Oh my goodness, this is pretty amazing: Karel Capek’s 1925 Letters from England start off with his impressions of London - streets, traffic, parks and so on.

It’s so quotable!

In {Czechia}, in Italy, France, the street is a sort of large tavern or public garden, a village green, a meeting-place, a playground and theatre, an extension of home and doorstep; here {in London} it is something which belongs to nobody, and which does not bring you closer to his fellows; here, you do not meet with people, and things, but merely avoid them.

A new mobile phone is a good opportunity for a reset of our digital lives, too. Naturally, the whole ecosystem surrounding a phone is interested and invested in keeping us engaged and subscribed: that is why I like to avoid the whole “transfer my phone” business and start from scratch again.

Of course, it’s my own fault that over the 5-6 years with my Android phone I ended up with something like four different browsers and at least four different email clients - I am curious and interested in how different options provide the same functions in different ways and styles.

But it’s not just that: starting afresh without a podcast app, with only the Gmail app, no posting apps means I can view and review not just my online life, but also reconsider my priorities in life. I now bring a book to re-read with me on the commute, a small notebook and a pen, to concentrate on my own thoughts and reflections for a while, before my curiosity draws me back into the maelstrom of apps and diversions once more, for the cycle to begin again.

If you’re in a similar situation - enjoy it, make the most of it!

I went swimming today with my daughter, happy to be back home after a week-long training course (which I should write about) near Stuttgart, to spend time with her. I am not a good swimmer, but, with the pool being fairly empty today, I managed to snatch 30 minutes in the “Schnellschwimmerbahn” (the lane reserved for fast swimmers) to work on my… OK, to try to create even the slightest bit of a semblance of endurance.

After those 30 minutes I went to the bathroom and, on the way back, I encountered one of those extremely trim gentlemen who, so utterly focussed on their sport, seem to forget about mere bobbers like me: he scowled past me twice in and out of the showers, and then found a lane to his liking. In the pool, he was indeed fast, a swimmer of such speed, apparent endurance and efficiency that I can only dream of. But with that totally understandable focus on technique and power, on his own body, he seemed to consider other bodies as hinderances. It’s how he made me feel, anyway.

That stance (floating pose?), I will admit, is something I can be accused of, too, since there really are swimmers slower and older than me, who do seem to take up room and enter into my swum furrow. It’s a sense of irritation and entitlement that feels justified but, upon inspection, isn’t really. So when I do feel that sense of irritation about the slow swimmers, I should take it upon myself to see their position to me as being in the same relation as mine to that über-swimmer (who, just as is always the case on the Autobahn, will find himself the “hunted” by other, younger, fitter, faster swimmers) - to recognise their efforts, to embrace the obstacle as a swimming challenge, and to smile.

And the best way to forget about all of that? Splashing and diving with my daughter, totally annoying other “proper” swimmers, whilst we’re at it. We don’t mean it that way, honest!

Now that I have gained a few weeks' experience in commuting to work by bike and train, I am rediscovering for myself the… well, if not “joys,” then at least the variety of waiting.

As I see it, there are various modes of waiting. Today’s, as I jot these first notes whilst waiting in the morning sun for the delayed S-Bahn to Mannheim, is of calm reflection, in which I feel inspired to reflect and to write. I feel affection for my fellow waiters and travellers-on-hold: the bearded guy with a folding bike who often boards the same train as me; on the opposite platform a business lady in a red coat, another, older, less formally attired lady stopping and starting, pulling a large suitcase behind her in an apparent search for shade: all exuding calm and waiting patiently, in their own ways - at least, as I perceive it.

Away from my “inspirational” example of the station platform, there is the nervous-distracted wait before doctors appointments, tests or exams, or - (I can’t even imagine) - before battle; and there is the bored-distracted wait, where you can’t start what you want to, either because you don’t have what you would need for that task to hand, or you don’t feel like you have the time to start and then to switch contexts back to what you were actually waiting for.

Impatience during a wait can also be exacerbated by hunger and temporarily becalmed by snacking or drinking.

Of these, this one the first one, from this morning’s is the one I like the most. Observing and writing, before the editing, feeling comfortably awake and mildly creative, fulfilling a duty to do whilst also, especially in the case of a blog, preparing something for others to while away some of their own time, too, hopefully waiting, but not bored.

Waiting is emotional

There are other modes of waiting, clearly, each with their own set of emotions: the desperate, hectic stress with the same cause - late departures - as my meditative acceptance, but with perhaps more riding on the time than just a later start at work: missed meetings, a task just bursting to be started, or, later in the day, a concert or a date missed.

There’s also the less frantic, but innerly turbulent, distracted, unconcentrated, unfocussed, unproductive wait on a busy platform, tainted by secondary cigarette smoke and incessant announcements in that indistinct but overdriven fashion of station audio systems that all prevent you from reading or listening to your podcast.

Waiting is nearly always uninfluencable

It’s worth pointing out that waiting doesn’t have to be stationary, either. The travelling, semi-active wait on the train, bus or plane can be equally frustrating, even if everything is on time. You have no influence on outcomes, only on the occupation of the mind. It’s the same as a driver, too: you can feel as if you’re in a bit more control, but that, too, is limited: the best that can be said for driving is that you’re occupied.

If you do end up in a pit of frustration at waiting, it’s nearly always because you simply can’t do anything about it. The train will come when it comes, the traffic jam will clear when it clears, whatever you do, however much you fret or rage.

It feels strangely horrible to write this, but zen or stoic reflection can help dampen these feelings, and the (in the original sense) epicurean search for finding joy in the things and people around you, that share the universe’s atoms and matter, can help to redirect some of that “energy” to more pleasurable modes, as long as you catch yourself early enough

In some instances you can cycle though modes by focussing your mind with some form of meditation, or you can try out various activities to settle things down mentally again. I personally find it nearly impossible to filter out other noise or conversations, so anything involving language doesn’t work so well for me, but if it works for you, then listening to podcasts or music, jotting notes or reading, perhaps gaming on some device or other, on simply becoming more aware of your surroundings, by people-watching, studying the architecture, and so on, can all help to shift you from your frustration. Headphones are for me no guarantee that I won’t have my reverie disrupted by announcements or other conversations, but by putting you in a new environment, they can help.

Make the wait an experience

I suppose the corollary of this is to remove as much passivity from waiting as possible and to turn it into an experience: be aware of your surroundings and of your emotions, find interest and appreciation in as much as you can, and turn it all into part of your story, your life.