I find it so difficult, you know, relaxing. For some people it's as simple as putting your feet up, switching your phone off, drifting into the melodies of your favourite band (or your favourite wineglass) and forgetting about all the things that have spent the best part of the day winding you up. I'm always conscious of the things I carry around with me in my head. They're like tightly strung tension wires, stretching across the Atlantic yet connected to a whole lot of stress at the other end.
There were lots of Canadians out today - really cool people in proper jackets and ray-bans. I listened to their conversations as they went by, catching snippets of dramas and opinions and news. These people are so cool, relaxed and chilled out, it's almost unbelievable. They speak slowly, they look each other in the eye and they're honest. It's almost impossible to imagine any of them running around pulling their hair out or screaming with frustration - they just take everything in their stride. What's more, because they live in an outdoorsy country, there's a natural affinity for the fresh air, for tall sequoias, black squirrels, blue lakes, snow-capped mountains, log cabins and timber-dashed houses. Somehow the idea of relaxation and sport, activity and chill-out, hot sun and freezing fresh water is integral to the culture, like bacon and maple syrup. While I feel like I don't belong, I rather like that.
I think it's taking me time. And here, time seems to flow differently. The plane feels like a week ago, yesterday and the day before are much more spaced out in my memory than they usually are. Time is ticking slowly, as though the hugeness of everything is somehow stretching out the seconds, slowing them down. I have a feeling that the only way to relax is to let time do its work on me too - to gently massage me into its chilled-out rhythm while I let go of the high frequency tension wires of home.
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