Time slows down when you do nothing

My days were simple. I would get up, then think of what to do. I had time to think. No pressure. No daily chores. Besides the fact that I needed to provide for my newborn baby, all else was a fresh, open blank book to be defined each day in a different way. Where to drink coffee? Should I drink coffee? What type of coffee? Alone or with whom? This was just the beginning of a day of slow enjoyment. Those questions, those tasks, were actually little life problems that brought more satisfaction in the simple solutions found than trouble of finding them. 

No plans. On a given day I had really nothing to do. Like any yesterday, as it would be the case on any tomorrow. Sometimes the realization that I needed to buy food at the local market was sufficient to clear my schedule. That act, buy food to eat, would be THE task of the day. How one would go about it? If using the bus, if taking a ride with a friend, if opting for the big supermarket far away, or just the small market nearby, those were the savory solutions. Every one of them had millions of possibilities, implicitly. In the process, the magic happened. 

Absolutely every experience was enjoyable. Almost all the things. The sights of a new street in the old, medieval city, that we might take today as a shortcut. The interruption of a new acquaintance that stopped by to talk to the friend that was with me. The sudden decision to actually postpone shopping, just so we can try another Leberkäse while gazing at the old church. No timeframe. No deadlines. Just life, to be enjoyed. More than simply life, the process of life. Little daily decisions that push us in one way or another. 

That small college town on the south of Germany was a contained sea. I would sail with no compass, up and down its hills, in and out of cafes, by the river and back, in the outdated trains or via (then) ultramodern buses. I would take in the city as I guess I took no other city since then. The luxury of having no plans, an open mind, and young body just did the trick. It was the definition of an experience.

By this vagabond process of doing almost nothing, or just being completely open to the day, to people and places, I got to bend time. Time slowed down. Clearly. Days would seem like weeks. We would do anything we liked, and then there was some more time to spare. All that we liked to do was not a lot, not enough to fill maybe an hour of a New York schedule. Somehow, it was just what we needed. A young family, friends, a city in Europe. Almost two years that seemed like 10 then, and seem like 10 now.