I’ve been free for a while now. Free from the alarm. Free from the commute. Free from the meetings that could have been emails, the emails that should have been nothing, the relentless performance of being productive for someone else’s bottom line. And I want to write something honest about it. Not the version I’d put on camera. The real one. Because freedom, it turns out, is complicated. Finding myself again — slowly The first thing I noticed was that I didn’t know what I ac

I still haven’t called. I’ve been trying to figure out why.

It's the end of May here in the United Kingdom. The evenings are getting longer, that particular British gold light that stretches past 9pm like it's trying to convince you summer is real and permanent. And somewhere in the back of my head, I'm aware that back home, Memorial Day just passed. That somebody grilled something. That somebody drove somewhere. That people I used to know went about the whole ritual of it without me.