My marriage meant me quitting my job and moving out to a new city. My husband, with the help of his parents, had bought a new house. But we had to wait for ten more months to get possession of the keys to our apartment, as the building was in the final stages of its construction. That meant renting a smaller flat in the distant suburbs to save money. The two of us already had too many uncertainties in our new life, so I decided against applying for a new job. At least until we moved to our own home.
With my husband away at work, I had abundance of time to spare everyday, but living in an underdeveloped part of the town I had few amenities to spend it on. This resulted in most of it being squandered doing nothing. But I couldn’t complain. It was a fresh marriage with an understanding and caring man.
I was never a fan of reading and there was only so much of television that I could watch. I didn’t really hit it off with the other women in my building. Unsurprisingly, sitting around all day in the house began to show on my bones. So I decided to make use of the nearby national park. For walks. For long, lonely walks to occupy my head and trim my frame. And, thus, a routine was born.