Right now is a time to be in-between places. Neither here nor there. We’re moving, but our new apartment won’t be available for some months. We’re flitting back and forth, between Paris and Montpellier, crashing with friends or staying in unremarkable Airbnbs, between appointments and chores. Oh and did I mention we’re moving via train? Trust me, it makes sense. Or it does on paper anyway, the actual schlepping notwithstanding.
We’re not seeing the sights, we’re just getting things done, living life as it were. Life mostly happens in the interstices between things at any rate, but we forget. We look forward to, celebrate, and remember the highlights, but the majority of living is perfectly ordinary. It’s a Buddhist practice to show up with your full attention for those not-special moments, to make the ordinary perfect. To give the daily dross the same consideration you would give to a Rothko painting. And sometimes, you find a street Rothko while you’re going somewhere.
I often take photos when we’re just standing around waiting for something, which I called truth in travel. You know, the boring parts. The frustrating parts. The on the way to someplace interesting parts. The what it’s really like parts.
We recently reconnected with an old friend after a couple of decade’s absence. He gave us the phrase “right now it’s like this.” Indeed friends, right now it’s like this.
We have another few months to swim in the in between. But right now is always just like this.