments that stretch.
This morning I took my guitar to a field. The grass was still damp. The strings were a little out of tune. A couple of birds hit notes I couldn't play. I wrote a messy verse and chorus for a song I’ll likely forget tomorrow. The world went quiet. Soft. Present. I watched the fog settle on a lake, noticed the leaves shifting colors, and the way light glimmered through their branches. I walked back buzzing, not because I made something perfect, but because I made space.
I’m going to use this blog and our socials to document these micro adventures and invite you into them. They are tiny on purpose. They fit in real lives, and carry the essence of Humanitees: wear what matters, do what matters, notice what matters. We are here to build things that last and to be awake while we do it.
If you are reading this, consider it your nudge. Plan one small adventure this week. Sunrise on a roof. A bike ride to a road you've never named. A library aisle you've never walked down. Bring a notebook, or a friend, or nothing at all. Let it slow you, on purpose.
Thanks for being here.
And remember, live slowly.
-Luke Boylan