I remember how I loved the journey, the act of being on the way to somewhere, as a child, always being a bit disappointed at the moment of arrival when it inevitably ended, even if I sincerely wanted to see my destination. It was the moments of observing the world around me I adored so much.
There was a certain unconscious thrill and a conscious delight in the calm back seat of the car, going to my grandmother’s or being on a trip in an unknown country, devoting all my attention to the passing scenes of the streets and the highway, fields and forests, people on their errands, sneaking a peek on their balconies or through the windows. All of life seemed available on the plate to my eyes, thoughts and feelings. It was a meditation of sorts, maybe it was even an escape. The afternoon bus ride home from school, with my headphones on, as a break between lessons and homework, friends and family. No matter how much of a routine it was, can I still see a message in there, in how I savoured it ritually every day?
How in those moments I let everything be as it was, I let myself be as I was, letting gently go at each moment the scene that passed or the thought that arose. Feelings sliding from one to the other in a perpetual flow, the physical movement of the road somehow translating into their fluidity. Yes, life stopped in a way, got away from everyday duties, yet it was more than that, it dedicated itself only to that present which didn’t even feel like waiting. You see, I didn’t see the purpose of that half an hour in the stop where I got off, but in those minutes alone.
I sometimes wish I could see life itself that way, not obsess about the goal of it. Of course, we need a sense in it, and maybe we sometimes need to rush around blindfolded, numb and unaware. Nevertheless, I sometimes want to have that feeling that we will somehow get there, wherever it is, that it doesn’t really matter, and that all that really does is that we savour this moment in front of us, because it is beautiful in itself.
I usually have it while I travel, but then again, it might be just because it is a retreat from ”real life”. And in a certain way, I was in this mood when I moved to Paris. Everything was so unsure that the future didn’t matter, each moment was a bitter-sweet battle I treasured and then knowingly lost. Now, I enjoy my ordinary days, still the questions creeped in. Where does this lead and does it have a final goal?
Maybe we aren’t even truly supposed to have a mindful mood all the time, who knows?! I miss it, though.
I think that is why I need to flee and take an actual journey every so often. That at least for that one or a couple of days those questions don’t weigh on me and I only enjoy the moment I am given, focus my whole awareness on the taste it leaves on my senses and the sentiments it awakes.
More so, maybe that is how I will learn to finally extend it as well.