Learning by the Guides.
When movies or literature show us a bored immortal — or just someone with a ridiculously long lifespan — there are usually two main types.
First up: the aesthete, the refined dandy with pianist's hands, who's long since gotten tired of your little orgies and the act of painting dadaist masterpieces with the tip of his nose (sometimes mid-orgy, naturally).
Second: the character whose looks don't even matter anymore because the hundred cufflinks and the constantly changing ties already scream that he's the Owner of the Entire Business World.
This guy casually scrolls through his phone while hosting a jousting tournament between postal workers and voodoo lords, casually chatting about futures and venture capital funds.
And yet, somehow, what always slips away from the writer's pen (or camera's eye — which, mind you, is no longer a sad, molted bird feather) is the most ordinary kind of person.
Which, if we're being honest, is basically almost the entire population of the Earth.
And trust me — they would absolutely find something to do.
Hold on a second! Let me take a sip of water to clear my throat, stretch my fingers a bit, and then invite you all to my social media page where, yes, I'll finally start motivating you.
Yeah, I finally caved! Not for long — just for a couple, maybe a few paragraphs — but that should be enough to make you realize just how vital a retreat is after spending four hundred years as a financial analyst in the Department of Departments under the Office of the Offices.
You never even have time to travel abroad, right? Vacations are a disaster, and hanging out with your family is more like a wishlist item. Or maybe you don't even have a family besides your loyal Brussels Griffon dog, and it's been way too long since you last scratched behind the ear of not just a pet — but a true friend.
Basically, just starting there already gives you a solid fifty to a hundred years of pure exploration time:
Studying every corner of the world, paying tribute to every piece of regional architecture, tasting every exotic dish you can find, absorbing every local custom and culture, and simply trekking (or riding, or driving, or diving) across every beaten or unbeaten path.
And don't forget:
There's a whole damn universe of hobbies and skills you probably dreamed about but abandoned — partly out of laziness (yeah, guilty as charged myself!), but mostly because of that eternal lack of time. Well now? Time's no longer your enemy. Go ahead: analyze Carthaginian coin faces with a magnifying glass while wakeboarding across the ocean — it's all fair games now.
You could even spend a nice long while doing absolutely nothing (just a reminder: Death isn't breathing down your neck anymore), just chilling those tired feet with their hardened work calluses on a beach somewhere warm and golden.
You could exhale for real, finally — stop running the endless race you've always been trapped in.
Or — the opposite — grind even harder just for the pure love of the hustle (and because, let's be real, money's not going anywhere, and material pleasures will still matter).
Getting tired of all that too? No problem. In my mental storeroom, I've got library shelves packed with ideas — where every book spine could be titled with another fascinating activity, another exciting masterclass (and sorry, but I can't get through this motivational session without at least one mention of the word "training session").
BUT THAT'S NOT WHAT'S REALLY BOTHERING YOU, IS IT?
"Sooner or later, we'll run out of ideas for TV shows! And what about music?! There's already so much genre-blending happening — how will they even create new stuff after that?"