The Best Part of the Day Is Between Things

There’s something magical about 3:15 p.m. on a Tuesday. It’s not lunch. It’s not dinner. It’s not productive, or glamorous, or memorable. But it’s mine. It’s when I might water my plants, or flip through a book I’ve already read, or stare at nothing in particular. It’s when the day sighs a little — and I sigh with it.

Some people plan their lives in blocks and bullet points. I prefer margins. Most of my favorite conversations started on doorsteps, not in dining rooms. Most of my best ideas came while waiting for the kettle to boil. It's in the in-between where my brain stretches out and stops trying so hard. That’s where I meet myself.

I’ve never looked back fondly on the moment I ticked something off a to-do list. But I do remember the time I stood in the elevator with a stranger and both of us laughed at the same silly poster. Or the moment I paused while making tea and noticed how lovely the light was on the tiles. That’s what sticks. That’s the real stuff.

There was a time I thought I needed to be busy to be useful. Now, I let myself idle. Not because I gave up — but because I woke up. These small, unremarkable minutes are not wasted. They’re how I calibrate. Like a pendulum pausing at its highest point before swinging again. Stillness isn’t absence. It’s preparation.

I don’t fight with clocks. I don’t try to squeeze “more” into a day. I’ve made peace with the idea that some hours are just meant to be breathed in, like fresh air. If there’s anything I’ve learned, it’s that living well doesn’t mean doing more. It often means allowing more — more space, more stillness, more of the in-between.