I’m sitting at my desk and looking out the window, fascinated by the way the pouring rain leaves droplets on the leaves of the tree outside, like crystals on a green velvet dress. And then just as rapidly as it started, the rain comes to a complete halt—matching the state of my progress on writing today. The act of writing is often slow and tedious as I look for the words and clarity that can capture the essence of the thought on paper. In these moments of frustration, I catch myself getting restless instead of reflecting. It feels unnatural to just sit here and let these time intervals wash over. I’m not being maximally and tangibly productive when I have the capacity to get so many other things done during these seemingly inert hours.