It’s an old metaphor. In many places now, we’ve learnt to turn up on time – without external controls or systems that tie us down to a timetable. But working from home, and being one’s own boss, does still require a certain rigour.
We drove back from Spain over the weekend. The traffic was painful around Bordeaux; lovely towards the north of France; and awful the other side of the Channel. We crossed from Dieppe to Newhaven, but the saving over the Portsmouth-Le Havre crossing was negligible compared to the additional driving-pain incurred on either side.
I find flying very challenging which is why we don’t do it.
I love going by train – but the family hates it.
So we compromise – as this world should surely show us we must – by going in a mode of transport no one actually despises too much.
Back to work. Back to school. Back to raising a family. Back to searching out ways and means of communicating and editing reality as constructively as we can.
“Welcome back home!” they’ll say.
But I live between three.
An arrival and gain which are always simultaneously a loss. That is the nature of multicultural life.
And “[s]o we beat on, boats against the current …” – ceaselessly as the great man loves to say; until – that is – we stop.