In search of time

Dear friend,

I’m sitting in the lobby of the Hotel Sorrento, a place that has been standing in the heart of Seattle since the turn of the last century. I wandered in after a visit to the Frye, just to sit a while and see the comings and goings. I do have a book with me, which I pulled out of my bag and placed at my table like a talisman, a protective signal that I do have something to do. I’m not just some weirdo sitting alone in a hotel lobby observing people around me and writing little notes in my journal (though I actually am). There are a lot of things I could, should be doing with my time instead of sitting here right now.

I ended up at the Frye without meaning to. That is, when I left my apartment it was just to go on a walk and see where I end up. See what I see. Shortly after the hill I decided it would be nice to stop somewhere soon and the museum was nearby. Sometimes when I mention to a friend that I walked somewhere very far they get an alarmed look on their face. But that’s a long way from you. It would take so much time. It’s not really the distance that they react to, I think. It’s the time it would take when there are other, faster, more efficient ways to close that distance and get to the point. But often the point, for me, is to take the time.

A few days ago, on a cold and rainy walk through Discovery Park, I noticed very small buds on some of the bare trees. Spring is already on its way, even though we don’t officially mark it until mid-March. But nature has already started turning toward growth, taking her time in this new cycle. Much of the blossoming will happen very slowly, over a long period of time. And then one day we will look around and declare that Spring has arrived. We celebrate the peaks. The accomplishments. The point. But the ancient wheel of time is full of slow beginnings and long middles and ends. Nothing changes overnight.

The beauty of being out on a nature walk on a gloomy day is that you can cry in front of a small bud on a bare tree and hardly anyone will see. This winter has felt endless. January went on for months and the world has been plunged into a darkness I can’t even describe. But there was a little bud on a bare tree, telling me that we are also part of this ancient wheel, that darkness does eventually give way to light, that spring will breathe new life even in the bleak winter. That everything takes time and the point is to just keep going, to go through it.

I guess I’m just asking you to take your time. To do something slow. To take a walk. To stare off into space and let your mind wander. To read a book. To call a friend and let them tell you their stories about co-workers and family and what happened at the store the other day. I don’t know when time became money and we learned to trade it like something we own; in exchange for money, for power, for status. But time exists outside of our calendars and watches. It exists whether we optimize it or not. It is mastered by no one. It will turn whether or not we schedule it. And only when we allow ourselves to be lost in time, surrender to it and savor the immense pleasure of simply existing, are we actually being good stewards of time.

Something to read (and more)

A few weeks ago, I learned that I was spending an average of 3 hours and 19 minutes on Instagram. Per day! In a panic, I deleted the app so I could do a sort of media reset. A new media diet, if you will. One that is full of whole and minimally processed ingredients. For me that is books, conversations with friends, movies and limited series, live shows, a few podcasts and - perhaps most importantly - boredom. It is hard to overstate what a gift boredom has been to my creative mind. I do use Instagram as a storytelling platform and a place to connect with internet friends, so I will eventually fit it into the diet, but for now it’s been nice to take a break from the continuous noise. Here are some of the other things I’ve been enjoying:

• Entangled Pasts: Art, Colonialism and Change. If, like me, you can’t make it to the Royal Academy in London before April 28, this review is a great way to get a taste of what I imagine is a breathtaking exhibition. If you can make it to London before it closes, please go and tell me all about it.

• The Big Re-Frame: The What, Why and How of Intellectual Humility. This conversation was deeply recognizable as a core truth, and also surprising in what it revealed for me. If I could ask everyone I encounter to explore one topic with honesty and humility, I think it might be this one. Please give it a listen.

• Burial Rites, by Hannah Kent. Convicted of murder, a woman is sent to an isolated farm to await execution. Set in the dramatic landscape of nineteenth-century Iceland, and based on true events, this is a story about a country and about a woman’s life as it is witnessed by those around her and experienced by herself. It’s beautiful, gripping, and…bone chilling.

• Since the start of the year I have been re-reading Dante’s The Divine Comedy and am now halfway through the second book, which is his journey through Purgatory. This is my second time seriously reading these poems and once again I found Inferno captivating and dramatic while Purgatory is a slow slog. There’s really not much that I can add that hasn’t been said about Dante so I won’t bore you with my takes. Just know that I have found this 700+ year old book extremely relevant even today.

Thank you for being here.