A cow stepped on my foot today. It wasn’t the biggest one around, but damn heavier than I would have expected. It seemed unbothered as I hurriedly encouraged it to move its hoof so I could be relieved of pain.
I got my breakfast to go, did a little shopping, gave my leftover bananas to some wandering cows including the one that stepped on my foot, and chatted with a few people outside the shops.
I’ve been loitering in the streets longer in the mornings as it’s the only time I’m allowed to be out of my place, but the hotel owner gave me permission to use the closed restaurant on the fifth floor to sit at a table to write or work during the day. It’s a welcome change of scenery to the confines of my room. I can also go up on the roof and see what’s happening in the area, basically taking the role of the stereotypical busybody neighbor in TV sitcoms.
Not much else to report other than I did notice a Baskin Robbins opened a couple days ago. There is also rumor of an Italian restaurant operating black market contraband in the form of delicious pizza. They aren’t supposed to be open, but if you get their number you can text them an order and go pick it up. When I stopped by yesterday, however, the gate was locked and the cross-eyed guy talking on the phone next door was little help in answering my question if I could order to go.
Maybe I’ll try again at some point. I certainly have the time to spare.
WRITING REFLECTIONS
I’m still trying to find my place in all this, making my way through each day, ebbing between moments of significance and those stretching the boundaries of boredom.
I am where I need to be right now. I feel it. I know it. And everything has worked out to allow me to be in this environment when I could have been in countless others, many I know to be less conducive for me. I could have even been kicked out of a country and forced to return to the US. It has happened.
This experience is a mixed bag for sure though. Yes, there’s boredom and a clawing need for social interaction beyond a digital screen or unseen voice.
There’s also focus paired with the removal of distraction.
Boredom is good for that.
Good for the writing. Good for the soul.
I know significant growth doesn’t come from complacency or while we’re sprawled out across a seat of comfort. It is earned, not despite the challenges but because of them — challenges that occur sometimes in the most unwanted of times.
This is not to say comfort is bad. It has its place as anyone who has ever taken a road trip knows — you can’t drive full pedal the entire way. The joy and purpose is found as much in the going as it is in the stopping to appreciate both the sights and rest offered.
And so I’m curious what will happen after this lockdown is over. Where will I go? What version of life will I live in the 3 months immediately after? Because I do feel the call of a measure of comfort right now, perhaps needing time to reflect and process this experience, to have a bit of routine and camaraderie shared over a warm cappuccino or whiskey and coke on the rocks.
I say the next 3 month increment for a reason. It’s a long enough period of time to create significant change and immerse myself in an experience while being short enough to drive home a sense of timeliness, thereby encouraging me to savor the moment and resist the hesitancy to answer the call to action.
When asked about this, however, sometimes an outsider will make the mistake of inferring there is no long-term view of my life from this perspective. It’s a fallacy to assume that A automatically precludes B. We are not binary beings. Our choices are not merely a sum of 1s and 0s.
One can move in a life direction while at the same time focusing on short-term plans. In fact, without these shorter term ambitions, I personally find my focus and enthusiasm waning. Give me too long and I’ll dawdle, spending too many of my moments in complacency with a healthy measure of apathy.
This reminds me of a quote I once read: “The trouble is you think you have time.”
Yet in this scenario the limit of time isn’t the enemy. It’s the gift.
And the time we are given, particularly during this lockdown, can either be a prison or a cocoon.
Both can be transformative.
But only one gives you the means to fly when it’s over.