There’s a rhythm to how some of us move through cities.
We don’t stay long. We slip in and out — intentionally, intuitively. We go in to get what we need: the rush of inspiration, the hum of collective thought, the bookstores packed with uncurated corners, the overheard café conversations that jolt us awake. Cities offer friction, and from that friction, we spark.
There’s beauty in the chaos. In the density of ideas. In the nearness of strangers. Cities remind us that something is happening. That minds are turning. That momentum has a taste and a temperature.
“You are a function of what the whole universe is doing in the same way that a wave is a function of what the whole ocean is doing.” Alan Watts
So we enter with curiosity. With reverence. With hunger for stimulation.
But we also know when it’s time to leave.
Because cities — for all they give — can also start to take. The longer you stay, the more you adapt. You match your breath to the tempo of the traffic, your thoughts to the pace of the headlines. Your body forgets how to slow down. Your spirit forgets how to listen.
Soon, stillness feels foreign. And that’s when we know: it’s time to go.
