Last weekend I woke up to the mooing of cows and nothingness. A sense of stillness and peace overtook. Now I wake up to a blaring alarm, hooning cars and tired eyes. Then go to sleep to the sound of motorbikes and voices.
Again it reminded me that maybe the city isn’t my life. I love the cafes, the opportunities, all the places to explore, and the people I care about, but that high stress, pressure to succeed dies quickly. I thrive off being busy, and dream of fulfilment, but there is always a limit before the crash comes or realisation strikes.
Sometimes all it takes is a week of escapement to recuperate and put life back in perspective. Then the city is bearable all over again, and a place that pushes me to always become better.
(Images from here)