Before the Blue Car

It is 2 p.m. I depart for the airport in two hours. I look at my to-do list and sigh.

As my days became more frenzied these past two weeks, my routines went by the wayside. I skipped visits to the gym. Poor Leo had shorter walks. There was less cooking and more cobbled-together meals.

This European road trip has been in my mind for over two years. You would think my to-do list would have been in the trash weeks ago. Completed, crumpled, no longer a constant companion in my waking and dreaming hours.

Instead, I have my usual lament before a trip: “I just want one more day. That’s all I need.” A friend noted that we always need one more day… that in some way we intuit the time we have when we procrastinate. The tasks expand to fit the time, or our efficiency slows to fill it.

And yet here I am. Leaving anyway.

What at first felt like an annoying setback is now a surprise gift at the start of this journey.

I have three weeks before the Blue Car.

I am ever grateful that I am arriving in Europe first. Three weeks before I am in the driver’s seat, hands on the steering wheel.

Not just one more day, but 21. A neat little trick: the work is done. There is nothing to rush toward.

Nothing to rush toward.

I will be a flâneuse.

I first learned this French word while traveling through the Willamette Valley of Oregon on my cross-country road trip. At Flâneur Wines, the bartender explained that a flâneur is an aimless yet observant wanderer. The word comes from flânerie, meaning the act of strolling or sauntering.

And right now, I could use a good, leisurely stroll — no aim in mind, no to-do list burning a hole in my pocket.

The funny thing is, I misunderstood the definition at first. Sitting at the bar with my pinot noir, I took flâneur to be a negative thing. Someone without purpose or direction. My mind conjured a dandy — a 19^th-century nobleman wandering European cities, flirting, drinking with his friends, and generally getting into gentlemanly trouble.

But the French have a different take on life than Americans (and I am so glad I am starting this road trip in France). We think of “aimless” as a flaw. Wandering isn’t admirable. But to be a flâneur — or a flâneuse — is a noble goal. It suggests attentive presence. Leisurely observation. Contemplation of one’s surroundings.

The journey itself is the goal, not the destination.

Oh, I can’t wait to be a flâneuse — a leisurely wanderer, a worldly stroller, walking the streets to observe and contemplate life.

As I watch the clock and glance at my packed bags, it feels like a good moment to set my intentions for this trip. To recenter myself. To leave the frenzy behind.

I intend to start slowly.

To walk before I plan

To observe before I photograph.

To find the rhythm of a place before I try to understand it.

To leave the energy of home at home.

It is now 3 p.m.

The list is still on the counter.

I gave Leo one last walk before I say goodbye until June.

My bags are by the door.

In one hour, I will leave.

Not to conquer Europe.

But to wander.

Until next week, from London,

Yours truly,— a hopeful flâneuse.