don't run, walk

Diogenes lived in a ceramic jar btw

Summer ended sometime in mid-September and it’s all been one long season since then. When there’s no natural evidence of time slipping away it’s easy to continue putting things off. But much like keeping up a familiar pace is comforting and important, falling out of it is just as important when things no longer quite work. And if the weather insists on staying the same I have no choice but to break the pace myself.

You already know: the longer you leave it the harder it is to write again. But here I am. Honestly, it’s all because I’m just like the ancient Greeks; a woman of high culture (lol).

Just like my spiritual ancestors, the Greeks, I need unnamed miscellaneous handsome men in loin cloths to be feeding me grapes, and quiet obedient children with palm leaves fanning me, and a bed made entirely out of gold embroidered cushions or whatever to do my good thinking.

Listen, I know it all seems barbaric, but I’ve been led to believe it’s all an essential part of the process. I have a feeling it’s one of those things that once you get to enjoy it you can probably convince yourself to overlook the sexual (I think) exploitation of men and the child labor. Like using an iPhone or wearing H&M. There’s morality and there’s comfort. At least in my mind the men have loincloths.

It’s either royal comfort or complete squalor, renouncement of material possessions, and religious persecution for revolutionary ideas about the shape of the world or something.

Neither my mind nor my days have been restful lately. In the absence of personal space, leisure, as well as complete lack of persecutable thoughts, I’ve resigned myself for a time to be satisfied with being an average person with average thoughts. The conditions are not ideal for good thinking, so I give up on the exercise.

But here I am, keeping on in the spirit of keeping on. And as far as the iPhones are concerned, not to be callous or anything but the ancient Greeks are all long dead, so they never had to make the choice on that one.

***

Routines get a bad rap. But even while defending their necessity I have to admit: life isn’t ever the same tomorrow, and eventually things just get out of sync. Normally by that point I come to be attached and forget: it’s not the routine that’s important.

Keeping things the same is a doomed goal, I know this. “It all barely works as it is, so a shake-up in the form of a stressful family trip will probably just destroy everything altogether,” that’s what I found myself thinking about our upcoming trip to Latvia.

But on Wednesday I was suddenly hit by a good kind of brain wave: “Good!” a small voice said. “Good, it’s not working anyway. Shake that shit up, see what happens.”

What a liberating realisation. There’s nothing more mindful than dealing with something hard, because you have no choice *but* to be in the moment, right where you are. And since you’re already there, you’ll be there for the good moments, too.

(There are so many good moments.)

Mila is 18 months old now. A small child like that is only ever in the moment: everything matters. Everything matters a little too much if you ask me, but that’s neither here nor there, as far as mindfulness is concerned. How much less authentically are you prepared to feel the world in exchange for not being fussed about what colour your bowl is? That’s a choice one has to make for themselves. The fun of it is that as long as the choice is conscious, you are okay.

We were walking down the long corridor from the lift to our apartment. To my average adult eye it’s as boring a corridor as it gets. I remember thinking that when we moved in: what a sterile corridor, it has barely any personality at all.

Mila stopped to press the switch on a wall plug. On, off, on, off. She looked up at me and laughed. “Look!” She pointed at the three star hotel-type carpeting. She stepped over several of the lines of its brain-numbingly boring pattern at once. “Wow!” I said, “look at you go, kid!” She laughed again.

She ran over to the ventilation grill on the wall, and ran her hand over it up and down up and down, making a clattering sound. “Waaaa,” she said, and took my hand, urging me to do the same thing. I crouched down, and remembered suddenly how it feels to wonder over mundane things like that.

“It’s time for a little shake up,” I thought again in that moment. Historically speaking, I deal well with difficult things. (Lest we forget the great internet outage of last month!)

I can tell you there’s been some progress. I’m not exactly like the ancient Greeks. I’m adapted for the modern world, and the colder climate (living in a ceramic jar is definitely out, though here in London that’s £700 a month). So instead of dreading a trip with two small children, I’m letting myself be excited. Whatever else happens - it will probably be for the best. Alongside the wisdom of asceticism, or enjoyment of opulence, I know one thing for sure: change nothing before simply changing your pace.

Time to break our barely functioning routine. And if at one point the seasons decide to change, whenever it may be, it will be on time.