Ten Hut

 Would a walk in the woods help?

Would it be enough to take my eyes away from my phone, my master of dopamine that slices and dices my attention span to bite-sized ribbons child-friendly enough to slip away from any thought with enough meat to it to take more than idle consideration.

There’s a battle going on against my self-induced attention deficit. It’s always been difficult to stop the saboteurs, hasn’t it - the grifters and con men woven tightly against the throats of our governing bodies. 

The old boys, the manipulated social standing and promise, the escape! How good it feels to climb so high to jump away, off, and far from the pressures you’ve built up along the climb.

To jump and think not of landing - to assume but not to plan, that wings will kick in and you’ll be away with not a scratch - for the winds don’t scratch, do they? They just deliver you to scratchy spots to do the dirty work.

Do you, then, blame the wind?

"Better to pick a mountain you'd rather climb, so long's you're putting the work in. Or maybe see that one peak is part of a wider range..." and similar wisdoms don't matter if you're addicted to the jump. 

I do prefer cities to nature, especially when I travel. The beat of each footstep in a city grounds you to the social heartbeat innervating underneath. There are drinks to be had! People to see! Noises to rage through like a timelapse video of the Colorado river.

"It's not an addiction, it's a preference," I've said in jest, though it's always referring to coffee, really. And cities can be a preference all the same, but I think I'm closer to addiction than preference when it comes to ribbon-shredding my attentions. Background noise is the soundtrack to my life, or has been in the recent past. 

Writing is one of the only things I do these days, especially outside of work, without any YouTube video playing, no music lulling. It's far from peace of mind and my mind is never not full of something, but at least during these moments it's a focused noise. And focused noise, in its assigned channels and avenues, leaves room for silence on the wings, even if just for a flap.