Lately I’ve been thinking a lot about what my life should be like in the future. Erik and I have been together for ten years, our daughter is almost two, we have moved back to the village where I grew up and we are renovating a house that we will (probably) live in for a few more years.
When we lived in the city, life felt like an endless stream. The days never ended, but only changed shape. Every walk through the streets was a spectacle of smells, buildings and people.
Living where we are now, where everything is quiet, is both soothing and challenging. The thoughts are allowed to flow without interruption and the breathing is calm – but sometimes I long for the sound that surrounds me all the time.
Down here there are oceans of time to think.
About life, the future and why everything is the way it is.
I really appreciate the opportunity to live in what is a paradise for many.
And it has always been mine, but my paradise needs both silence and movement.
Sea and city.
Silence and noise.
Life in between.
Anyway, here we are now.
And here we will stay – at least for a while.
I don’t think it’s about dissatisfaction.
It’s about life, continuing to search for meaning, movement and inspiration.
When everything stops
Two weeks ago, one of our closest family friends passed away. A father who was a safe adult during my upbringing. Close, but slightly different from mine. He helped us with the internet, fixed the TV, smoked like a brushbinder, but was smart, caring and full of life.
I went into the night-black garden and picked a bouquet of ivy and rosemary.
It smelled like my childhood, just how I wanted it.
We went straight away.
With an unpleasant feeling in my body, my brother and I drove between familiar streets below
the starry sky.
Once there, his favorite song was played, as if to keep him there for a while longer, surrounded by those closest to him.
A dinner that was over in no time.
A life that ended in a second.
I went into the room where he lay.
A light and calm feeling enveloped me.
So different from the moment I shared with my father and mother. He smiled. I carefully placed the rosemary bouquet down, patted him on the cheek and smiled back.
Take care daddy, I whispered, see you soon.
Dead.
Not always illness and sluggishness.
But in the middle of a movement, when everything is most alive.
Life goes on
I need impressions, beautiful things and a lot of planning. Unexpected events and friends who think differently.
Who has humor, a relaxed attitude to life, loves nature or making the house beautiful.
I want to eat crayfish and burn incense, cook raw beef and drink cider. Plant sage and make an impression.
I don’t want to stagnate. I want to move forward.
Four thousand weeks
My friend Carolina is currently reading a book called
Four thousand weeks. That’s about as long as we live: 4,000 weeks. And if there won’t be that many, if I don’t have forty summers left, then I ask myself:
Who do I want to be, how do I want to live?
Perhaps just like Ester and her family,
about the summers in Fyrgaarden..
#movement #silence. #November