New beginnings

It is the start of a new decade and I have really enjoyed my friends' social media posts comparing their pictures from ten years ago to what their life looks like today. 

Yet I haven't felt any need to reciprocate. 

I don’t want to look back, nor do I want to look forward. I only want to be here and now. I don’t remember where I was a decade ago and it no longer matters. I know exactly where I was two years ago, however, and that is enough. I was in the hospital. In pain. Feeling terrified. And I also know where I am now. On a train. Moving forward. Feeling safe(r). I have come a long way.

As I watch the snow-covered landscape go by, I think of what my Spanish friends asked me before I left Seville to go home for the holidays: "Vas a tu tierra? Are you going back to your land, the earth that you came from?" 

Snow yoga

Yes. This is where I grew up, in this freezing country in the north. Where the winters are long and dark, and the summers are warm and bright. The country of the northern lights and the midnight sun. Where the moods change with the seasons and people show love through actions, not words. Where women can be presidents, prime ministers, and pastors. Where there is no reason to fear the wind because the roots are strong and there is freedom to fly.

"Where are you going now?" My friends in Finland want to know in which direction I'm headed. "I don’t know," I respond honestly with a shrug. I believe that as I continue to move forward, the path will reveal itself. My New Years' resolution is simply to be here and now. Aquí, ahora. 

The only goal I have for this year is to finish the yoga teacher training that I started in October and that will keep me in Seville at least until the end of June. So far, every idea or expectation that I had of the course beforehand has turned out to be wrong, yet I'm loving every minute of it. It is giving me what I need, not what I thought I wanted and even though it seems to be changing something deep within, I can feel that it is also grounding me and bringing me back to myself. 

"This course found you," my yoga teacher said and I think she’s right. Her comment made me think of how many years I have spent searching without even knowing what I am looking for. After my great adventures in South America, I was so lost that I had to spend a year in hiding just to recover. 2020, therefore, seems like a good time to step back out into the light and let more things and people find me.

If 2018 was the year I nearly drowned then 2019 was the year I learned to stay afloat. 2020 might be the year I finally learn how to ride the waves. How to dive right in and deal with the highs and the lows. How to observe the ebbs and the flows and appreciate the beauty in every season. 

20 + 20 = 40. This is my last year as a thirty-something. The only name left on the list of places I want to see before I turn forty is Machu Pichu in Peru. I have exactly one year and one month to save up and start the journey so I might make it, but even if I don’t, it will be okay. As seasons change, so do dreams and wishes. 

A new decade. A new season. A new circle begins. It reminds me of what the French say when they haven’t seen someone in a long time: "Qu’est-ce que tu deviens?" It is a way of asking how someone is, what is new in their life and what they have been doing lately but it literally means “What are you becoming?” I like it. Not where have you been nor where are you going. Just here and now: What are you becoming? 

Sunset in Vaasa, Finland

Good landings

My friend has a new sparkle in her eyes and her radiant energy is contagious. We are at Juan Valdez, the coffee shop at Guayaquil airport where we first met two years ago and as we lift our cups of tea to make a toast, my friend exclaims: "To good landings!" We burst out laughing at the way she says it, but the message is well received. What she means is, may you land softly. May the people that are waiting for you on the other side of the Atlantic take good care of you and nourish you back to health. May this next adventure you're about to embark upon bring you lots of happiness. 

Twelve hours later, I land smoothly in Madrid and shortly after, four people have already struck up a conversation with me. The taxi driver talks nonstop on the ride from the airport, telling me all about the ten years he spent in South America and how he would never go back. Madrid is the place to be, according to him. The hotel receptionist is also awfully chatty, circling all the things he thinks I should see on a map and recommending a tapas restaurant nearby where the waiters are as tall and good-looking as the food is tasty. (All true, by the way). At the table next to me is a Spanish couple with a baby who can't stop staring at this strange lady eating by herself. The parents and I talk for a while and they welcome me to their city with smiles as warm as the sun.

After lunch, I wander round for a couple of hours and despite my blond hair and the huge map that I'm dragging around, nobody "mistakes" me for a tourist. In fact, I get asked for directions at least five times, by Spaniards. Does that mean I fit in? Do I look like I belong? I'm not sure. 

The view from my hotel room in Madrid, Spain

Once I land in Helsinki, I'm greeted with big smiles and warm hugs from my dearest friends - the ones that I've had for twenty years without any conflict and drama, only laughter and unconditional support. I spend a few days with them before moving on to the town where my family lives. It's the end of August but the days are still sunny and bright and for someone who recently said a lot of goodbyes, each 'hello' and 'welcome back!' feels as nice as the Indian summer.

Despite the loving care from my family and friends, I feel like an alien for a couple of weeks. Everything is familiar and everyone looks the same, yet I can't shake the feeling of being different. I'm not the odd one out anymore, I'm one in the crowd but I'm lonely. I'm home but I feel homeless. I'm back where I started but more lost than ever. Until I find a yoga school nearby and finally land on my mat. After the first yoga class, my arthritic hand hurts so much that I cry for two days. Then I wipe the tears and go back. I adapt my practise and slowly, I start to flow.

Being back on my mat reminds me of who I used to be, but I still don't recognize the person that I see in the mirror. Therefore, I decide to do something more radical - I cut my hair. Most of it has fallen off due to stress and medication anyway, so instead of trying to cover up the bald spots, I choose to chop it all off. I can't watch as the hairdresser has her way with the scissors, so I keep my head down until the last of my blond strands have landed on the floor. Then, I look up and there I am. Still blond but with the shortest hair I've ever had. Still me, but also someone new.

One of my friends in Quito used to find it amusing that he could never quite predict what I was going to do or say. "You're such a wild card," he would chuckle, shaking his head. Since I've been home, I've come to think that maybe he was right. Not even I know where I'm going half the time. They say home is where the heart is but I no longer resonate with that saying - mine has been scattered in too many places in the world. Maybe home is simply where we are happy and at peace. I may not be fully there yet, but at least I'm back on dry land. I have landed and might even be ready for take-off to another destination soon.

I long, as does every human being, to be at home wherever I find myself. (Maya Angelou)

The view from my parent's home in Vaasa, Finland