It is no secret that I love traveling and I’m suffering from wanderlust. This blog may not be enough of a testament to that but it’s true. The number of times I check up on travel related things at work is ridiculous and I can only hope that my boss doesn’t care for tracking any of my browser history.
Last year, after finishing my thesis and being unemployed, I went back to Sweden. I hung out in Stockholm all by myself to do the things I didn’t get to do when I was there in the winter. I later traveled back to Växjö to meet up with friends and stay at their summer house for a couple of days. The funny thing about Sweden and me is the instantaeous calmness that washes over me when I sit on the plane headed there and it doesn’t leave me at all while I’m there. Times moves differently in that country, I swear.
I didn’ t manage to put up a proper post about said trip, partly because I had gotten too lazy after graduating and partly because I needed to operate on standby for some time.
Maybe it’s the fact that Sweden represents the part of my life before everything vastly changed; before I had to confront the reality about living with my dying mother and looking after her while also being the first time in my life that I was on my own and I loved it. I loved the freedom and the country equally.
When I think about missing one specific place in this world, it is always Sweden and there are too many things to even explain why that is. I just feel homesick for the country that I only barely lived in but which gives my heart peace, as stupid as that may sound.
Being in Sweden means you’re usually not too far away from water and I could sit by a lake for days, just taking in the low sounds of the small waves; watching the sun glistening over the surface. I could watch sunrises and sunsets and never get bored of them. I could sit in that octagonal gazeebo and write to my hearts content unless I was drained of all the words; I would go to sleep, take a boat out on the lake and do it all over again.
That last paragraph is my dream’s dream. The one I know is ridiculous and completely unrealistic which is why I hardly ever let myself entertain said notion in the first place. If I had the financial stability and job-wise opportunity to do those things, I’d have my bags packed faster than you could say hastighetsbegränsning.
I guess this goes beyond wanderlust for me. It would involve a life changing descsion which I am far away from being able to make. Maybe I will find my peace at another summer house by another lake in another country or I won’t at all, who knows.
At this point, I only know that summer sang in me, a little while, that in me sings no more*. I know that I miss this impossible place where my heart is happy, where people don’t mind when you sing in a restaurant and music is basically everywhere.
*taken from one of my favourite sonnets by Edna St. Vincent Millay.