The flat with more space, not the one with the light. The useful course, not the one you'd read about for fun. The sensible dinner, the sensible shoes, the sensible city. And the thing you actually wanted stays folded in your pocket, for later.
The question my mother asked
At eighteen, I had to choose between two schools. One trained beauticians: makeup, but also facials, massage, everything. More skills, more jobs. The other was a professional makeup school whose programme included art history, the history of theatre and the history of cinema. I was thrilled just reading the course list.
So I told my mother, "I adore this one, but I'll go to the other. I'll learn more, so I'll have more options."
I was waiting for the voice of reason. Instead she said, in the most Greek way possible, "Έλα Χριστέ και Παναγιά! Why, child, would you choose the other one, if you like this one so much more?"
Years later, choosing a city, I heard her again. London was the sensible option: family there, the language, work within weeks. London was perfect. It just wasn't Paris.
A painting that broke the categories
In 1717, Antoine Watteau presented The Embarkation for Cythera to the Royal Academy in Paris. It didn't fit any of the accepted genres: not history, not quite a landscape, not a portrait. Couples in silk, a hill at dusk, cupids fluttering around a golden boat bound for (or leaving) the island of love.
Antoine Watteau, The Embarkation for Cythera, 1717. Musée du Louvre, Paris
Rather than reject it, the Academy recorded it under a new name: a fête galante. Watteau didn't paint what was expected. He painted what he loved, and the institution made room.
Sensible isn't wrong
This isn't an argument for recklessness. The sensible choice often keeps us safe, and some seasons of life need exactly that. But it's worth noticing when "sensible" has quietly become "afraid".
A small practice for this week
Choose one small decision: a café, a route home, a book, a free evening. Before deciding, ask:
- Which option would I pick if no one were watching?
- Which one makes my chest lift a little?
- What is the real cost of choosing it, not the imagined one?
Then, just this once, choose the one that lights you up. Notice how the day feels afterwards. Sometimes the right moment arrives quietly; the Greeks had a word for it, kairos. And if your city has stopped feeling like the one you chose, here's how to fall back in love with it.
Begin with something small
The First Letter is a short sensory meditation on receiving a letter, with a sample of our magazine "(meditating) On Art". It's free, and it takes ten minutes: a small, unsensible pleasure.
Remember to take as much time as you need, and meet me at the next one.
Love, Evi