The world seems to spin faster and faster, while I—amidst this rush—constantly carve out larger pockets of slowness for myself. Even when I occasionally have to board the express train, I find more time for idleness, for dreaming, for contemplation—yes, even for a bit of boredom.
Some might say this comes with getting older. Perhaps. And yet, I have never been as happy as I am at fifty. Shouldn’t that be a privilege at any age?
It feels good to step off the roller coaster and observe without being entangled. Listening to the rain with a cup of coffee in hand. Withdrawing from every opinion.
