London

The flight from tropical heat to London winter did something to me. Forty degrees colder. Body couldn't adjust.

But the temperature wasn't the problem.

I was already burnt out when I landed. Just didn't know it yet. Or maybe I did and was ignoring it.

Everyone thought I had the flu. Team gave me space. Clients backed off. Good excuse. Easier than saying "I'm falling apart mentally."

The cold made everything worse. Dark at 3 PM. That sucked.

Time zones messed with my head. Messages came at weird hours. Never knew when to respond, when to sleep. Four hours ahead of some people, behind others. Couldn't find a rhythm.

People kept telling me what to see. Big Ben, the Tower, all that. I know they meant well. But I couldn't handle it. Every suggestion felt like one more task I was failing at.

Went out a little. Found a bookstore. Looked for cassette tapes for the cheap player I brought. That was okay in small doses.

But mostly the city was too much. Too many people. Too many sounds. Too much everything. My brain couldn't process it.

Stayed close to the hotel. Same few blocks. Even that felt big sometimes. Every corner had something new and new meant exhausting.

Couldn't sleep. The time zone thing, the cold, whatever was wrong with my head—none of it helped.

Brought a tape player. Played one tape on repeat. The mechanical click of rewind and play was comforting. Something predictable.

London didn't cause the burnout. It just made it impossible to ignore anymore. Couldn't hide from it there. Foreign city, freezing weather, no sleep, no distractions that worked.

Had to look at it straight on.