"I was ending one busy thing and calling it rest."
This post contains one affiliate link. If you buy through it, I earn a small commission at no extra cost to you. I only ever mention things I'd genuinely reach for.
It was 10:49pm and I was watching the third episode of something I couldn't remember choosing.
"The ones that last are not the ones you design. They're the ones you arrive at by accident, after the designed ones fall apart."
The kettle is boiling and I am standing at the kitchen counter doing absolutely nothing.
This used to feel wrong. There was always something: a phone to check, a message to half-read, a headline to frown at before I'd even had coffee. The two minutes while the kettle worked felt like time that needed filling. And I was very good at filling it.
“The quiet moments I used to skip were often fine. Sometimes they were good. I just never knew, because I was already somewhere else.”
The kettle had just boiled. I had maybe ninety seconds before the tea was ready, and I caught myself reaching for my phone before I'd even thought about it. Muscle memory. The kind that bypasses your better intentions entirely.
I put it down. Just stood there.
That was about three weeks ago, and it started something I'm still figuring out how to describe.
