It’s been a while since I’ve had a lot of time to myself. Pure, selfish, alone time. It’s almost been liberating in a way. Like I’m allowing myself to be in a perpetual daze as I look for my “quan“. (Oh how I love that word).
I’m a very gregarious person. I love to meet new people, I love to go out, I love to be doing a million social things at a time. But these days I’m just so content being with myself. And that doesn’t necessarily mean being alone all the time. I’ve met more people in the last few weeks than I have in ages, and even transcended into new and special levels of friendship with some. But at all times, I’ve very much been with myself. It’s like I’ve entered this pensive phase that I’m reveling in, and I know that I have to revel in it to get out of it. Dare I say it’s been glorious in many ways.
Madrid’s calmness in August helps.
I’m also realising that midst the beauty of change, how awesome it is to have a few permanent things. They won’t always be permanent, but are for the time. I refer to them as permanent because they are very deeply and strongly rooted, hence not easy to change. There’s a very warm and safe feeling about those things, and now I’m taking refuge in them by reconnecting and just being.
I’m talking a completely different language today, eh? Well it’s different to me too, and too darn vague for comfort. But I’m not rattled.