Rooted. That is what I am. I never possessed wanderlust. Give me a few cats, a couch and some food and I’ll be perfectly happy in that safe bubble of life. Yes, I like nature but it does not really move me. I don’t fall on my knees in awe of a pretty sight. I can admire it and appreciate it, but simply don’t get moved by it on emotional levels like some people do. Maybe that was one of the reasons why couching with a good book was more appealing then discovering new places.
You could say turning 30 pushed me in a sort of midlife crisis. There I was. 30. Not doing anything with my life really. Not like I have to, but had no place of my own, not content with my body, still working on a yearly contract … I turned 30 and had nothing to show. My father had 2 children, his own land, his own house, a job, a farm, seen places and drank up life till age of 27.
Don’t get me wrong, this is not a sob post and I live with almost 0 regrets. But yet I felt like I’m a defect bee working outside the beehive. It took me almost a year to push the gears in movement. Changing your life-style is not easy. In came the food regime, rules, hiking, gym, go-go-go mindset, a new work position and a bit of traveling.
I guess what I needed to realize along the way is, that I’m a grown up and just book that flight. That I do not need to be scared.
When I asked Berns why she likes hiking so much some of the explanation was that it’s the motion of feeling small standing on the very peak. I could understand what she was saying to me … rationally. It made sense. But I only understood it emotionally, sitting on the balcony, drinking my coffee looking at the beehives of Mississauga, Canada.
It feels odd being home again. It feels odd sitting on my couch and reading work emails. It feels surreal. Did it really happen?
