Lost in a Moment

I’m lost in a moment. My gaze loosens, my thoughts quieten.

I’m home. I’m worried about my kids. I want them to succeed and both are struggling. I’m worried about dinner. I’m worried about shovelling the driveway. I’m worried about getting my taxes filed. I need to get my corporate taxes done in the next couple weeks. My year end was months ago and I always leave it to the last minute.

Am I working fast enough at the new job? Nobody has reviewed my pull request yet. I already have a bunch of opinions about how I want to change things. I don’t have enough context yet to voice those opinions.

I’m in Mexico City. I’m sitting in a little coffee shop. They have “flat white” on the menu. I order a “pain au chocolat” to go with it. Apparently ordering that in French worked okay. I find it a bit stressful trying to communicate with people in a language I don’t speak.

I’m staring out the doorway, watching people walk by on this delightfully warm yet cool morning. A couple is sitting at one of the tables outside with a dog lying at their feet.

I don’t understand a word that anybody is saying.

I’m noticing the building across the street, with its raw concrete walls and balconies. I notice the subtle logo on the door of the coffee shop. It’s a quiet Sunday morning and things feel relaxed. I feel relaxed.

I am in the moment and not thinking about taxes or work.

When travelling, I often find myself in these moments. I am grateful for being able to travel. In my early twenties, I passed on trips my roommates embarked on. Once they drove across country and down the west coast. Another time, going to New York for New Years Eve. (They brought me back a Mujibur and Sirajul t-shirt that I still have in my closet.) Instead, I worked two jobs trying to make ends meet.

I am grateful for a career that has enabled the freedom to travel, to speak at conferences and to work remotely.

I finish up my flat white and head out to explore the city.

Published December 10, 2018
Categorized as Personal
Short URL: https://snook.ca/s/1141