This morning, I was waiting for someone who didn’t show. Which on the one hand is a pain in the #*%, but on the other hand is a kind of gift. To just sit. And wait. And think. I hate to say it, because I vowed I would never say it (or allow it to happen), but those moments are hard to come by with a three year-old around.
A child, especially an energetic, perpetually cheerful one, is, first and foremost, a gift, but silence and time for contemplation are too. Earlier this year I’d read that there was a brief period in the history of flâneurship in Paris when it was trendy to go for a walk with a turtle on a leash, and I couldn’t help thinking that this might offer a solution to the hurried, the stressed, those-who-don’t-have-time.
A sort of tough-love approach to pace.
Sign me up.
I've heard that productivity is constant, relative only to the space in the building in which it’s being done, not how many people are working there. That you can get three times as many people into an open office space than one with closed spaces, but that the amount of work they produce is reduced by 2/3 (!!!), thereby rendering the open office space and extra people useless in terms of the amount of work done in that space. There’s something to be said for a room of one’s own. Or at least time on one’s own, to pause and consider, even if it is just all the vapour trails in the sky,
or a pattern of leaves in an alley.
After all, let us not forget (as that three year-old will likely remind us) that the turtle wins the race.