There’s a practice I’ve been putting into place for some time now, one that I don’t always stick to but that I aspire to maintain.

There really isn’t a lot to it, though. Essentially, whenever I’m on my way somewhere, whether that be across town or across campus, I’ll just make sure to leave myself at least an extra 10 or 15 minutes of travel time to get to my destination. But I don’t do this because I’m, say, chronically late and therefore need the extra time, nor do I do this because of practical concerns like allowing myself room to handle any mishaps which might occur along the way.

No, my reason for setting aside those extra handfuls of time to get from point A to point B has nothing to do with anything like that. Rather, my decision to create that little bit of extra space in my life is one born out of a commitment to cultivating the undiscovered, to uncovering the small moments of wonder and surprise which are always there — are always there — but which we don’t always make the time to see or engage with.

You see, if all I ever did was arrive at the various events and meetings which fill my days precisely on time, and then, afterwards, leave precisely the moment they were over, there is a great deal I would be missing out on. I would be closing myself off from, say, the conversation I could have had with the friend I bumped into, shouting my apologies as we passed each other in the hall because I lacked even the few moments it would have taken to ask them about their day.

I would be closing myself off from any number of small joys which make up my commute, having no time to stop and (sometimes literally) smell the roses as I rushed from one meeting to the next. And, even once I finally arrived at my destination, I would be closing myself off from the many pockets of meaningful exchange which might have taken place between me and the other attendees, huddled together while we waited for the speaker to begin their presentation, because I would have gotten there just as the doors were closing and taken a seat at the back of the room.

In other words, I would be leaving no room for possibility to poke its head in, no room for spontaneity, no room for the chance encounters and small surprises that so often bring so much joy to our lives. And all because I just couldn’t be bothered to leave a little bit early.

Now, you might be wondering how the title of this week’s letter ties into all of that. Well, I like to think of those moments in-between the main events as being sort of like real-life marginalia, the small bits of insight and understanding that are squeezed into the periphery of a book or a journal which, although not essential, add an entirely new dimension of insight and engagement to the main text.

And that’s why, these days, you’ll often find me sitting in the audience long before the presentation has begun, or lingering around the auditorium after most people have already left, or stopping to admire a gopher scurrying across the lawn on my way from one building to the next. I want there to be more room for marginalia in my life, want there to be more undercurrents of engagement — however small or seemingly insignificant — from which I can draw meaning, more opportunities for cultivating a fuller, more richly layered life.

Waving from my desk,
– J