Quiet season
I am almost done with hibernation. As a kid and even an adolescent, I was a bit envious of bears who get to disappear for months and return when the weather and their bodies are both better. Maybe because my prefrontal cortex wasn't developed fully, I missed out on an important point. Their subjective experience. On the face of it, even if it looked relaxing, was it truly a restful time for them? For the first time, perhaps, I think I got a taste of it. Just because you’re not drowning in deadlines doesn’t mean you’re at ease. Free time doesn’t always translate into freedom, or anything at all. Turns out, adult (young or old, still in between) hibernation looks like a mashup of Netflix and unhealthy snacks, followed by guilt, a fruit diet, journaling, reading, and watching anything that emulates healing and feeling a little empty. When people ask me how I spend my vacation, I can answer in terms of phases, phase I, when I felt I had too much time and how I'd pick up ...