Pembrokeshire coastal path, Wicklow Way, the entire coastal path, or the three peaks. I’ve never been much of an adventurer or a camper, so this came as a surprise: I want to go hiking for weeks or months.
Ever since I lived in Wales right along the Pembrokeshire coastal path, I’ve been dying to hike it. To me, it seemed like the ultimate freedom. My, hiking boots and a cliff with the roaring sea below. This was before movies like ‘Wild’ or ‘Into the wild’ were even on my radar. This was also when I was still overweight and had little to no endurance. It seemed like a faraway dream. One I never forgot.
Right now, I seem to find myself at a point in my life where I need to decide whether I’m going to do a trail like that. And if I am, it may be now or never. No, I’m not dramatic, just realistic.
Being on my way to 32, there is pressure from all angles of life. Friends are getting married, popping babies and buying houses. And while I’m happy for them and a part of me longs for that too, I can feel adventure pulling. It’s tugging my sleeve and asking me to pay attention to that feeling of growing wanderlust.
Lately, I’ve remembered the feelings of those first hikes in the UK. The ground under my feet, the landscape was flashing by when I was on the train. I remember the promise I made myself to hike that trail, the guidebook I bought now living on the bookshelf.
One thing I keep asking myself is ‘how bad do I want it?’. Do I want to do that hike, go on that adventure and see where it leads me? I do, but part of me is terrified that it will change me and that I will not return the same person. Another part of me is excited to finally become a travel writer and photographer. To be an adventurer. Something 14-year old me never thought I could be.
Maybe that’s why I took up climbing in September. Part of me longs for it so bad; it got hooked on something that started out as an extra exercise to support my runs. But the more I climb, the more I long for real rock under my hands. For the fresh mountain air, for the silence of nature that is never silent.
I’m at a crossroad I don’t want to be on. A crossroad where clear signs are telling me the way I should be going. And while my foot is turning towards the signs, my gaze is looking at that path less travelled by. I keep wondering ‘what if?’
The plan was to hop bookshops, cafes and write. So far, I have a sore shoulder, a headache, no books and not a word was written.
There is something magical about writing. The magic of creating something that wasn’t there before. To shape something that takes readers away with tools that everyone uses every day. It makes you feel like a wizard. But in reality, writing is hard work. Creating magic puts pressure on you that is not easily lifted. In fact, drinking tea becomes more important than why you came to the cafe in the first place: to write. If you’re reading this, it means that I succeeded: I wrote. But here comes the funny part though: is it magic or not?
When I first started writing as a teenager, I wrote because I felt I saw the world differently. I had stories in my head, and I shared them unfiltered. I wasn’t afraid if it was good enough, or if other people would care. I just wrote. In many ways that feel got ruined not only by adulthood, but by social media, and peer pressure, I would even go as far as to say that it’s the reason why I stopped writing.
Ok. You got me, not really. I write for a living. I’m a content creator, a storyteller and a blogger. I write every day. I get paid with writing, and that helps me to keep the lights on. According to Stephen King, that makes me a writer: someone pays me to string words together. But that’s all I write. I know I can hear you gasp in horror: I only write during work time. There I said it, and I don’t like it.
See, I fear the blank page. I fear that no one gives an actual shit about what I have to say. I fear that I am not good enough and I fear that I just plain suck as a writer. I mean, dear stranger of the internet whom I have never met, we’re friends, right?
So in many ways, I long back to the uncensored 14-year-old who was always writing. How to get that girl back? Here comes the tricky part that we all already know: just write. Just sit your ass down in a chair and write. And that is why on a cold October afternoon in Dublin I find myself on a sofa that I’m afraid I’ll never get out of. And I’m writing. There is something magical about this city that makes me feel comfortable enough to take the gamble and write. I can borrow the magic of the city not to have to conjure it up on my own.
And while I’m swooning over the accent, hugging guys from Amnesty international that I’ll never see again and indulging in bookshops. I’m wondering: is travelling alone the way to get the magic back?
There is a scratch map above my desk. One of those where you scratch off countries you’ve been to. It’s looking very bare.
Up until three years ago, the furthest I’ve been from home was Ireland and a city trip to Prague. I hadn’t even been to France or Germany. That changed quickly when I met my boyfriend. For all the things we don’t have in common, our love for travelling connects us. We were only together for a few months when we took our first road trip to Germany. I always wanted to see the Black Forest, so it felt like a great idea to do that together.
Since then I’ve travelled to the US, Asia and several other European countries. I’ve spent the day with Elephants, cooked Thai food, drove around on motorbikes (tumbled off a scooter) and hiked down a sulphur crater in the middle of the night. To be honest, I still can’t believe half of the things I’ve done and seen.
Yet, there is so much I would love to see: the Chinese wall, the Mayan and Inca temples, the great pyramids, but also wild Elephants, Japan and rain forest.
I was 29 when I started travelling, and part of me regrets not doing that when I was younger. It feels like I missed a great part of my life, and it feels like I’m behind. Then again, how can you be behind when you’re following your own path?
This year I want to travel a lot. Go on hikes, maybe even wild camping. The idea of doing those things fills me with excitement, and I can’t wait to get out and go.
Right now, it doesn’t matter that I didn’t do this when I was younger. I wasn’t ready for this when I was younger, and that’s okay too. I am now, and that’s all that matters.
A storm rages outside. Winds knock over trees and rain slashes against the window. I had plans to go outside and work in a cafe, like a proper freelancer. Instead, I decided to stay at home, curled up under my blanket.
It’s been almost three weeks since I turned a fulltime freelancer and I noticed a few things:
My time outside has been dramatically reduced. I’ve hardly left the house. Storms, rain and ice have made me content staying indoors. I don’t feel the need to go for a lunch break walk around the block. I’ll go outside to do some food shopping or go for a run, but that’s about it.
I don’t see a lot of people. Being inside on my own makes it very easy to hermit. Being a natural introvert, I can go days without talking to people offline and be okay with that. As a result, it makes it hard to enter the ‘real world’ again, because there are so many people there.
I drink a lot of tea. My tea drinking has spiked. So has the consumption of mug cakes, bowls of yoghurt and anything hot and comforting. Just because.
Baggy clothes are my new favourite. Sitting down behind the laptop every day all day is not doing my clothing habits a lot of good. It’s so easy to pick the sweatpants and the baggy jumper. It’s nice and comfortable behind the desk, and it’s warm. But it’s not doing my productivity any good.
Are they things adding to my productivity? Nope.
So for next week, I’m going to try to create a few new habits.
Go outside every day. Not just to the shop and back. Go for a walk, a run, go work in a cafe. Get out of the door and amongst people. Sitting indoors is not doing the inspiration any good. I need real-life input to write, and my comfort zone is not going to cut it.
Meet up with people. Go and see friends, have coffee dates, organise a meet up (already doing that!). But also talk to clients on the phone and go to networking events. There is nothing like an inspiring conversation to get article ideas.
Keep drinking tea. But lose the mug cake. It’s not good for the muffin top. Tea is good for the soul, so you can keep that. But drink more water too.
Dress to impress for yourself. Dress for the job you want. Dress for how you want to feel. Make sure you feel and look ready to kick some freelance ass. If you’re cold, it’s still not a good idea to wear relax clothes (as you will start relaxing!), so move around (see the first point).
For next week I set the intention to listen to that small voice that wants to get a lot done. I will ignore the voice that is rooting for Netflix and junk. And I will start the week off with a stellar to-do-list that will be checked off at the end of the week.
What are your intentions for next week?
We’re always online, all the time. Our phones are always on, and it’s not strange to receive a text from your boss at 8 pm on a Sunday night. You know the night where you’re supposed to be relaxing on the sofa in your ugly fluffy pjs with bunny slippers. Instead, you’re still behind your laptop finishing this one more thing so you won’t start your Monday already behind on your work. In the meantime, you feel more and more disconnected from your actual life.
I know, because I’m like that. There is not one day where my laptop is not turned on, where I’m not at least doing something. It’s not always directly for clients, but it’s still working to some extent or another. We’re always supposed to be available for every little thing. ‘The new working’ we call it. But at the same time, while looking at our phone, we miss things. We miss the boy sitting in the cafe staring at your over the edge of his phone. We’re seeing our kid’s first steps through the bright screen of our phone, instead of holding out our hands to catch them. We’re sitting in cafes not to be alone while ‘flex working’, but with our earbuds plugged in, we’re never available. Every form of human interaction is met with frustration and annoyance. Even the waitress who asks us if we like more coffee is brushed aside. Is this connection?
When I’m alone at home on a Saturday night, and I’m texting three different friends, is that connection? I am still alone on the sofa. For introverts being alone is the things that gives them energy, but there’s a difference between being alone and being lonely. Digital connection is amazing to some extent as it makes distances smaller. It’s easier to maintain long-distance friendships, but we’re also always busy being connected to everyone else except the person that is right here in the room with us.
I am not pointing fingers. Far from it. I’m typing this from a corner of my favourite cafe, my back against the wall, face to the window, and my Bose headphones set to noise cancelling mode. I am doing everything I can not to connect with people. Yet, I came here to not be alone, since working from home means being alone all the time. Irony right?
I don’t have the answers, and I don’t even want to pretend that I have them. But I think we do need a different word for the way we’re currently cruising through life. Because our phones might be connected, but we are definitely not.
I’ve never been the type of girl that commits to keeping a diary. Committing to pouring out my heart on the pages of a secret diary with a padlock in the ‘dear kitty’ kind of style, never really was my thing. And yet, I had a gigantic stack of filled journals filled with stories from my very early youth right until now. They form the running chronicles of my life.
Even though the girly diary style wasn’t my thing, journals have always been a safe place for me. To try things out, to write about my life and to make (life) lists. Flipping through my old journals, you’ll find a collection of bad poetry, depressive thoughts, chronicles of the boys I have had a crush on, confusion, happy photos and parts of stories I was making up.
While there have been gaps, journals always played a huge part in my life and have been the sole constant in a life where everything is always changing. Yes, there have been gaps in the journals, and sometimes they were more a planner than an actual journal, but there was always some form of a paper book as my sidekick.
As I’m wrapping up 2018, I’m finding more and more comfort on those paper pages again. I missed it more than I thought. Sometimes not doing something makes you forget how much you need something. Sometimes you can get caught up in what ‘it’s supposed to look like’ that we forget that it’s a tool to help you with things. A journal is a tool to help you clear your head, get clear on how you feel and work through issues, emotions and feelings. It doesn’t have to look pretty, because you’re not going to show it to someone else. It’s for you to face your feelings. It’s something I forget at times. So yesterday I started a new journal. It’s not pretty, my writing is sloppy, but I already feel more grounded than I did before I started again.
What are you starting again this December?
Back in September, I started climbing. A coworker asked me to come along with her. I hesitated for a moment. Could I even do this? But decided to say yes and was hooked right away.
I started climbing twice, sometimes three times a week. Through slow and steady progress I saw I started to improve and I could nail harder routes.
And then I lost my job.
Naturally, there was more to it than that, but the important thing was I lost my job, got a burnout and suffered a severe emotional disbalance. On the day I lost my job I spent my day sobbing over comfort food, got myself out of the door after dinner and went climbing. I drove to the gym bawling my eyes out, but by the time I went home, I felt a lot better than before.
From my experience climbing forces you to think about nothing else than the problem in front of you. One thought or worry about anything else, and you’re concentration is gone. Your hand will slip, and you will end up on the matt.
It makes climbing very mindful. There is no room for anything else. The trick with climbing and bouldering is that you’re both using your mind and body at the same time. While you’re climbing, you’re solving little puzzles.
Naturally, I’m not the only one who discovered the benefits of climbing along. Several studies have been done revolving around mindfulness and climbing. All of those pointing out the same things: climbing is an act of mindfulness, leaving no room for other thoughts.
For me, climbing has been instrumental in not losing my mind. Not only had my body get stronger, but my mind also had too. Some of the routes can be scary and can only be done when you believe you can. As soon as your mind goes ‘nope you can’t do this’, you slip, and you’re back on the ground. This happened to me many times.
When it comes to climbing your mind is your strongest muscle. This is true in all sports, but in climbing it becomes most evident to me. That’s the key, I think. That even when you feel weak, and your mind is giving you a run for your money, you can still conquer it when you climb.
There is something magical about reaching the top. Even if your whole day fails and feels wrong, climbing can make you feel like you still accomplished a lot. Reaching the top feels like an achievement like you conquered the world even if that world is only 4 meters high.
During a few very dark days climbing has been a light to hold on to. It gave me something to look forward to, and it made me feel like I did something. No matter how shit the day was, climbing could make it better.
This year I want to keep climbing. In the gym, outdoors, in different places and other countries. I want to read about climbers, connect to climbers and be a climber. Because in the end, climbing saved my mind when I thought it was going to stuck in a really dark place. I taught me I’m always stronger than I look, especially when I don’t think I am.
Sometimes it’s hard to look into the mirror. Really stare yourself. Look at your reflection and see not only the flaws but also the good things. Sometimes you need someone to hold that mirror up and point those things out to get you started.
The point is that unless you are willing to really look yourself in the eye and be open to what you see, you will never improve. You will never change one single thing about yourself apart from just getting older.
Would you be willing to stay where you are? Not change? Be like this until you’re 80?
Yeah. Me neither.
Don’t be afraid to be you. The tagline of my website and the hardest lesson I’m still learning. Every day I’m still afraid to be me. I don’t know who ‘me’ is sometimes. Where I’m going, or what I want to do, who I want to be. So it’s hard to be something fully and completely when you don’t know who or what that is.
It’s an easy excuse to hide behind and live in suspended animation. I know that. But it’s also a large part of my reality. Who am I? How do I know for sure what I want to do?
Taking a leap of faith is one way to go, I’ve done that on many occasions. I moved to the UK, went back for one thing, and there have been many other situations where I spontaneously followed my gut instinct. Sometimes that felt like the only thing I could do.
And now when I want so desperately to rely on that gut instinct, it has gone on a vacation without me. I will have to work hard to make sure it comes back to me. And the only way to do that is one habit a time.
So this morning, after a long period of nothingness, I pulled out my journal, and I wrote three good things that happened yesterday and three things I’m grateful for. Starting to full-on journal was too big a step yet. But, the journal inspired me to make an index card for the Icard challenge, and I’m writing this blogpost now.
Little tiny baby steps all the way. One thing I know, one thing I’ve always known, is that creativity and writing are the two things that are going to make all the difference.
It’s up to me to face the demons blocking my path with these tools and make sure writing and creativity are the cornerstones on which I build my day.
I’m lying on my back on a towel. I can feel the grass beneath my feet, the sun on my face and the wind playing with the loose strands of hair. In this moment I am completely happy.
Lately, happiness is something that doesn’t come around that often for me. Being burnt out for me means that happiness is something that’s really hard to experience, and everything around me feels like a big black hole that’s sucking me in deeper. But today was different.
Today’s yoga session was outside. It’s one of those rare occasions where the Netherlands is warm. And I mean really warm. Bright blue sky and blazing sun. We white Dutch people rejoice and at the same time worry about sunburn. So today, my weekly yin yoga class was in someone’s garden overlooking the fields. Up ahead, horses were running around and playing, and all I could hear was the sound of birds and the rusting in the grass.
This is what happiness looks like.