Cortados can wait.
On following schedules strictly.
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Some months ago, in the beginning of the year, I visited my girlfriend in Germany. It was my first time in the country, so our sightseeing schedule was full. Lots of shops and monuments to visit. We became even busier when we visited her hometown and I had the chance to see more of her world: the park she played in as a child, the kindergarten that was once hers and that her niece now attends, the café she always visited after school with her friends (though it has since been remodelled and lost all of its character, unfortunately). Some mornings, my girlfriend and I would shake off the sleep and bedhead, and ready ourselves for whatever local adventure was on the menu (it typically included cake and cortados). We’d stroll into the kitchen to fuel up before stepping into the cold, late winter air. This often went exactly as planned; after a couple slices of toast and some raspberry jam, maybe a shot of orange juice, we were ready to go. Some days, though, my girlfriend’s mom would be around—cooking or reading. She’d ask us how we were and what we planned to do that day. She’d end up eating breakfast with us or drinking an espresso while we ate. More idle chatting ensued. Small life updates about family turned into emotional check-ins turned into informed and impassioned bilingual discussions about the history of their city, country and people. All this before lunch. Our conversations grew, as the best ones do, like wildflowers: in patches, slowly at first and then with unstoppable vigour. Together we jumped from idea to idea, vibrant purples and reds and oranges. We would finally move, effortlessly and awkwardly, from solving the world’s problems at our kitchen table back into our plans for the day. Only then, would we notice that it had been three hours since we originally intended to leave, and we were rather hungry and perhaps we should just stay home and keep chatting and have some lunch. The cafés, with all of their glorious cheesecake and espresso, would have to wait another day for our visit.
My girlfriend is visiting me, now, in South Africa. Though the shoe is on the other foot, our adventures still include cake and coffee most days. She is on holiday at the moment, but my life is a little more complicated. My days are flexible, and my workload is light, but there is work to do. I set aside one morning this week to write (very close to my deadline, unfortunately) for an hour or two before our plans took us away from home. On that morning my procrastination allowed me to delay for long enough that my girlfriend and I began chatting with my mom, who was sick in bed. Just as we had with my girlfriend’s mom, many months and kilometres ago, the three of us fell into the rhythmic pattern of good conversation. Questions and answers were exchanged, I joked and was teased in return. It really was a lovely snapshot. At one moment, I lay with my head on my mother’s shoulder and my hand in my girlfriend’s and we all laughed, likely at something daft I’d said. My girlfriend was sitting on the bed, petting our dog when my phone alarm went off, signalling my final warning to begin writing. I picked my phone up, silenced my alarm, dismissed my notifications and returned the phone, face down, to the bedside table. I recognised something that I think, perhaps, is more valuable than discipline.
I have not been writing a very long time, but all of my writing is centred around one thing: relationship. I think, in a way, everything else is centred around relationship, too. Or should be. I am not using ‘relationship’ to mean a romantic relationship, but rather as the connections we make and maintain within ourselves, with one another and with the places we come from and go to. And since the internet, people we may never meet or places we do not come from and may never go to. Thinking and writing about relationships, examining how they connect us, drive us, heal us and push us is endlessly fascinating to me, and I believe it to be valuable work—especially in a time of rapid, unprecedented social change. However, I can sometimes become so distracted by my deadlines to write about my relationship with the world, myself or my loved ones that I forget to experience it. Had I listened to my alarm and left my mom’s bed that morning, I would have been a disciplined writer with nothing to say.
I don’t have time to spend with my family right now, I have work to do. That’s what I thought when my alarm told me my time to work was running out. When I was in Germany it was no problem at all to drop my plans and spend time with family. It was fun and easy—I was on holiday and I had nothing to think about except my stomach and my heart. Now, though, even with my light workload, I sometimes struggle to see unstructured relational time as productive or valuable, unlike my work. Actually, though, any relational insight or experience fundamentally informs my writing. In a way, it is work when I’m in my pyjamas, chatting with my mom. I know the same may not be true for you. I realise that my perceived importance of relationship may be inflated because of its value in my writing, but I also believe my thinking has made me aware of what I have missed because I thought I should be a disciplined worker.
One evening last week I sat at my desk with my door closed to write, overhearing the echoes of friends arriving, eating with my parents and sharing their lives. After some time I joined them, but I lost a little bit of that night. Clearly my actions displayed that my work is important to me. When I ignored my schedule, choosing to spend time with my mom, we were lifting her spirits. We were teasing and laughing together. We grew a little closer, a little more comfortable. These are the foundations that trust, reliance and family are built on. Perhaps that is valuable work, too. One weekend earlier this year, my girlfriend, her parents and I all went to Maastricht, Netherlands. The first memory that comes to mind is of the four of us squeezing on a bench for a rest in the middle of our walk, tired from a day of window shopping. We just chatted with each other; her dad made silly jokes, her mom showed me the gum she bought. My focus, and I believe my best writing, lies somewhere between work and relationship. To me, the mix, writing the stories of my life, might be the most important work of all.
It sounds like I’m an advocate for procrastination, and perhaps we all should be from time to time. If you enjoyed this week’s journal, please share it with someone you love.
Ah, the ubiquitous Kaffee und Kuchen! Another great post!
Adore this.