I missed my bus, this morning. It was a near thing, and then it was twenty minutes before the next one showed up. It occurred to me as I stood there that I didn’t mind. The exact thought that coalesced was I am not in a hurry.
I feels like it has been forever since I have not been in a hurry; since I have not been scrabbling for control over deadlines like quicksand under my feet, or running to classes I do not have much interest in, or making plans.
I am not in a hurry. I’ve got nothing and no-one waiting for me; there are no rules to these days. I can do as much or as little as I want; I do not have to go fast if I don’t want to. I can go as fantastically slow as I want to.
I caught my bus, then, and it was mostly empty, and I rode it with my forehead stuck to the window. I tried to remember the names of the stops that looked beautiful and that I wanted to come back to, later.
I went on a hike to an abandoned building nicknamed the Witch’s castle, and the trail was drenched in more green than I have ever seen. There was a heavy trunk fallen from one side of the canyon to the other, and it looked sturdy enough, so I walked half-way across it and I sat there, for a while, feet dangling four meters above the water, watching and listening to the stream below.
I had lunch at five in the afternoon, because I guess that’s what happens when you really aren’t in a hurry, and I watched her stretch the dough until the one lump turned into dozens of noodles, and how she added stir-fried vegetables and crispy tofu. Thank you, I told her, this looks delicious, and she smiled and sent me on my way.