≈ 5 min read
While in Athens, I have noticed something about the way I explore the city. When I go out alone, I often end up in more interesting places than I had planned to visit. Sometimes, I had no plan to begin with. I simply walk, notice something, change direction, and keep going.
One place leads to another. Curiosity decides the next turn. Somewhere along the way, I find myself in a place I would never have thought to put on an itinerary.
When I go out with colleagues or join a group tour, the experience is different. We usually know where we are going. There are specific places to visit, a route to follow, and other people’s time to consider. We get to our destinations, but there is less room to meander.
A small detour becomes a group decision. Someone wants to stop. Someone else wants to keep moving. Another person is tired or has something to do later. All of these preferences are reasonable. Still, by the time we agree on what to do, the moment that prompted my curiosity may have passed.
Walking alone removes that negotiation. If something interests me, I can follow it. I can linger without explaining why. I can change my mind without asking anyone else to change theirs.
I have been thinking about how much this resembles life.
The places we do not know to look for
An itinerary is useful when we know what we want to see. It is less useful for finding something we do not yet know exists.
That is what I enjoy about wandering. I do not have to recognise the value of a place before giving it a little of my time. I can investigate first and decide afterwards. Some turns lead nowhere particularly interesting. Others make the whole walk worthwhile.
The same thing happens with ideas. We cannot always identify a worthwhile question before spending time with it. A thought may begin as a distraction, an awkward doubt, or a connection that seems too slight to pursue. Only by following it do we discover whether there is anything there.
If every thought must justify its destination before it is allowed to develop, we may keep returning to the places we already know.
Thinking at our own pace
In a group, we often move at a pace everyone can accept. There is a practical reason for this. A shared journey requires some agreement.
But our curiosity does not always move at the same pace as everyone else’s. What fascinates me may barely interest my colleague. A question I want to sit with may seem settled to someone else.
I recognise this in learning and research. A paper raises a question. That question sends me to another subject. For a while, the connection is unclear. I need time to read, think, and decide whether the detour is useful.
Discussion can help enormously. Someone else may see a mistake I have missed or suggest a connection I would never make alone. Yet there is also value in spending time with a thought before bringing it into a conversation. I may need to understand what I am trying to say before I can explain why it matters.
Solitude gives an unfinished idea that time.
The habit of seeking agreement
There is another kind of negotiation that can follow us even when we are alone. We begin to imagine what other people would think of the direction we want to take.
Would they consider this sensible? Would they understand my interest? Would they think I was wasting time?
Advice matters, especially when a decision affects other people. But I wonder how often we ask for agreement when what we need is a little space to investigate. We can spend so long explaining a possible path that we never take the first few steps along it.
Thinking for ourselves means accepting some responsibility for those steps. We might be wrong. The detour might disappoint us. We have to remain willing to reconsider. Independence has little value if it makes us unable to listen.
Still, uncertainty alone is not a reason to surrender our curiosity.
Leaving room in the day
I enjoy the company of colleagues. A shared visit can become a shared memory, and another person’s interests can open a part of the city I would otherwise overlook. I would lose something if I explored everything alone.
What Athens is reminding me of is the value of leaving some time unclaimed. Time when I can walk without needing to reach the next agreed destination. Time when an unexpected interest can hold my attention for a little longer.
I want to leave similar room in my life. To read something because it catches my interest. To examine a question before dismissing it as irrelevant. To make an occasional choice without first needing everyone around me to see its value.
There will still be appointments, responsibilities, and places I need to reach. But whenever I can, I want to leave enough room between them to notice what I had not planned to find.
For now, I am in Athens. I can take another turn, walk a little further, and see what is there.