When life is busy and all your waking hours (and even some of your sleeping hours) are spoken for, a rare moment of quiet stillness is a moment to revel in. That hot cup of tea at the end of busy day, well-deserved and therefore sipped serenely without the suffocating pressure of things to-do; those brief moments curled up on the couch, eyes blurring words from stories of magical realism—those are the moments when you muse contentedly before dreamily drifting away that life is indeed good and not a moment of it is being wasted.
And when not a moment is being wasted—when every moment that is spoken for is a moment readily given—then you might find that you want for nothing. Because even the moments of exhaustion, of physical discomfort (say, when rolling baguettes outdoors in sub zero weather, your fingers frozen and claw-like); moments of confusion, frustration or disappointment—they’re all worth it. Why? Because you’re doing something you love.
I’ve never been one for idleness, be it idle chatter or idle activity. I’ve never mastered the ability to engage in small talk or to whittle away time. Luckily for me I have found myself perfectly positioned along a time-space continuum where opportunities I have dreamed of are within arms reach, seemingly almost too good to be true. But I’d like to think I’m an optimist, and therefore I can only acknowledge that it really is true.