Killing Time

I scanned my bursting inbox, the subject line catching my eye: Ocean Export Documentation in Process. Clicking the E-Mail, I ran down the information quickly, my trip suddenly becoming very real:

Carrier: MEDITERRANEAN SHIPPING COMPANY (MSC)

Vessel: MSC FLORENTINA

Port of Loading: New York

Departure Date: 1/27/26

Port of Unloading: Le Havre

Arrival Date: 2/21/26

Pieces: 1

Description: 1970 Porsche 911T

The day before, I left the Blue Car in New Jersey, and I was pleased to have a name for the container ship and an actual date for the voyage. A note from the shipper told me it could take up to a week from 2/21 for the car to be ready for pick up in France. There was unloading and sorting to be done; it would take time. The result? My road trip is starting two weeks later than I planned.

My one-way ticket to London was purchased months ago; I leave Boston on 2/15, three weeks from today. That means up to two weeks in England before heading to Le Havre to reunite with the car. I always thought there might be some lag time between my arrival and the Blue Car delivery in France. Do I keep the ticket and hang out in or near London? Or do I change my flight to a later date and use the time here to get stuff done?

I was telling a friend about my dilemma--a very privileged dilemma to be sure.

“Something in me just wants to get to Europe. To get the trip started. If the Blue Car is ready early, I will be there ready to go. And besides, being here for another ten days or so probably won’t help the madness. My to-do list is long, and, in my experience, the tasks expand to fit the time. I’ll still probably be just as frantic in five weeks as I will be in three weeks.”

She paused for thought and then said, “Well, two weeks in England is a long stretch of waiting. How will you kill time until the Blue Car arrives?”

Her question stopped me short.

Kill time? 

I have always hated that expression, as if time, along with good health, is valueless and not the most precious commodity we have on this earth.

Why in the world would I want to kill time?

We see the hours and days go past by:

Spending time. Killing time. Passing time.

We waste minutes and days by:

Twiddling our thumbs. Dillydallying. Frittering away hours.

I don’t care for most of these phrases, but some make me laugh. Have you ever tried twiddling your thumbs? Is that really a thing? The modern-day equivalent seems to be a nervous leg bounce. And frittering calls up images of someone at the frying pan, cooking thick flavorful batter in hot oil. Is cooking good food ever a waste of time? I don’t think so. But some quick research reveals that a few hundred years ago, fritters were pieces or fragments. Frittering away time was breaking it into useless fragments. Those 18^th Century poets had no notion of the distracted multi-tasking lives we were destined to live today. Our lives are chock-full of fritters.

Spending time seems most appropriate for my understanding of the preciousness of our hours. Like money, time is finite—something we invest, use, or squander.

This idea of spending time, of having spare time, took root in the late 19^th century with the industrial revolution and the new concept of work and leisure for those lucky enough to have jobs that provided for something new: a “weekend.” It was a time of cultural shift to the notion of life outside of the chores and tasks essential for our survival. Free or leisure time can be used as we like – for rest, social time, hobbies, personal fulfillment, and restorative purposes.

For most of the world’s citizens, there is no concept of leisure and work that we take for granted: every moment is about the business of survival, caretaking, making a tenuous way in harsh conditions with no plan for the future, no thought of personal time as we understand it.   

I know I am privileged to have a choice in how I “spend” my time. As a child, I have a memory of seeing a calendar on the wall behind my teacher’s desk with large thick magic marker X’s through the days and feeling repulsed. I didn’t understand why then, but now I know it was confusion and despair at seeing days dismissed, killed off on the wall. What do those X’s mean? Is the day something to just get through, with a big sigh when it is over? Yes, let’s X it out and be done with it. Another day gone, and only a few thousand more to go before I can be done with this mess called life.

The average lifespan of a white female non-Hispanic woman in the United States is just 80-81 years old, some of the shortest in the developed world. I would like to think I beat the averages (we all like to think we are above average, right?). But sticking with the facts, that gives me about 7300 days, 240 months, around 1050 weekends. I want these to be days, months, weekends lived, not crossed out.

Time isn’t something I should kill off, or fritter away. Although I just learned that Spain has the longest average lifespan for women at 89 years. Should I just end my Blue Car road trip there and never come home? Hmmm. Eating a Mediterranean diet. Spanish men everywhere. Wine in abundance. Ok… enough distractions and back to my privileged dilemma.

How and when do I start my trip as I wait to meet up with the Blue Car at the very end of February?

I have been busy with my to-do lists and have a few looming deadlines for writing projects. What if I use the extra two weeks to settle my thoughts and check off some larger projects? But I know if I change my flight and stay here, I won’t be done with everything by 2/15. The tasks will expand to fit the time.

So, I am flying out on 2/15, just as I have planned. I have booked a tiny rental apartment with lots of natural light in a leafy neighborhood of London. Not in the center but near lots of nature with potential for long walks. And I will arrive there with the practical things on my to-do list completed. I will be on the other side of the Atlantic, ready to head south to Le Havre as soon as I get the word.

And how will I handle this time, which could be as much as two weeks? I am planning my own personal retreat, to use time in the best way possible. Quiet thinking, some trip planning, long walks exploring the rivers and wild areas around me, and writing. Lots of writing. I would like to finish a book proposal that could use some focused attention for a volume of Blue Car Essays about life at a crossroads, and how we make meaning from our days. And the second half of my memoir is due to my writing group in late April.

I think this time is a gift. An accidental gift, but a gift, nonetheless. This time to stop and reset was useful at the start of my US road trip as well. I drove 209 miles that first day and then stopped for three days at Kripalu, a yoga and meditation center in the Berkshires of Massachusetts. Just like then, this time at my trip’s beginning can serve as a reset for head and heart as I embark on this four-month adventure.

You will not find me spending time or killing it.

I think a better description is savoring time. Letting time change me.

There will be no X’s on the calendar on my computer and the calendar in my mind. I am not looking past today or counting down. Because we have just this moment. Now. Today. And in that slightly remote leafy neighborhood of London, I hope to practice focusing on each “today,” on each “now.” And I will fervently hope it stays with me when I get behind the wheel and share my days with the Blue Car.  

Not passing the miles, or killing time. But living them.