Transit.

bridge

I sometimes come to this bridge to watch the sun set and the trains swoosh by. It helps me understand that time passes.

When Time Seems to Stand Still.

Sometimes life hovers heavily in limbo. Today’s luminous sunset is imminent, yet the traces of tomorrow are not not yet visible. You are waiting for things; all kinds of things at the same time, for decisions, calls, beginnings, ends. For the puzzle pieces of your future to fall into place so you can move on confidently with what you are doing. A sort of profound suspense infuses your being; from the moment you open your eyes to the moment you close them at night, an underlying nervousness takes a hold of the back of your mind, even if you are consciously trying to be mindful, to breathe, to let now be now. You may even be embracing yourself in that restlessness, with patience and kindness, accepting that this is what it feels like to be you right now, and that is okay. Still, everything feels as though it were made of a block of iron to which there is no end.

And if you are like me, you will start noticing annoying little things. That has been me for the past few weeks. I am tired and, to be honest, my left eye has been twitching for no reason at all. And then there is my thumb. I have no idea why it hurts, but it does. The child of our neighbors; she screams and screams and screams, every day. And why is the apartment so messy?

In this state of transition, in which the wheels of time are turning ever so slowly, it is hard to believe they are moving at all, except perhaps backwards. Indeed, sometimes it almost seems that this will be it from now on. This is what life will feel like. Even though my mind technically knows that there must be a moment of relief at some point, my heart wonders: will there ever be a time of lightness and clarity again?

To the assurance of all who are feeling similar right now: the wheels are turning. The earth is quite realistically tilting gradually with each night you give yourself over to restless dreams in the wrinkly warmth of your silent bed, letting winter melt into spring so slowly that we do not see it. The little veins of frosty ivy are stretching themselves a millimeter farther across the frozen walls of your home. Yes, you may not see it, but the wheels are turning ever so powerfully in the inconceivable background of time.

Then, one day, the little pinhead of your tiny cosmos will explode into a mosaic of previously invisible colors unraveling before your eyes. The gears of life have suddenly jumped, and all is different. The phone rings. A letter arrives. A stamp is punched onto a document. A conflict finds its end in a faint and unexpected smile. Sometimes it all inexplicably happens on one single day. Today, I received that letter, that stamp, and that smile. I don’t understand how it all happened on the exact same day, but it did. And then again, it only did because time has been at work in more subtle ways all along.

Through the opaque haze of the evening, you can finally recognize the outline of what will await you in the morning. And it is looking good.

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