But I guess the question is what did I learn along the way. Definitely that I’m not cut out to survive the existing workaholic gene. It’s a genetic predisposition that tends to drive you to your demise, or at least me – but I know the cure. It’s just a matter of being a good patient and taking my therapy. The doctor’s orders? A healthy dose of sports, a balanced diet of work, hobbies and people, and regularly changing my surroundings. Mental hygiene.
It took a series of a week in Holland, a week of chilling in Belgrade, a 170 km weekend of biking to Arandjelovac, a week at the coast, 4-day 400 kilometer solo bike ride, a 5-day escape to a volunteer photo camp and friend, climbing the highest mountain in Serbia – by bike, and getting on a bus to the coast – only to sigh a sigh of relief. That is how bad I allowed myself to get. I haven’t even been to this blog page in a long time. At least I got back to the road, to photography. To doing things with people.
