Some weeks feel less lived than assembled.
More like days bolted together, routines welded tight, life riding along the conveyor.
Yet while the factory hums, the question grows louder:
Are we passengers on a mechanized ride?
Or are we still choosing to drive?
When days turn into weeks, and weeks into months, routine can feel less like rhythm and more like process.
Appointments, calls, tours, campaigns, deadlines.
Bolt on Monday, tighten Tuesday, repeat until Sunday gets fastened at the rear end!
Imagine lying on your back, rolling down a factory line, with workers or robots attaching the parts of your week.
Headlights of obligation.
Trunk of fatigue.
Passengers are climbing aboard. This conveyor never stops.
Most of us have never stood on a factory floor. But the metaphor still resonates. The shift. The clock. The line. Work arrives in predictable increments. Life assembled in predictable ways.
Factories are not what they were. Many are already workerless, orchestrated by AI, run by machines that never sleep. Cars that drive themselves. Packages that appear at your door before almost before you even knew you wanted them. Much like having ads for sales pop up on devices because you were driving by a mall … or simply mapping your trip from your bed before you got up.
We are already immersed in it. The tech is so much larger than we can possibly imagine.
The world delivers itself faster than we can catch our breath. Yet our own needs remain human: breaks, meals, sleep, days away. The more mechanized the world becomes, the more fragile those human moments seem.
What comes next comes next. The conveyor won’t stop. The difference is whether we let ourselves be carried along or whether we stand up, step off, and remind ourselves what self-driven means.
Being self-driven means seeing the line, choosing when to ride it, and daring when to walk away.
Automation may be everywhere, but WE, the real drivers, still decide, can’t we?
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I’m aware what is going on . Please forgive me, I am very busy today.