I’m currently not working - I wrapped up my last planned contract at the end of April, and have deliberately chosen to take a couple of months off to reset before beginning discussions about new opportunities. A sabbatical of sorts. I am very aware how lucky and privileged I am to have this opportunity.

And so, I’m seeking a natural ebb and flow to my emptier days, but it’s remaining elusive. Some days are extremely lazy, others are spent preparing a talk I’m presenting next month, or catching up on open source support emails. There’s a bit of reading and writing in the mix, but not enough as I was hoping. Mostly, there’s a realisation that I don’t lack for self-imposed commitments, and I struggle to step back from any of them.

Monday, though, felt like something closer to what I was expecting. I wandered out into the city, first sitting down by the Yarra to read, and then retreating to the cafe Journal once the cold and the passive cigarette smoke became too annoying. Once I finished the book - Maxine Beneba Clarke’s powerful collection of short stories Foreign Soil - I made my way back home. Half an hour later, I spotted hints of a colourful sunset out my east-facing window - and on a whim, decided to step outside again for a better view. Winter got the best of me though - once I was downstairs and onto the street, the sky was empty of the orange and pink hues I’d hoped for, and darkness was spreading quickly.

Even so, the fact that I could slowly meander in the city during peak hour was rather novel. I’ve always had a tendency to walk quickly, so to slowly saunter provided a change in perspective, taking in the noise, the rush of Flinders Street Station, the flow of people across the Yarra footbridge. But turning back towards home, my habits returned and my pace quickened, unconsciously, as I returned to the sanctuary of my apartment.