Ever since enjoying routine became a privilege, they've made us hate it. "Back to routine": always negative, laden with regret. They've commercialized routine in favor of various gurus who promise to "say goodbye to it," as if solving a problem we didn't even know we had. Against routine, they've glorified the life of the digital nomad, the expat, working from the beach, weekend getaways. And, little by little, they've stripped it of its sacredness, its customary rituals, its everyday life, what happens to us all, the only things that unite us and make us equal: the coffee at the bar, the public transport card, the shopping cart. Routine is what makes us human, it's what makes us good people for a while. There's a touch of classism in the hatred of routine, in the resistance to being like a character from Tell me how it happenedThat is, a person who could be any one of us, interchangeable. There's a sense of superiority, of believing oneself less mortal than the rest, oblivious to the forces of nature.

You may have said more than once, "I like coffee but I hate tea." These are two simple, almost symmetrical sentences that express your preferences. If we pay attention, we'll see that they don't function the same way. In "I like coffee," the subject is coffee, not "I." The speaker appears as the indirect object: "(coffee) is liked by me." In contrast, in "I hate tea," "I" is the subject, while "tea" is the direct object. They express similar experiences, but with different grammatical structures. Verbs like "to like" and "to hate," as well as "to worry," "to frighten," "to interest," and "to bother," are examples of what linguists call psychological verbs—verbs that express mental or emotional states. They all share the same situation: there is someone who feels an emotion (the experiencer) and something that provokes it (the stimulus or theme). What changes between languages—and even within the same language—is how these two roles are organized in the sentence.