I didn’t recall my last entry; I thought it was much earlier I stopped writing. It’s only fitting the last post was about feeling like I don’t belong anywhere. This is a feeling I don’t handle very well – it makes me run away. And it is the reason I stopped writing. What was there to write about? When you’re running, you don’t see any more.
And I was, running.
I first told myself I was back on an adventure, but it quickly turned into figuring out there was no place for me to go to. While Arctic Norway was awakening with the return of the sun, the rest was still asleep. There was no one that needed me around and I didn’t want to continue driving alone either – especially with the possible dangers of winter.
I guess I took that perceived rejection very personally, and I used it as a sign to go back to Germany. In the back of my mind the plans I wanted to work on and the idea that these would keep me going there.
As I got further South, I felt the stress coming back. I felt the fear and overwhelm of driving again. The nature around seemed empty and dead in comparison to the power and tranquility of the North. I felt like I picked up on the energy and presence of people, structures and buildings being around me, but it could have been something in my head, too.
The snow melted in my last days South of Oslo. It felt like the final good-bye. Winter is ending and so is your time here.
I barely noticed or stopped upon leaving Norway. It felt so surreal. Sweden felt and smelled different. I’m not saying Sweden smells bad, I just noticed that I associate every country with a different smell. Norway was very clear and crisp, like you could take a full clean breath with nothing stopping you, and Sweden almost a little sweet.
I felt like I was pushed into a pool of water. (Guess what, that actually happened to me in first grade when my P.E. teacher got too impatient with me. I’m still scared to jump, how fitting.)
I wasn’t ready, but instead of stopping and arriving, I wouldn’t let myself feel that. I just wanted to go back.
Sweden flew by in an evening and I suddenly found myself at the southernmost point, ready or not to catch the ferry to Germany.
Six hours later, I was in Germany. Greeted by a not quite foggy or dusty, still clean like Norway, but with something else in it smell. It’s hard to describe as I don’t think these smells are physically there.
The drive to the parking place I had picked out for the night already caused a panic attack. I was back in a forest of confusing signs, too many sensory inputs and roundabout confusion. In Norway they indicate which exit one takes upon entering the roundabout; in Germany only when exiting or sometimes not at all. My brother later said he found the Norwegian/French version confusing and preferred the German. I don’t understand why.
That night at the parking spot, I was scared some German would come yelling at me because camping was forbidden (the app marked it as okay to stay overnight, but the sign there said differently. I didn’t want to continue driving and searching, though. (Campervanning is technically forbidden in both Norway and Germany btw…)).
The next day I drove half way back and stayed on a friends‘ ranch for a couple of days. I planned to ride there with my horses, but I still haven’t gone.
Eventually, I drove through the gate of our farm/factory/what I’m officially supposed to call home. The horses were in horrible condition, and the one that suffered the most from my absence walked over to me and just sighed deeply. Finally, you’re back. I felt sorry for leaving them and I knew, I couldn’t do that again. If I left again, they would have to come with.