Let’s Talk About Chill

There is a certain je ne sais quoi about getting to the end of the day with a lengthy list of accomplished tasks under the belt and swollen ankles from running around in so much productivity, dancing and bouncing like a washing machine from one errand to another, the pen flying across the page as you almost need to eat another banana to make up for the calories you are burning by checking so many things off. 

To get to the end of the day, stare at your slightly haggard face in the lamplit mirror as the sun slips slyly down the hills around you, and give yourself a meaty pat on the back for your optimization skills. 

We lived at least three days today, dear friend, you tell yourself as you forcibly hold your eyelids up with two fingers. You don’t know whether to go to bed now, as your body is so vehemently insisting, or to swig some more Turkish coffee and reboard the productivity train. Because who knows when this feeling is going to come again?

These days are good. That feeling of yanking your feet up against the wall to let the blood drain from your ankles. Because you are a conqueror. You are an animal. You destroyed the bloody day.

But. 

When the cool Spring sun hits the late afternoon, and the fluffy white clouds laze against their painted background, and the birds begin to hum and yammer around you, and the breeze shuffles you into the smells of adolescent flowers. 

You peel back the windows, you shove aside the books, you leave your face unmolested by makeup and you simply exist.

My beautiful friend, Amanda–may her light and joy always radiate from behind her electric eyeballs–shipped herself to me from Kansas about a week ago. We met in Barcelona (a strong holler to the affordability of Norwegian Air), and spent a day of general warmth and frivolity zipping around that buzzing city, before chucking off to Paris for a few days. 

In Paris, we danced all ova da place. 

Our days were filled with good views, brews, and gluten, and from the teensy beautiful Parisian studio flat on the top floor, we participated in the glory that is the Parisian vibe. 

Our days were layered with themes of optimization, and we indeed lived three days for each day spent dancing. Which was infinitely preferable to alternatives, this is perhaps the only appropriate way to experience such a vibing city in three days. 

And then we peaced back to Graz for a bit, so that yours truly could actually attend the classes she’s supposed to go to more regularly that she finds herself doing, and so that we could….digest…before shimmying to London for the final leg.

Tuesday and Wednesday–the only days that I had Uni courses this week–were spent with minute obligations. But as soon as Thursday hit the floor, Amanda and I entirely peaced out of maintaining any kind of plan or structure. 

While it was so monstrously satisfying to sincerely conquer each day in Paris, the absence of literally any need (or desire) to plan anything has been so much lovely. 

Each day has been filled with momentous uncontrolled conversation, happening upon various spontaneous cafes, park picnics, flatmate connections, and breezy breezy Spring sun. 

Chill is wonderful. My eyelids haven’t been fully open in sometime now, the need entirely dismissed, and my skin feels taunt with the weight of Vitamin D from the sun oozing in through the open windows. 

Mhmm, what a marvelous Spring life this is. May the chill in your life ooze into your days and appropriately leave you when you need to sit down and write essays. 

Peace and Blessings

Josie

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