Near the end of my working day, after the rest of the office had gone home, my computer started the have some issues. I had just completed a bug fix, but I couldn't test it, because my test server wasn't completely non-respondent. I had no inkling of how to fix her ( her name is Agnes ) and with no one else in the office the help me, I was left with no choice but to head across the street to the pub.
I ordered a Kilkenny and a cup of the soup of the day: cream of asparagus and smoked cheddar. I read the business section of the New York Times. I watched no one steal my bike through the window. I ignored the young couple sitting near me, who probably viewed me as an object of pity. If they only knew how rare and exciting thirty minutes alone in a pub are for me.
Riding home ( with a burger and fries in my pannier for Tobias ) I thought of how lucky it was that my computer misbehaved. It's only when something goes wrong, when my strictly regimented life gets disrupted in some way, that I can break out of my little invisible pod of dullness and routine and predictability.
This, I feel, is the primary benefit of travel. When I travel, things go wrong, the unexpected happens, and I feel a bit like a soldier gone AWOL or a kid skipping out of school.
Free, I guess.
It's harder to make happen here at home. Returning from a trip, I often say to myself "You've got to try harder to live a more varied life, pretend you're travelling, even when you're at home." But life presses down on me, and I forget that I'm missing this thing, the freedom.
It would be lovely to feel that all the time but then how does the money get earned and the garden get planted and the children get fed?
Best, I suppose, is to willingly wear the handcuffs of this humdrum suburban existence, but remain aware of them, and get unshackled from time to time. And to recognize the unshacklings when they do happen, even if they're represented by something as small as a pub dinner alone.
Here is a photo of another good alone moment from last month. Tobias and I were having breakfast at the Blue Bottle Coffee Co in San Francisco during a romantic weekend getaway sans enfants. He went to the bathroom and I built a sculpture out of my french toast.
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