There is a pleasure to action, a thrill and eager to achieve, doubt and uncertainty in the moment, followed by a grand elation upon its success.
Yet, I find myself treasuring, inaction. There is a luxury to allow yourself respite. Perhaps savouring an anticipation, for something waiting ahead. In those moments, where I have done nothing, and not required to do anything, have I been happy?
Or, do I cherish nothing, all the more, when there is something else, that should be done?

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