I plan my day in their improvised symphony. My brain feels as noisy as the soundscape with thoughts competing for attention. Projects. Businesses. Ideas. Studies. Appointments. Futurethink.
I take a half hour here to plan how I’ll spend the waking day. I dread flapping and circling in an anxious overdose of freedom.
Thousands of miles away from where I was born and another thousand miles away from where I grew up, I find it strange that a perch like this can feel like home. I’ve been here long enough, to feel like I’ve been here forever, which is not that long at all. I’m flexing my strongest muscle. To adapt. To use a horizon of unstructured free time.
Some days my plans fit perfectly with what I need, and I glide effortlessly. Others, I’m wrestling a headwind, or give up after whimpering a few hours in. All the more frustrating when I picked out what I wanted out of that noisy tree. That green storm, existing between towers of order.