So, dear Reader, it is a Saturday morning. The weekend stretches before us much like a person in their older-years that has been practising yoga for a considerable portion of their lives and, whilst perhaps short on time, is able to amaze with their feats of flexibility.
On which note, thank you for taking the moment's decision to click into this link from whichever dusty corner of the web it snuck up on you. And then continuing to use the next few additional moments of your day to read the rambling text that has equally thrust itself before you, much like an unwelcome exhibitionist (a tautology, no?).
I am conscious that, since October, this blog has entered a winter of discontent. Posts on writer's block, rehashed pieces posing as original and fresh thoughts, rants about critical engagement with the news, and the difficulties of being in your twenties. It's a surprise you're still here at all, really, and for this I also thank you.
And so, a return to the blog of yester-season.
Which of the many topics that have been sitting as drafts in my Blogger account from the last few weeks shall I pick to elaborate on and enthral you with? An unabashed love letter to handwriting? The fallibility of memory as we reconstruct our lives through storytelling? The joy of rediscovering that you don't need to 'go for a walk' in order to appreciate the peacefulness that a stroll can bring? A comparison of the monologue format that is the letter that we used to use as part of a prolonged conversation over distance versus the instantaneous world of instant messaging and texting that many of us now use to keep in touch with loved ones and friends? So many topics that have sprung to mind and been captured in little snippets so as to not forget them, lying patiently to be expanded upon. All rather self-indulgent, but then the purpose of this blog is to explore those things that bring a sense of happiness to our lives. Self-indulgence may be a vice rather than a virtue to some, but a vice that this amateur joke of a writer advocates. In this context, at least.
Let's explore the draft post that sits at the top of the pile. The joy of the stroll. I shall do my best to keep it short and sweet. I have already taken up too much of your time, I feel.
Much like this time last year, I have found that the stark London weather has had an upsetting impact on my willingness to wander. The result has been a mind that has not been cleared of the clutter that inevitably builds up after a long while. Those 'wonderings and ponderings' that I often mention haven't been allowed to take seed, marinate, and explore which unrelated metaphors they can introduce to each other. My conversation and ability to express myself has equally been affected, not having had the time to think and reflect that I normally need (like the good little introvert that I am). The sense of peace I wrote about last summer whilst sitting by the sea, and which can often be easily recaptured by a walk by the river, or through a park, has gone AWOL.
And yet, in the short distance between the Tube station and my flat last night, after what has felt like a long week, both the peace and the 'wondering wander' suddenly made a welcome reappearance. The commute home on the Tube had been the same, the route I took was the same, I was surrounded by the same hurried and harried commuters, seeking to get home as quickly as possible. But then the self-awareness that suddenly roots you in your surroundings rather than in your thoughts pulled me from my unconscious introspection. Rather than being one of the commuters, speeding down the pavement, keys already in hand, my pace had slowed. Rather than aiming to get to my destination (and warmth) as quickly as possible, I was strolling, breathing a little deeper, mind at ease and at rest. Home wasn't going anywhere. There was nothing pushing me from behind nor pulling me forward. And so, for a journey that normally takes about five to ten minutes, I forgot about the time. I looked in amusement at those hurrying around me, smart phones in hand or to ear; my eyes lifted to the street landscape around me.
In other words, the languid stroll that I normally reserve for the long walks I make an active decision to go on had suddenly made an appearance during my everyday commute. And the sense of peace from those few minutes still hasn't left. I feel refreshed, at ease; the whirring of the busy mind has gone.
And so, my friends, this is my self-indulgent observation for today. We often feel as though we don't have the time to do the things we want to do. We come up with excuses, say we're too busy, there's too much to do. But if something as simple as walking a little slower between the Tube and home can have the same effect has spending three hours wandering around a park or the city, and if all it takes is a little mindfulness, this is something even the busiest person can indulge in. To wander, rather than to hurry. To ponder, rather than to harry. And thus, we return to the contemplation of l'art de vivre.
