The long way home

There were two ways back from the station. The short way passed a row of shuttered shops and a car park. The long way followed the river. For years, I had considered this useful information only when the short way was closed.

One afternoon I chose the river without a reason. A man was painting the railings green, working carefully around a spider’s web. Two children argued about whether the water was moving or the bridge was. Neither seemed willing to concede.

I arrived home eleven minutes later than usual, carrying a day that felt noticeably larger.

Efficiency is a useful tool. It becomes a poor guide when we ask it to decide what deserves our time. The shortest route tells us how to arrive. It tells us very little about what we might miss.

You need not change your life to practise seeing it differently. Take another street. Sit on the other side of the train. Ask a question whose answer you cannot predict. A small departure from habit can return us to ourselves.