The roses

From my stool at the café I can see straight up Oxford Street, continuing on the other side of Chapel. This view is normally obstructed by cars parked in the spaces next to the outdoor seating area.

It’s still early round here at 9.45 on a Sunday. I’m out now for a stroll before the Indian summer heat kicks in.

Facing me, a sports car approaches the intersection and puts its blinker on. From a near empty footpath, suddenly a crowd of pedestrians appears, forcing the car to brake and wait. Once the crowd, sauntering across in a bundle, have cleared the front of the car, two other walkers appear, in single file a metre or so apart. The driver, inching forward, is keen to turn the corner into her day, but keeps having to step on the brake. The pedestrians are oblivious, stragglers all looking down at their screens.

It occurs to me I am the woman in that car: Eager to progress a personal project but with persistent obstacles halting me along the way. What to do but wait for them to pass? Use the time wisely? Choose my playlist, check the volume, make all necessary preparations so that when the path is clear I can speed off, but still enjoy the ride even if there are further delays?

For delays there will be. But these needn’t be something to rail against. Perhaps they have a point too, play a part in my movement forward. But this feels counterintuitive. How can an enforced delay aid movement forward? Well, there’s the reminder to gather myself up and bring full awareness to the moment. Notice the danger in not paying attention, like those pedestrians with their necks craned roadward instead of seeing the moving vehicle approaching. And be patient. Enjoy the unfolding. Revel in it, even. For there is no rush but much lushness in this movement. All transitions take time. How many alive moments can I take with me?

And so I gather myself up and remember that all I have is now, that that’s all I ever have, and that my car will get me there. No need to force it to move before the path is clear. The point is to be as alive and alert and vibrantly here for as many consecutive moments as possible. Even when it’s an achingly slow, inching, halting set of moments. Those are part of it, too.