There is something enticing about being in my own company, or perhaps with a silent four-legged partner, walking down a dirt path. I can hear and feel the crunch of the gravel beneath my shoes, the wind whispering through the trees, and the sun peeking out from behind the leaves. At that moment, the rest of the world washes away while I contemplate and organize the thoughts busy in my mind or wash them away with the music from my earbuds. The moment is mine entirely and nothing else matters. I ponder over the complexities of existence dipping my metaphorical toes into existential ideas while attempting to hold on to the literality of life. Or maybe, I am sitting bundled up in my blanket cocoon with a book in my lap immersed in a world so fascinatingly different from mine filled with characters who are now a part of my being as I savor each page that my eyes scan. As I put my book away, both mourning and rejoicing in the ending of another world, I bask in the soothing quiet, and cozy surroundings. These moments are special and integral to my well-being.
Even when my family of four lived in a tiny two-bedroom apartment, I would search for my pockets of escape so that I had my alone time during which I could escape into my through a novel or my own imagination. My mind would be free to unravel its thoughts and ideas to entropic proportions to the point where it almost mimicked an out-of-body experience. My favorite space was the top bunk bed in the bedroom I shared with my sister.
