I’ve spent the first month of the year in Accra for work. This post is a reflection on observing my own habits in a new country, yet again,
I’ve been waking up earlier than I used to, which is new for me. For years, early mornings felt like a personal failure, something other people managed better, something I kept promising myself I’d fix once work slowed down or life became more settled, both of which, it turns out, are ideas more than destinations. These days I’m up sometime between seven and eight, in a hotel apartment in Accra that still doesn’t quite feel like mine, sunlight already making decisions for me through the curtains while my phone does the rest.
Most mornings, I wake up reachable. Messages from India stack up overnight because the day there has already begun without me, people have already started thinking, deciding, asking, moving things forward, and by the time I open my eyes there’s a low hum of urgency waiting on the other side of the screen. I scroll, I reply to the obvious texts, mentally bookmark the rest, telling myself I’ll come back to them later, knowing full well that “later” usually means squeezed into some other part of the day.
If there’s time, I try to give my body a small acknowledgment before the day fully claims it. Ten or fifteen minutes of stretching, sometimes a short meditation if my mind cooperates.
There’s no gym nearby, the roads aren’t great for running, and the city doesn’t yet feel familiar enough to move through without thinking, so the morning workouts remain aspirational. Still, something happens in those minutes, a mild sense of participation in my own life before I shower, make coffee, throw together a grilled cheese or some oats, maybe a banana and a protein smoothie if I’m organized, and head out.
Work, these days, is mostly people and decisions. I’ve been enjoying the office here more than I expected to. It’s functional, calm, not too loud, not pretending to be inspiring, which is a relief after months of classrooms doubling as workspaces in other cities. Some days I’m on campus, sitting in on sessions, talking to students, visiting industry partners, moving between conversations that all seem to require slightly different versions of me. Other days, it’s mostly screens: Google Meets, WhatsApp calls, documents open and half-edited, logistics layered on top of ideas I’d rather be spending time with.
The part of the work I like – the thinking, the designing, shaping experiences, still shows up, braided with things I like less. Logistics, coordination, documents that take hours to prepare and minutes to be skimmed, if they’re read at all. I reply to messages, make decisions that depend on other people making decisions, follow up, circle back, send reminders, and occasionally wonder when exactly I agreed to become this version of myself. Writing steadies me, even when I don’t do enough of it. The act of putting something into words, even if it never leaves my laptop, reminds me I can still create in the margins.
Scrolling happens through the day. Sometimes too much of it. I don’t hate it. I don’t hate it. What gets to me isn’t comparison so much as proximity: I’m close to the things I want to create: ideas half-scripted, notes saved, drafts started, but the days are already so full of other needs that my projects wait politely in the background. I consume more than I create, and I tell myself it’s temporary, even as I’ve been telling myself that for a while.
Evenings are easier than they used to be. The India team logs off earlier, which means I can too. Sometimes we cook together, sometimes we watch something half-interesting, sometimes we just exist in the same space. Accra doesn’t demand much from me, and I’ve been enjoying that.
At night, I try to read, lately choosing books that ask more of me than I have to give. Heavy nonfiction, big ideas, ambitious arcs. I keep telling myself I should switch to fiction, something that doesn’t feel like homework. Sometimes I meditate before bed, focusing on breath until the day loosens its grip. Other nights, I scroll until I’m too tired to think straight, my brain negotiating future plans it won’t remember in the morning. What’s next, what’s next, what’s next loops through my head as I turn off the light.
