There are some leaves on the freshly cut grass already signaling the end of this summer, the end of August. It’s been a while since I walked this path with my dog Filou by my side. A month can be a very long time when you’ve been gone and wandering about.
The sunlight slightly tilted now forcing you to change perspective approaching the end of this year bending time again into a calmer pace like a closing song easing us out into the night. You know it’s time to go but why not stretch your hand one more time into the air, capturing everything, swaying in motion.
I send my friend a dramatic voice note along the lines of: I hate being back!
For a month I had no worries about rent, bills, food, house chores instead I was traveling back in time to a teenage self at my parents home sleeping in my old single bed with the too short blanket and the blinds that do not close properly: last remains of my childhood. Writing on my novel draft that I still have not finished. Followed by an intensely beautiful week of traveling to Berlin and different parts of Spain. It was tranquil, it was bliss and absolutely carefree.
Now that I am back all those things ignored, those things unseen are in stark contrast to how I thought my life was here before leaving. All the flaws that I was so used to start to hiccup uncontrollably.
“I need to make some changes. Tiny ones.” I tell my partner on our flight back home.
“I’m going to make huge changes.” I realise a couple of days later after landing.
The first days I struggle with a sadness that sweeps me away and is explained by everyone else with: This is what you get when you had a great holiday!
Post-summer-depression we jokingly call it, that feeling that seems to have crept in suddenly and tinting those sepia filtered glasses into a greyer, darker tone. A side-effect of seasons changing and the general human condition of fearing anything yet unknown. Good or bad. No distinction
I draw tarot cards for self-reflection and laugh when the wheel of fortune comes up cradling me into the soft chorus of: the only constant is change.
So I wobble a bit now trying to get myself accustomed to the shakiness of transitioning, trying to get a grip by making plans with friends, writing to do lists and giving in to the inevitable:
Raising my hands up and dancing to the last beat.
My book: "Things I Have Noticed - Essays on leaving / searching / finding” is a poetic memoir, about the process of finding ones own voice.
"I'd like the one with the non-existential dread, please."
ONE THING TO DO
Make a playlist for someone that you love with all the songs that mean something to you. A best of BEST OF so to speak.
This is mine:
IN CASE YOU MISSED LAST WEEK’S MUSE LETTER
The Big Summer Break
“I need to be a desert for a while.
Nothing to grow on me but wind caressing my face and body and heat waves rolling over me, lulling me into a sweet harmonious sleep. I need to dry up like the Rose of Jericho, all crumbly and fragile on the outside, condensing my energy into a tiny little ball, waiting for rain. ‘It can survive for years in that form, though it is sometimes uprooted and blown by the wind like a tumbleweed.‘”
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