Heavy weekend traffic heading east out on Long Island is bliss when you’re not the driver and you reframe the 3+ hours as found time.
Three hours to do….what? Close your eyes? Dream? Simply watch the scenery? Flip through one of the many past editions of ELLE, Wired or Vogue that have been stacking up in your apartment? In the always connected and scheduled world, I confess I’m one of those people who doesn’t begrudge the time spent:
- Waiting in the Dr’s Office, as I have no other place to be, not a soul can find me (other than the Doc or her receptionist) and there is likely a past issue of some magazine or another that I have not read.
- On flights without wifi as being unreachable for a block of time is, well, so rare (same goes for the train or bus where the wifi experience is so miserable it is best to assume it doesn’t exist).
- Making risotto — it’s all about the 40 or so minutes of attentive stirring.
Found time is like finding spare change in the pocket of a jacket you haven’t put on in a while. Unexpected and while not life changing, it is a delightful, “what should I do with this” moment.