‘All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players’ once wrote William Shakespeare some 400 years ago. He was looking at the extravagant, the extreme version of life that suggests each of us has an exciting part in this universal project. While this can sound believable, the idea that we take on different roles full of unexpected surprises, in this quote, Mr Shakespeare failed to look at reality – life’s repetitiveness.
Every morning, I wake up, have a shower, eat the same sort of breakfast, have the same type of conversations, walk the same route to college, attend the same lessons and (beautiful) library in my free periods, do homework most evenings followed by tea, Classic FM, podcasts and sleep. Life is repetitive. This was also the case when I was a younger child. Back then, in my early development on this planet, my life was guided by routine. Lesson, lesson, break, lesson, lunch, lesson, lesson, home. At home, play, being read to and reading aloud every day was the norm. I imagine the regularity of life today will mirror my adult years, especially when I am older. Bingo (maybe!) on Tuesday, book club on Saturday, charity shop volunteering on Sunday. The art of doing the same things on a regular basis looks likely to continue as far as the eye can see. Initially, this can appear quite boring. That was not the life I chose; the one I wished to take part in had opportunities, differences, the unexpected every day. We are only here for a finite amount of time. Don’t we wish for our lives to be unique, at odds with the generation before, both for our own pleasure and what we can leave behind for the next? In contemplating many of these matters, usually on my internal philosophical walk to and from college, staring at the same cars and traffic, I had an epiphany. It was an internal voice speaking to me, clearly justifying – and celebrating – life’s repetition. I began celebrating too. From my delight, my own exploration into what made life life, I discovered three things that meant repetition in life was not a coincidence but had to be an eternal necessity. Firstly, much of life’s brilliance stems directly from monotonous repetition. Take any form of art – be it a Shakespeare play, a classic book, great paintings, a Hitchcock masterpiece – and tell me it could have come together, each element working together to make the piece the outstanding artform it is today, without repetition. You can’t. It’s impossible. Every work of art created would have come together from tireless self-criticism, restarting, almost giving up. The final outcome would have told every single one of those creators that the hours of monotony were wholeheartedly worth it. Every smaller actions in comparison – going on a luxury holiday, obtaining worthwhile exam results, being part of a local community project – would have only been constructed through much repetition and debating of ideas. I love to relax. Having few pressures, the ability to zone out from the world and choose whatever activities I wish to take part in is liberating. Yet this lack of structure, the void of tasks I need to complete, few projects to throw myself into can sometimes be purposeless and make me feel lacking in ambition if the relaxation period is for too long. It is thanks to repetition that tasks can keep me motivated for the future. While some may be able to life their lives totally spontaneously, feeling not attachment ot any place or task, others, like myself, need far more structure in life. Every day is Christmas. Every evening is Eurovision. Every week you win the lottery. Every Monday is a bank holiday. Every day you meet your hero/heroine. Do you get the picture? If life were always made of new experiences, the activities most people can only dream of, it wouldn’t be fulfilling at all. Instead, the events regarded as a privilege would become the norm and as boring as monotonous activities. It is thanks to repetition that we appreciate, value and look forward to the unexpected. William of Stratford-upon-Avon understood that if his plays were made up of only Romeo and Juliet’s permanent love, Macbeth killing just about everyone, Hamlet going mad and Beatrice and Benedick constantly arguing, nobody would find the plays enjoyable. Much of life has to be fully expected to flourish, laugh and live at the unusual parts worth savouring.
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