Breathing Room

Some days feel like they’re three sizes too small.
Time rushes past, expectations pile up, and somehow, I’m supposed to keep pace.

Don’t get me wrong, I rarely feel stressed when my days are full.
I know the busy peaks of life, and I embrace them (most of the time).
Perspective? I’m fairly good at keeping it; at least when it comes to everyday chaos.
(There are other topics I still struggle to let go of, but hey, every weirdo has their thing. Perfect is so boring anyway.)

Still, time can feel slippery.
Like I’m not quite catching it, not fully living it.
I’m not afraid of getting older (end-thirties still counts as puppyhood, right?).
But I often wonder how to slow it all down – or at least stretch it just enough to feel it better.

Whether I do too much or too little, the sensation is the same.
Maybe I don’t pause enough.
Am I living as the main character… or just wandering through the background with a half-empty coffee cup?

I once told a 10-year-old that time always feels like it’s flying.
She looked at me like I’d just declared breakfast illegal.
Her weekends and holidays felt deliciously long; endless, even.
And she was right. I remember that too.
All the time in the world.
Maybe because we weren’t ruled by clocks yet.
No phones to scroll, no grown-up obligations sneaking in like unpaid bills.

Maybe the trick isn’t to stop time, but to notice it.
To hold onto those tiny pockets of joy.
I like the hum of life around me.
I just don’t always feel the need to join the choir.

Maybe that’s what breathing room really is,
little pauses in between the rush, where you remember how it feels to just be.

Sometimes breathing room is a window seat and a mind allowed to wander.
Sometimes it’s a coffee cooling while you forget the world exists for a minute.
Or the sound of birds in early spring, whispering that something softer is coming.
Sometimes it’s found under an open sky, where the breeze kisses your skin and the sun leaves a quiet trace of warmth behind.

Some people love a weekend packed with plans.
Me? I feel happiest when there’s just enough space for something unplanned to find me.
(Of course, sometimes life demands a schedule – but the best moments are often the ones that sneak up on you.)

Breathing room doesn’t always mean silence.
Sometimes it’s unexpected laughter over a medium-mild latte with a friend you didn’t expect to run into.
Sometimes it’s the waves syncing with your breath, the scent of pine on a forest walk, or the joy of knowing no one expects anything from you for the next few hours.

A stranger’s smile.
A conversation that feels like a soft place to land.
A puppy flipping onto its back in front of you, demanding cuddles.
Or my sphynx cats , who insist on being involved in everything I do, especially the things I’d rather do alone, like thinking.

Tiny spaces. Tiny rebellions.
Maybe that’s all breathing room really is; and maybe that’s enough.

Believe it or not, life is beautiful.
And if this made you breathe a little softer – or smirk once or twice – feel free to like, follow, or just quietly nod.