The most precious gift of all

"There is no schedule!"

The regular me loves schedules. She loves utilizing my time. Calendars. Lists. I love big goals and finishing big projects and penciling things in and checking off To-Do lists. Big white boards and black markers. Fucking stickers. Love it. But the other day I saw a quote that read, “Doing what makes you happy is never a waste of time.” And I instantly thought about guilt, how much of it I still have when I’m not Doing an Important Thing and when I’m “wasting” my time, and how absolutely insane it is that I feel this guilt and lack of accomplishment if I step out of whatever schedule I give myself. So stupid.

“There is no schedule,” became a bit of a mantra on a recent trip I went on with a friend who not only showed me some incredible places but also gave me the most precious gift – of time. We’d say this to each other every time we’d make a decision to veer off the map to see cool things. Actually, there was a schedule but it was quite vague to begin with with some stop-over places mapped out on our journey but nothing really tied to a time and date. The one exception was when we camped at an actual provincial park; that was the only time we had to check in and check out. Beyond that? We were just moving north, passing the sort of places that go directly into a human soul with their beauty and magnificence. I could describe it but pictures are way better. Here they are. And still, they don’t do it justice.

As I said to another friend in text, I’ve lived in Canada for more than 30 years but this was the first time that I actually saw the landscapes I’ve always imagined this place was made out of. A few years back, I went on a road trip through the Rockies and it was a similar feeling, like completing the puzzle. (I’ve seen the Atlantic Canada but I still have to go north-North to the Arctic circle – then maybe the puzzle will be more-less complete.)

This trip was/is life-changing for a few reasons. I think I want to keep them private for a while. I don’t know. The one thing I do want to share, however, is that “there is no schedule” was sort of a revelation. The idea that we didn’t have to rush anywhere, report to anyone, show up to punch in or punch out… that scrambled my brain in the best way. I already live my life in the way that allows me a lot of freedom – I make my own schedule, I write what I want to write, and I am poor because of that – yet this was still taking that freedom a little further.

Notice how I said I am poor? That is not entirely true. I’m not poor. I’m okay. But I could be a lot better off considering where I’m at with my writing career. Sadly, not sadly, I lack the hustle. At least for now. For now, I prefer freedom. More of it. To me, that is more precious than the ability to book a five-star hotel on Fogo island (which I could probably book anyway in exchange for a puff piece for a travel magazine, bah). My financial situation is a result of my lifestyle choices and that freedom that allows me to be my own boss. I think back to a gig I got during the pandemic when I was paid ridiculous amounts of money to come up with a couple of sentences about sex toys, to put on billboards all across America. It was an easy enough job, it was something I could envision myself doing again and again but ultimately I lacked the enthusiasm for it. Or – again – I didn’t want to hustle to drum up more of that. (I should’ve! I know, I know, what a waste of an opportunity. And they sent me two boxes of free sex toys on top of everything!)

People say money is freedom. Money is not freedom. I feel that money only brings more stuff into one’s life, which takes up the time, which takes that freedom away. (If you’re not sure a person has money, just find out how many times per decade they renovate their kitchen/ basement/ bathroom.)

A couple of months ago, my ex and I were dropping off our son at the airport. This was the first trip he was taking without us around. He was going to Europe, which was generously paid for by one of his aunts. Ex and I made a big deal out of it, seeing off our man-sized boy with his suitcase and his nonchalant teenage walk and demeanour as he insisted I stop making a scene with my good camera trying to take photos of the momentous occasion. But he hugged us and joked with us and introduced us to one of his buddies whose suitcase – our son announced excitedly – had a lifetime warranty and cost a million dollars. I’m kidding about the million dollars but considering what it cost it might’ve as well been a million dollars. The buddy was alone. He got dropped off earlier by one of his parents who had to rush to a meeting. It was Friday past 10 pm. Buddy’s parents are not in mafia or anything like but they have Very Important Jobs which allow them a lifestyle that Blows People’s Minds. I will not say more about that because I will get sued. The point is, what kind of price can you put on a goodbye hug? (To be fair, one of Buddy’s parents was there to pick him up on his return.)

Back at my trip with no schedule, we just felt giddy saying that to each other whenever we’d make a spontaneous stop to look at waterfalls, or a river or to walk for miles on an empty beach. I kept not buying my return ticket. We had our dogs with us, the RV was super comfortable and when we got to our final destination we ate fresh fish one of my friend’s neighbour’s caught one day. Another day we found a technicolour-blue lake – bracketed by thick walls of trees – that we canoed on and then swam in the next day. You could see the bottom of it, clearer than a swimming pool. Another day, we took a walk to find carnivorous plants in a marsh.

When I was 20, I went on a road trip with my family. Back then, my dad was the epiphany of Not-Relaxed. His itinerary was like a military operation – wake up at 0600, camp checkout by 0700, bathroom breaks timed and rationed like supplies in a desert war. He carried a binder of maps and backup maps, all marked with highlighter and annotated in red pen, and treated every delay – be it traffic, hunger, or human emotion – as a personal affront to the mission. We saw a lot – from Michigan to Nebraska through the Carolinas, Nevada, California, Arizona, Colorado, and Missouri. In Louisiana, we ate fried catfish at a gas station that doubled as a diner. In Utah, the landscape turned alien, all red rocks and silence and a town that looked transported from 1950s. In Savannah, the air was so thick and sweet it felt like breathing through syrup, and the streets looked like something out of a fever dream, all moss and ghosts. But despite the miles and the sights, the whole trip felt like tension under glass. Like that sun-faded sign we passed somewhere in New Mexico: Warning – Rattlesnakes. I was upset with my parents, especially my dad but it wasn’t just my dad – it was the lack of time and how we were all desperate to stuff it with experiences. It was a memorable trip and I feel grateful for it. But as I’ve gotten older, I’ve started to understand that time itself is the gift – not what you fill it with, but how gently you’re allowed to hold it. This trip was different. We moved slowly, without urgency, letting the days stretch and soften. And somehow, that made every moment feel fuller, but also not louder – just quieter in a way I’ll remember.