One of my souvenirs from Prague was the book Letters from Prison, by Milan Šimečka, a dissident against the Communist regime in former Czechoslovakia. I read this a long while ago, but one of the concepts which stuck with me was a link that he noticed whilst imprisoned, between the lack of nature and depravity.
Since leaving Istanbul, the weight on my chest has lightened. My morning commute is now twenty-five minutes through foggy fields, spiderweb sparkling with dew, grebes on the lake— instead of an hour or two of aggravated drivers in grey gridlock.
I'm so glad I left the city.