Piece of the Shannon

Things are starting to get quiet. Classes are winding down, more and more of my days is spent in solitude reading and writing. I’ve taken some trips — Dublin, Sligo, Belfast, Cork — but these are few and far between. My routine is as follows: wake up, go to my favorite coffee shop, afternoon walk, more coffee, dinner, relax, sleep.

I’m a chronic perfectionist, and that’s something that’s taken a long time for me to come to terms with. It’s difficult for me to take things slow. I once told my partner, just three scant weeks into summer break, that it felt strange not working, and I was desperate to get back into school.

But now, that work is nonexistent. I can’t manifest schoolwork. Things are just quiet. And that’s okay. It’s hard for me to come to terms with, but empirically, I know it’s okay.

I’ve been appreciating this time for meditation. Since my schedule is so free, I’ve been able to spend days at a time simply reading for fun, and that’s been so refreshing.

As this year begins to slowly draw to a close, I’m squeezing what I can out of each moment left. Rather than filling my mind with madness and expectations I can never meet, I’m going to relax. Live life slow like folks do back home and here.

My flat faces out toward the Shannon. I always sleep with my windows open, not just to let in the cold air, but to let in the white noise made from the river waves belting the rocks and shore. I’ll try to take in that nature melody instead, something far from cacophony and closer to peaceful, oblivion silence.

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