For the past couple of months I have been trying to get used to a new job and new circumstances. I have been thinking about the reason I am here and what might have been if I was not here. A passenger is what I feel like. No say in what the destination might be.
It's hard to bury your roots somewhere, when you don't feel like you have actively chosen. I am still struggling with that after 13 years in this place.
Where I come from is not just one thing. It's not just Europe, Sweden, the West Coast or Bohuslän.
It's also two of my siblings snuggling on a victorian café couch.
It's deep, dark and plush moss that I fantasize little forest creatures falling asleep on at night, under a canopy of ferns.
It's memories of childhood at Sinkan, the little house on the fjord, where nature was all around and so close that we were one with it.
Teaching and showing my daughter to feel free and connect with what is really important in life.
When my daily life is stirred up, and my income is not cutting it, and unexplainable forces seem to blow a hurricane right in my direction, this is the place that I return to in my mind. A place that I can grapple hook on to and although I'm dangling from a rope, I am still swinging from somewhere.
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