I take comfort in the idea that it is possible to have a happy place. Somewhere you can go where you don't worry and nothing can make you upset, sad or angry.
Maybe my happy place would be sitting in the treehouse I had when I was growing up. The tree house I threatened to move to when I was 7. I packed my bag and cycled my bike there are stayed til dinner time. At that point, the wagon wheels I packed were done and I was hungry. I moved back home after 4 hours.
Or maybe it would be in the back garden of our Canadian home, in the summertime specifically, when we get the slip and slide out. Watching my brother and sister killing themselves laughing as they flew off the end of the slip and slide because we put it on too much of a slope.
Or maybe it's driving in the car singing along to ABBA.
Lately, I've been craving these comforts. The places I feel safe, because I know where everything is and I know what to do. Backpacking is difficult, you don't have these.
But even further, I don't have these comforts to even go back to. My treehouse was cut down long ago. My home in Canada is now someone else's. Oh, and I've also lost my ABBA CD somewhere along the way.
So, right now, the closest I can get to a happy place is waking up an hour before my alarm. That feeling of having more time. Even if it isn't time in the right place, it's still more time, and I'll take it.
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