I needed a change of mind, I needed a change of feeling. Recently, it’s been a period, work-wise, of more fear and sadness than normal—and certain emotions do have stronger grips. So, I did things to loosen their grip. I went to bed early, I read books, I moved my body. I changed up my Wordle routine to be less effective—naughty words turn out to be a fun way to stay engaged with the game. Did you know Wordle accepts “cunts” and “cocks?”
But I still felt tethered to a shriveling thing, a dwindling dog.
Tuesday, a bout of car trouble compounded the feelings. It also meant I needed to walk to the office when I’d planned to drive. And then I remembered, packing my bag in the morning, oh wait, that’s right: bus stops.
I worked for two years at an advertising agency in Paris, France. (There’s a book about it.) Often, I’d get stuck. Maybe I came up with an idea for a new campaign and the client didn’t love it. Maybe my boss didn’t love it and wanted more options, other ways to say something about the thing being sold. I’d sit at my desk and stare blankly. I’d fetch a coffee and stare blankly.
Then I remembered the bus stop across the street.
Change of scenery, change of angle; because voids need to be acknowledged. Back then, I used to smoke cigarettes. (Kids, don’t do it.) I’d take the elevator down to the street and cross the Champs Élysées, where there was a bus stop in front of a branch of HSBC. I’d sit on the bench, light a cigarette, and take out a notebook. I wrote down fragments of sentences, wherever my imagination led me, or something said by a passing person. Or I’d really look at something, look at it intensely, and try to describe it, name it. Live in the moment, seize the moment, try to get the picture. Or maybe play the moment the way a musician plays a piano by ear, and see what happened.
Inevitably, twenty minutes later, I had a new idea, new energy—and it wasn’t the caffeine-nicotine infusion.
So, Tuesday, I made myself a coffee and packed it in a thermos. I walked a mile toward the office and stopped at a bus stop under leafy trees. I sat, poured the coffee, and did nothing for fifteen minutes but sip and look ahead. And I felt better. And the better feelings lasted all day and put the others in perspective.
The thinking is: a change of outlook, even a manufactured one, is a benediction I can bestow on myself.
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Meditations in an Emergency is a weekly mini-essay from Rosecrans Baldwin about something beautiful. Paying subscribers receive a Sunday supplement with 3+ ideas of things to love, plus a monthly dispatch from the road, for some inbox wanderlust ⛰️
Rosecrans is the bestselling author of Everything Now, winner of the California Book Award. His most recent novel, The Last Kid Left, was one of NPR’s Best Books of the Year. Titles mentioned in this newsletter are stored on a Bookshop list, which pays a small commission. For more—books, articles, etc—check out rosecransbaldwin.com