Was travelling between places similar to travelling through book pages and was that similar to allowing idle thoughts to visit like passing landscapes?
People say that all these things raise awareness of oneself, increase breadth of general knowledge and wisdom, cause open-mindedness, grant a new appreciation for life, inflict (by startling realization) paradigms and points of view never before considered.
Why bother doing more than one, if they were similar in effect?
But why did it feel like she was cheating herself out of something significant when she didn't do all three?
And when none of these were happening: water growing old and stale in a pond wishing to be emptied. Roots tied up in dry soil and clay, by a tree that died in place but didn't bother shifting out of its three hundred year stance. An empty cupboard spoiled by dampness from the cold unmoving air of an uninhabited house.
What an uncomfortably stiff place to be; claustrophobic at best. Not miserable nor completely dismal but incrementally more frustrating as each day passed by.
