I find myself with an open night on my hands due to a bureaucracy thing in Osaka that I have to deal with tomorrow. I should be boarding a plane right now to Kagoshima, but that has been pushed back 24 hours.
Hurried travel days are my favorite. I look forward to the motion as much as the destination: the swish of the landscape speeding past, the chat-chat of people coming and going.
But instead of rushing to Kansai International, I’m taking the slow train home to Osaka from Kyoto. I’m watching a pre-summer shower dot the windows as the sky gets dimmer. The lights on the buildings start to flicker on.
After my initial outrage at the forced change in plans, I’ve found peace in the unexpected open field of time that has spread out before me. There is fresh air to breathe in, cooling off my tangled brain cells. The grass under my feet is green and soft. The sky is clear and the horizon stretches as far as I can see.
I’ve been going at full throttle for weeks or months now. The only way I know I was moving so fast is because time has abruptly stopped while I was in mid-dash.
It feels surprisingly good. I should be folding my arms impatiently counting the seconds, but I feel centered and without hurry. I can see things moving in slow motion all around me. Nothing makes a sound.
I have a handful of projects I could tinker with tonight, but everything’s packed and this is a rare chunk of designated time off. So maybe it’s better to leave it all in my luggage.
I would like to claim responsibility for this sense of peace I have, but I really don’t know where it came from. At first I thought I might be coming down with something. But it turns out this is just calm. Huh.