Ever since Iβve visited my best friend after he and his partner moved to this house, Iβve found peace in their backyard. Thereβs something about the trees, the chirping of birds, and the open skies above that Iβve found comforting. I can breathe a little easier out here. My mind doesnβt race as much. Iβm calmer.
Yesterday, I spent the morning and the better part of the afternoon out here, lost in conversation with others. Now, Iβm out here drinking my morning coffee and reading a few chapters. Itβs not even 8am yet.
My mind began to wander. Why do I feel different here? Do I even really feel so centered or am I, as I am wont to do, romanticizing the feeling into something grander than it is? And if I am, why? Maybe itβs because I left the things that keep me up at night some 900 miles behind me. And now, I get to enjoy the company of those who I donβt see often enough.
Or maybe Iβm romanticizing a place to feel like a home because I donβt remember what that feels like anymore and Iβm tired of endlessly floating and searching for a place to belong.
