Somewhere along the way, we started believingthat slowing downmeant we weren’t doing enough. So we fill every hour. Every silence. Every empty space. As if being busywas the only wayto provewe are living. But mayberestingwas never meantto be earned. Maybe it’ssimplypart of us
When I was a child, my uncle once gave me a small bird. Nothing expensive. Nothing rare. Just a little bird I could hold in my hands. And for me it was the greatest joy. I remember how light it felt. How carefully I held it. How something so small could feel so big. That [&hellip
Yesterday I was walking in my usual woods.It started raining. Normally, that’s the moment I get annoyed.Because it wasn’t planned.Because it interrupts. But yesterday was different. Instead of rushing,instead of complaining,I slowed down. I felt the rain on my face.I listened
When I was a kid, I existed. I did not had much but I was happy without knowing why. I didn’t think about time. I didn’t try to understand life. I was just inside it. But even back then, I used to ask myself something strange. If I wasn’t here, who would be in my […]
We do the same things every day. We move to reach the evening. We wait for the weekend. We work toward a few days of rest, as if relief were always scheduled somewhere ahead. Then we turn our head. Days have passed. Years have passed. And we are still standing in the same place.
