In search of little gaps where I can exist

I've been turning to new hiding places where I can retreat to.

June was a bullet train that hauled me from one stop to the next at restless speeds.

I don’t think I’ve ever been busier in my life. My nine-to-five and part-time jobs have both been getting busier by the day; many family members from abroad were visiting for the summer; I spent the first three weekends of June on out-of-town trips (one road trip, two flights) to celebrate separate occasions; and I attended what feels like countless events throughout the month.

June stretched out before me like an endless train track to nowhere, the stops plenty and close between. I'd go from attending back-to-back meetings, to speed-writing an article so I could make it in time for another work event, to attending a family dinner, to driving back home, to packing for my next trip — until finally, I’d fall asleep only to wake up the next day to do it again.

Every single hour of the month was accounted for. I’d never seen my Google Calendar quite so multicolored, stacked with the visually satisfying color palette I created to neatly compartmentalize the different facets of my life. I’ve come to realize that 24 hours really isn’t much time at all, and that not even an aesthetically pleasing calendar can mask the feeling of chaos.

Let’s get one thing out of the way: I know it is a gift to spend time with family. I know I am fortunate to have jobs I really love. I know that getting to travel out of town, especially with the people who matter most to me, is a luxury. I’ve been enjoying this time more than I am letting on here (a story I’ll save for another time).

But I can’t deny that my battery has reached an all-time low. Yet even when my fuel started to run low, bordering on empty, the train continued to charge forward at a dizzying pace, and the scenery of each of my stops passed me by in psychedelic flashes. With what energy, I have no idea. Sheer will, perhaps?

I hardly had any time to come up for air in the midst of it all, and the next thing I knew, it was July. Another month on my calendar crossed off.

And I barely even existed in it.

I moved through June as a phantom. I am introverted by nature, so with every passing hour spent amongst others, and hardly any alone time, I felt myself shrinking smaller and smaller.

The most relatable Carrie quote

But as I continued to barrel on forward, I discovered the value in the spaces I left empty on my calendar. I found little pockets of time, however brief, that (somewhat) renewed my sense of self.

Driving in silence was one of them. My nightly skincare was another. Taking longer-than-usual showers. Burying my face in a book, even if it’s only for five minutes a day. Staring at the sky. Quiet breakfasts alone. Perusing every bookstore I come across, even for just a couple of minutes. Cooking a meal for myself. Whisking my matcha in the morning.

I used to take these humble moments for granted. In fact, at any other point in my life, you’d probably find me mindlessly rushing through these rituals. But this month, I had nowhere else to run to. I was practically forced to tuck myself away into the blank spaces in between my calendared events. Not exactly ideal, I know; my social bandwidth is still depleted and needs to be recharged in earnest. But for the time being, with not much else in my control, I have tried to transform these brief junctures into something more meaningful: lighted guideposts on this ceaseless bullet train to nowhere.

I use them to remind myself of…well, me. To revive the person I am when I’m not in a performative state. To reawaken my private thoughts, my desires, my drive. Suddenly, talking to myself silently in the mirror while flossing has never felt more sacred.

And through these transient gaps, I’ve been able to exist. It may not seem like it from the outside, but I am not a phantom whenever I sit quietly while waiting for my food on a quick lunch break. Behind my vague stares, I am allowing my mind to wander, and after being shackled to the strict command of my calendar, packed like a sardine tin, my psyche breaks free like a wild, restless horse running through an open field.

My imagination comes alive again, as do I.

Thankfully, the first dawn of July has slowed this train ride to a (slightly) steadier, more manageable pace. And I’m hoping to have the time for a full day just dedicated to myself sometime soon.

But until then, you’ll find me in those little gaps in between, staring at nothing, but thinking about everything.

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Some things that have helped me get through the month:

• Orbital by Samantha Harvey (a short, yet incredibly powerful read)

• Just Kids by Patti Smith (a book that allows me to dream of New York and the Chelsea Hotel)

• Going to the movie theater to watch How to Train Your Dragon and F1: The Movie (the cinema is one of my favorite places in the world)

• Loved ones home for the summer

• Trying new restaurants and eating incredible food

• The warm, loud noise of big family gatherings