Ever since I’ve visited my best friend after he and his partner moved to this house, I’ve found peace in their backyard. There’s something about the trees, the chirping of birds, and the open skies above that I’ve found comforting. I can breathe a little easier out here. My mind doesn’t race as much. I’m calmer.
Yesterday, I spent the morning and the better part of the afternoon out here, lost in conversation with others. Now, I’m out here drinking my morning coffee and reading a few chapters. It’s 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 it’s 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 don’t see often enough.
Or maybe I’m romanticizing a place to feel like a home because I don’t remember what that feels like anymore and I’m tired of endlessly floating and searching for a place to belong.
