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.