In Jules Verne’s Around the World in Eighty Days, Mr Fogg realises the coal won’t last all the way to England and starts tearing out every piece of wood he can find. But he doesn’t do it blindly, he brings method to a moment that is, in fact, desperate. He starts with the obvious, the cabins and the bunks, then the masts, then most of the deck, and leaves the hull untouched, an iron one, because without it the journey ends. He keeps up just what he needs to carry on, and he makes it.
Start with the obvious
Fogg stays unflappable even then. I don’t, I’m nothing like him, but this month that image has become essential to me. I move through each day trying to make it feel full, and choosing sparingly every piece of wood I burn. Like Fogg, I start with the obvious and protect what can’t be burned. For me that’s sleep, my iron hull. The rest I choose with care, from what can be put off a little to what weighs on others too, protecting first those who carry the most work.
Presence made of words
What I want to dwell on, though, is the people around me. As you know, I don’t hold back from telling the truth, there’s no point in lying, downplaying or hiding the moment. Around me I’ve also found presence made of words. Phrases like “If you need anything, call me” or “Okay, I hear what you’re saying”, said in good faith, certainly, but that leave it to me to ask, and sometimes to avoid bothering anyone with how I feel. I don’t judge them, I know how hard it is to find the right thing to say. But, by contrast, they made me notice something.
A scene Verne never wrote
To tell you what, I’ll add a scene Verne never wrote. In the book, Passepartout hacks and saws away with all his might, and he’s one of those who were already there, like some of the people around me. Here, instead, Fogg, exhausted, wrenches off yet another piece of wood, a misty dawn all around him in which he can barely make his way. He pulls, pulls again, and suddenly it comes away. He turns and, out of the fog, the face of someone he wasn’t expecting appears, ready to help, not with the usual platitude but right there, actually lending a hand.
Stay where you are
Then it really happened. A few days ago someone, whose name I won’t give, took real action. I’d taken a short walk to recharge and sat down on a bench in a little garden. A bit of grounding, my mind wandering to win back some energy and agency. Suddenly a message arrives.
“Hey you”
“Can I do something for you?”
“Can I help in any way?”
“STAY WHERE YOU ARE”
“In four minutes you’ll see me”
As I turned around, curious, looking for her, I replied “Okkkkey 🤣”. Her: “Sorry for the threatening messages hahahahahahaha”. Me: “Very CIA 🤣”.
I’ve known her only a short while, but you know what I think about physical time and perceived time: the first measures her in months, the second in how much she meant that morning.
These gestures make a difference because they make you think. They make you think that it isn’t only fog, that in the fog there are faces and people. Ready for even just a smile and a word. Powerful gestures, useful in helping you move forward on this complicated journey.
She didn’t give me a solution, but she gave me that little extra drop of strength. Let me be clear, this doesn’t mean there was no one before, because when I think of certain key people, without them I probably wouldn’t even be “on my way to London”.
I still choose which wood to burn. But now I know that every so often, out of the fog, someone comes to hold the other end.