How Time Is Like a Cruffin
On second chances, unexpected journeys, and learning to taste the life we already have.
I sometimes wonder what would happen if life came with a second chance.
Not the big dramatic kind where you get to rewrite history or fix all your mistakes. Just something small. Like getting to relive an ordinary afternoon.
Walk into the same bakery.
Order the same cruffin.
Sit by the same window, watching people rush by outside.
The film <About Time> made me think that maybe the secret to happiness is living each day twice. The first time you’re usually distracted — worrying about this and that, annoyed by things that didn’t go as planned. The second time, you already know how it ends, so you finally notice all the little things that were there all along.
Sunlight on the pavement.
A stranger smiling.
The taste of a pastry.
Just… being alive.
A cruffin is such a small thing compared to everything else in life. It’s literally just flour, butter, sugar, and some mystery filling. Pistachio cream, chocolate, fruit compote — you never really know until you bite into it. Sometimes it disappoints you. Sometimes it surprises you in the best way.
Life feels kind of the same.
I’ve spent a lot of time waiting for things to feel more manageable. Waiting until I’m “ready.” Maybe after the next hospital appointment. Or after this transplant that is, once again, quietly making its way into my story. There are journeys you choose, and others that choose you. This one, it seems, chose me.
Life doesn’t seem very interested in waiting for me though. The river in Durham keeps flowing no matter what kind of news I get. Ducks drift past like hospital appointments don’t exist. Bakeries keep selling cruffins. People still complain about the weather, miss buses, and fall in love.
Life just… carries on. Which feels incredibly rude sometimes. Or maybe that’s exactly how it’s supposed to be.
I’m starting to realise that life rarely goes according to plan. We wait for the right time, for things to make sense, for the uncertainty to disappear. But while we’re waiting for life to “properly begin,” it’s already happening all around us.
On a walk through Durham.
In a random conversation.
Inside a cruffin you picked on a completely ordinary Tuesday.
You don’t actually get to choose the filling. You can stand there pointing at the pistachio one all you want, but life might still hand you something else.
Some days are sweet.
Some are bitter.
Sometimes what you hoped for just isn’t there.
I used to think wisdom was learning how to avoid disappointment. Now I’m not so sure. Maybe disappointment and gratitude can sit together. You can have a hard day and still think, “Huh, this cruffin is actually pretty good.”
Or maybe I’m just hungry and overthinking a pastry. Wouldn’t be the first time.
What I do know is this: there won’t always be second chances. No rewinding. No tasting the same cruffin for the very first time again.
There’s only the memory that, for a little while, we were here.
And maybe that — just having the chance to taste it — is enough.
At least… I hope so.