When I said I was moving to Berlin, some people got the idea that I would settle down in the traditional sense. Like, get a nice flat in Prenzlaurberg, a job with a steady paycheck, marry a nice German guy, and adopt a couple of dogs.
I really appreciate your faith in my skills in how to grownup. Though as I’m writing this, I just had peanut butter and jam sandwiches for dinner. So, clearly not at risk of becoming a proper adult any time soon.
Since I made the move in May, I have barely left the city. This might be the longest time I’ve gone without traveling since 2015. Waking up in your own bed, consistently, is such an incredible luxury to me. Buying spices. Having all your shoes in one place. It’s the little things. It’s always is.
As much as I love my everyday life in Berlin, I’m finally ready to pack my bags again. Ready for feeling my mind opening up in that unique way it does when I’m traveling somewhere new. Observing how it seem to work almost as you’d expect, familiar, yet slightly different. Every place has its own flavor.
It’s like shooting up creativity, all these new impressions.
Next week it starts again. Same, but different. This time I’m not running away, chasing experiences to manage my anxiety. I simply leave, because I can, and I know I’ll be back. Because home is where your heart is.
And by heart, I mean my bed and linen sheets.
(Seriously, I could write a book on how amazing linen sheets are.)