Starting over

This morning I decided to get up early and leave the house right after breakfast. The sun was shining, the trees were sprouting and I was listening to Susanne Sundfør’s album Blómi. I felt relief, the start of a new week filled with hope. It is a huge contrast to my experience before Easter, where I felt buried under the challenge that is moving back home after eight years in a different country.

I realize that living in France was my armor, slowly showing cracks. Coming back home to my hometown stripped me completely of every defense I had and gnawed me raw. It is a humbling experience where the only reasonable action is to stop fighting and surrender. In that experience, I met a very young version of myself who had a great deal to say. I have decided to listen.

I am faced with habits that don’t work anymore, the noise isn’t loud enough for me to ignore it. I often feel desperate for distraction and stimulation, only to find softness and my calm life. It terrifies me. I have nowhere to hide.

Moving back home is different from moving to Paris, but I am still leaving my life behind to start a new one. I just yesterday realized that I am in the midst of an enormous life change, not having given myself any grace. I was too busy grinding, pushing to build my new life with world champion speed and perfection.

I remember my first weeks in Paris. I was radiant. I had made a dream come true, and I was free to be myself and do as I please. To explore myself in solitude, to create a life on my own terms. I clearly needed to move to another country to have the strength to do so. I think my job is to do the same now, and to dare to do it in my homeland.

I am completely naked. I still have no job, no apartment, few friends and no partner. I have humble savings, but the bountiful love of living with my mother. I can visit my grandmother whenever I like, regularly have dinner with the whole family and go on road trips with my cousin. I walk through the city where I grew up, amazed by its beauty and feeling so many of the bad memories fade away. Most importantly, I am denying access for certain new ones to form.

There are tiny sprouts on bushes and trees. I see them. I have made a new friend and have made new plans. I wonder if struggle and pushing isn’t the answer. Will things still fall into place if I close my laptop and read a book in the sun? Find time to write poetry. Make a delicious dinner for my mother. Take the time to grieve. Will my world mend? Will the sun rise tomorrow? I am only here to witness.

— Pernille

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