When the beating of your heart echoes the beating of the drums, there is a life about to start when tomorrow comes…
Sunday evening. Enjoying a nice glass of red in business class whilst listening to the beautiful music from Les Mis, thinking about the weekend gone by. Finally feeling like I’m back on path again. Note the lack of “the” or “my” in front of path. You see, I don’t really know where this particular path is heading, but I guess I’ll find out soon enough.
Some people have lately wondered what on earth happened to my blog, and even more have been asking how I’m doing, having noticed I’ve been talking about job hunting and moving for quite a while, yet no news of success have reached them.
What can I say? Last spring, I came to a conclusion I wasn’t comfortable with people thinking they knew me just because I had spilled one too many tears online. Of course, I only had myself to blame, many of my blue thoughts became self-fulfilling prophecies, and soon I was tangled up in a sticky web, not knowing how to get out, frustrated with people feeling sorry for me, when all I wanted was just some peace and quiet, without the input of the world and his uncle. My plan was never to stop writing, only to take a little breather, and then return with a text on how I was packing up and moving on, and how wonderful my life had finally become.
Well. Life has a tendency to not play out as planned. Not going to bore you with details, only saying I’ve reached some sort of catch 22 in my efforts getting myself to London. Considering the current economic situation in the UK, I’m not nearly as stupid to resign from my current job in Helsinki, and move there without a job waiting for me when I touch ground. However, no one wants to hire you unless you already live there. So much for LinkedIn and Skype…
Thinking it shouldn’t be this hard – if it’s meant to be, it will happen – I decided to give up. The dream. All of it. Job, love, you name it. Goodbye, farewell, auf wiedersehen, adieu… Enter limbo.
A few days ago, a person I care about very much asked me to tell a story from my weird life. I laughed I had none to tell, my life is a pretty boring place right now. He obviously didn’t believe me, and to be honest, neither did I, hence laughing when saying it. So, I opened my mouth to start telling him something, and I realised I really didn’t have anything to tell. My head was completely empty. I was all out of stories. I had finally reached the middle of nowhere; my future was a great big white canvas. And in my first attempt to start painting it, I kind of missed and splashed the neon yellow paint on the wall instead. But that’s another story.
I fell in love that night. With the unpainted canvas of my future.
I may not be there yet, but until then, I will try to be content with having the whole of Europe as my playground. There will be time to move into a castle on a cloud, but meanwhile, a glass of red, in business class when returning home, is quite okay.
And maybe I’ll start blogging again. You never know.
P.s. Business class? I have no idea how I ended up there; I guess the universe was feeling bad for making me walk home more or less barefoot in snow the night before…