Yvoire Caslte, Lake Geneva
The universe I will not touch is infinitely larger in comparison with what I will see touch and see.
At the end of life, I would only manage to traverse a sliver of this world and would only meander around in the vicinity of an infinitely small speck lost among its vastness.
If I were to trace the trajectory of all my movements since my birth, most of it would be concentrated around four places I have lived for extended time — two in India, and two in the US.
Coming out of those four points will be occasional wanderings to distant places. Those would be the tails of the frequency distribution of my meanderings. They would be my Black Swans.
Sitting here on the deck of the boat cruising along Lake Geneva I am wondering if those points will even be visible from the international Space Station circling the Earth.
It is the month of May, and we are on a trip to Geneva. In the past couple of days, we walked the old town, visited the St. Pierre Cathedral, took a trip to CERN, went to Carouge (Geneva’s small Italy), and while there, had a wonderful lunch at Indian Rasoi (recommended in the Michelin’s Bib Gourmand list of restaurants).
Today we are taking a boat trip on Lake Geneva to Lausanne and back. The entire trip will take about 7–8 hours. Along the way, we will dock at quaint little towns like Nyon, Yvoire, and Morges to drop and pick passengers, young and old.
As the boat approaches these places slowly start to emerge. Nyon had a boardwalk with a restaurant dotted along it. People were sitting and having a leisurely three course lunch (with crusty bread and an olive dip as a side) or were enjoying a cup of coffee with croissants. In the backdrop there were occasional tall spires of the churches that rise above the rooftops and the green canopy of treetops.
Approaching the town of Yvoire the ancient castle on the very banks of Lake Geneva starts to shimmer on the distant horizon. After the boat docks, almost the entire contingent of the guests on the boat disembarks and treads uphill from the lake towards town. They all have been reading the same guidebooks and the day trips from Geneva. What gets promoted in their pages becomes a self-perpetuating positive feedback loop.
Throughout the trip other inviting little towns come into view and then recede. Some of these places call me to step off the boat and take a leisurely stroll for an hour or two.
On their own, these towns feel like they would be worth spending some time and getting familiar with. Perhaps, there is a hidden gem in one of its by lanes; a sight that would have made me feel instantly nostalgic as if I had been here before. But I would never know; we stay on the boat and through the camera on the phone try to pin the place in my trajectory of life.
Watching these places come into view and then recede, I feel the gentle ache of time drifting by and of its finiteness. Given the finite time I will only manage to see a few places, get to take in a few experiences. There is so much more I would not see and ever experience.
I would not get down at Nyon and Youvre and spend a day or two each and get familiar with its sights and sounds, and perhaps, the feel of cobblestones on our bare soles.
Side by side with that ache there is also a question that accompanies it — How does it matter if I do not see them all? Does it matter more what I missed than what I did get to see in the time I will have in Geneva?
I know the answer, seeing it all really does not matter. Among the infinity of things, I could see what matters more is what I did get to see. The other side is a battle that is already lost — there will always be more to see than I do get to see. That is what infinity is — subtract infinity from infinity and what is left is still infinity.
What matters more is that although I cannot see them all but what I do see and experience, I should see and experience, and savor them well. If I do not, what a terrible waste of the sliver of time I have been given it would be.
In that wisdom (which in the past, I have seldom acted on; so much for that), I am reminded of a podcast episode, the subject matter of which was YOLO — You Only Live Once.
The message in the podcast was that the implication of YOLO is not to do as many things as possible because you are going to YOLO and would not get another chance. Instead, make a concerted effort to excel in doing a few activities you get to do because, after all, YOLO would not allow for the luxury of getting another chance.
And while listening to that podcast I also learned that the origin of YOLO goes back to the Grateful Dead drummer Mickey Hart.
Sitting on the deck of the boat, instead of feeling sorry for not being able to spend a day or two in Nyon or in Yvoire, I should feel privileged to be able to see and soak in the beautiful sights of these towns passing by.
I may not get to see it all or do it all and traverse the vast tracts of the universe, and in trying to do that, try to invent hyperdrive, but if I try to be fully aware of the small part of the universe I will see, within that lies it’s the pleasure of getting familiar with another kind of infinity.
Ciao.
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