The spaces in-between

Photo credit: Booker T. Sessoms 2024

Last week, my work schedule required me to commute to the city every day.

I haven’t had a regular commute since long before the pandemic. I have a morning routine, of course, and regular work-hours. But it has been a good 7 years since I last had to travel to-and-from an office on a daily basis.

I had forgotten what it feels like. The tight timings and need to cram much morning prep into truncated minutes. Required planning for food and water, lest I am forced to invest in (more-than-necessary) single-use plastic. The inability to get basic chores done on coffee breaks and lunch hours. Put like that, commuting is a net loss.

The part I had not consciously connected to is that commuting also provides space to reflect: a space in-between meetings or home-and-office where nothing much can happen, and reading for pleasure or listening to music or podcasts is almost de rigeur. In a city like New York, commuting also helps me literally see the community I live in, and be aware of the different lives that intersect as we go about our tasks. A dance of sorts. A way to be together as we travel in linear, circular, and randomly convoluted patterns. As if we were weaving and re-weaving our connections daily. Which of course we are.

In some ways, that space in-between is like savasana (corpse pose) at the end of a yoga session: a way to integrate whatever I just did and prepare for what comes next. And just like in savasana, it is not always easy to stay calm and present within. But when I do, it invariably brings calmness and joy to the rest of my day.

This week, I am going to try to find ways to insert in-between spaces in my non-commuting life. This is the only place spaciousness can come from: actual space.