Today someone asked me what I do for a living. I gave my profession. I came home feeling I had lied.
Letter to a stranger
I write to someone who may never read this — which, come to think of it, is the best kind of reader.
Dear stranger,
I don’t know your name, and you don’t know mine. That puts us on equal footing, a rare thing these days.
If you are reading this, some curiosity brought you here. Stay as long as you like. There is nothing to buy, nothing to sign up for, no form to fill in.
I ask only one thing: if you ever recognize me on the street, say nothing.
In praise of slowness
No one taught us how to arrive late to our own lives.
I spent the whole morning trying to finish a sentence. It wasn’t a difficult sentence; it was just a sentence that didn’t want to be finished.
I distrust anything that gets ready too quickly. Bread, opinions, forgiveness.
Hurry is the most polite way of not being there.
A practice
Today I tried walking to the bakery without looking at the clock. I arrived at the usual time, but I arrived whole.