No longer as truthful as should be deserved, some names, places and events deliberately vague to protect identities that aren't mine

Friday, 3 April 2015


Geography is important. Different places evoke feelings and memories. The way people respond varies from person to person, place to place.

I occasionally use the hashtag #TheWorldIsQuietHere. As in Lemony Snicket's A Series of Unfortunate Events it signifies a place of comfort and security. A place where all my worries and burdens fall away. A place where I find myself completely at peace, content, and able to sit and watch the world pass me by, happy to just be aware of that singular moment. More so than the safety of my home, or the quietness of a good mental health day, this is a feeling tied to a few very specific places (and times) in the world, that I find utterly beautiful.

Bethesda Fountain in the sun, listening to the singers under the bridge.
The Spanish Steps, 4am in the morning, when strangers talk to each other, share food and stories.
The Marin County Headlands, overlooking Golden Gate Bridge

A bare handful of spaces, but here, and only here, does everything in my head stop. Not just for a second, but for as long as I can spare to be here.

I lay awake last night full of abject terror. I can still remember that feeling, I can still remember all the things that prompted it. But here, where the world is quiet, I can think about and remember them and it simply doesn't touch me. I don't know what it is about these specific places more than any other. It's not a sensation I can replicate; it doesn't matter when I visit them; it doesn't how bad or good things are going for me, everything about the world just stops. Waiting for me when I'm ready. Patient, not insistent. The world can wait.

The world is quiet here.

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