you know sometimes you just wake up and it’s like the air itself is different and you’re suddenly aware of how much SPACE there is around you and it's not like that good kind of space either, like when you’re in a big city and there’s all this energy and everything's moving and you’re just a small part of it but it feels… expansive, you know? like you're part of something bigger. but this is different. this is like empty space. and i woke up today and my house just felt SO big. it’s a nice house, suburban mcmansion type thing, always kept it because you gotta have roots right? and i’ve been away so much over the years, always traveling for work, different time zones, different hotels, different cities every week sometimes. it was always a blur of planes and meetings and then coming home for a day or two to pack another bag and leave again and that was just… normal. my normal. but now i’m a student. i’m doing this degree, this big challenging thing i always wanted to do but never had time for and it’s intense, the coursework is demanding and the kids in my program are all so young, so bright and they’re all talking about their futures and what they’re gonna do next and i’m just… here. in this house. and i’m sitting at the kitchen island, you know the one with the granite top and the fancy stools, and it’s just me and the silence. it’s not even a peaceful silence. it’s a LOUD silence. and i’m trying to read my philosophy text, something about existentialism and the meaninglessness of it all and it just hits different when you’re alone in this cavernous house and you can hear the hum of the refrigerator and the air conditioning kicking in and it’s just… noise. not quiet. just noise. and i remember last week i was on a zoom call for a group project and i had my camera on, obviously, and one of the other students, a kid probably twenty years old, said "oh cool house mr… professor?" and i had to laugh and correct him, "no just call me [my first name]" and then i realized he was probably just being polite but it made me feel so old. like i’m some relic. and i’m trying to keep up, i really am, with the slang and the memes and the way they talk but sometimes i just feel so out of place. and i used to have a routine, you know? wake up, shower, quick breakfast, car service to the airport, lounge, flight, car service to the hotel, check in, meeting, dinner, sleep, repeat. that was my rhythm. my life. and now it’s like… wake up, make coffee, sit at the island, try to focus on this reading, answer emails, another zoom call, then what? sometimes i just stare out the window at the perfectly manicured lawn and the other perfectly manicured lawns and it all just looks the same. like a painting. a still life. and i called my old assistant, maria, who’s retired now, and i just asked her "what are you doing?" and she said "oh you know, gardening, seeing the grandkids, having lunch with my sister" and it sounded so… full. so rich. and i just said "huh, sounds nice" and then i had to get off the phone because i felt this weird lump in my throat and i didn’t want her to hear it. didn’t want her to know that my life now is just… less. and i think about all those hotels, all those anonymous rooms, and they were never home but they were never *not* home either because i was always just passing through, always on to the next thing. but this house, this big quiet place, it’s supposed to be home and it just feels like a very expensive waiting room. like i’m waiting for something to happen but i don’t even know what it is. and then i just got up and walked into the living room, past the grand piano that no one plays anymore, past the shelves of books i haven’t touched in years, and i just stood there in the middle of it all and thought, "what am i doing?" what is this all for? and it’s 2am and i can’t sleep and i’m typing this on my phone and i just… ugh. i just want to feel like i belong somewhere again. like i have a place. but this isn’t it. and i don't know where it is.