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Vancouver Island, Brussels, Paris

One day you’re travelling the world, next thing you know you’re pulling the blanket of comfort and contentment over your head in your own freshly made bed. It’s still a bit strange, having a place to come home to. Thinking back on last year’s story, as opposite as can be.

Living freely in my car in Canadian forests. Vancouver island based, adventuring for medicinal plants and lake swims. Cold, yes. Better than twenty espressos at once, plus you get a free brain freeze on top! Straight from snowy mountains, slowly seeping into the woods. Creating hidden bathing spots. Mushroom tea keeping us warm from the inside out, letting the outside in.

Working three jobs, island paced. Plenty of time for psychedelic wanders and late night bon fires on the beach. Waking up with the stars still flickering, the moon moving fast across the sky. My toes touched morning waves, it was too chilly to dive in. This was every day life and it went on and on, softly and in bliss until my visa expired.

USA road trips of sweating behind the wheel in my old beast of a truck with no air conditioning, parts falling off every once and a while. Still, she was good. I didn’t realise it then, this only crawled into my head months later, as a memory of sweet sunshine and endless roads. I have always dreamt of doing these exact things. Californication, driving for days on end, breathing salty ocean air. As a little girl I stared out of classroom windows, seeing deserts, mountains, oceans. Nothing would stop me.

That drive, the passion for travel. The addiction? Lust for adventure. “So how long will you stay in Belgium this time?” People ask me at least once a day. Long-term contracts are carefully talked about, but never really questioned. It’s the fear of the endless, the thrill of the new. During eight years of travelling, I felt I was waltzing around my comfort zone constantly, as this IS what I know to be comforting and oh so comfortable. Being in a constant travel mode. On the move is how I come home. Waking up, not knowing what will happen, where I will go and who I will meet, is what gives me purpose. To write my own life, starting with a blank page at the start of the day. Routine as the killer of all dreams. The biggest challenge I found along the way: finding a home and stay for a while, building community and feel good while grounding myself.

So, Belgium huh? I never thought I would end up here, at least not for longer than a month. It doesn’t mean I’ll stay forever, but for now, I’m happy here. Routine is not crawling into my Brussels life, as days and nights take me different places all the time. Every day adventures! Forest bike rides, picking herbs for dinner parties. Late night vinyl tunes dance moves in our living room.

Live music blowing my mind, finding myself in a strange haze of soul ecstasy and the longing for more. Don’t ever make this night end. Blurry brains are excellent habitats for yeasaying to impulsive trips to Paris. One night was all the time we had between concert and work. It was hardly enough, but perfect all the same. Responsibilities put a time limit on adventures. That’s a new thing for me to learn. Instant intensifier! No second to waste, so we savour and do everything but sleep. Paris, city of lust. Morning wanders lead us to the strongest coffee, stories of last night’s romance. We soak up the last views of the city coming alive as we get in for the longest drive home.

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