10/10/22
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I haven’t really been sure how to write about my time in Europe, whether to talk about the way it unfolded in the first place (abruptly, unexpectedly, fatefully), or to reflect on the experiences themselves, or to choose the future-focused approach that’s concerned with life beyond these three months. Or even if I should write about it at all, because 1. who cares? and 2. as much as I know I needed it and learned from it, I don’t know if I want to risk boiling it down to a block of text. Besides, anyone who knows me will know that I have trouble keeping things succinct.
But I remember writing something at the beginning of this summer that said, “I don’t want to be anything for a while, I just want to be”. So I guess the way I can compress all of those angles together is to say that this summer has felt like a sort of suspension, a period of stillness both following and preceding two crazy seasons of my life; so much so that it’s now marked a before and after since the expedition of a lifetime. Leaving behind the comfort of home and everything I’ve ever known to experience and celebrate different ways of healing, loving, and just simply existing in another part of the world for months can really do so much (good), even if I’m establishing an ever-amorphous sense of home.
When I wasn’t spending all my time in parks or seeking shelter from the relentless heatwaves in air-conditioned museums, I trawled the flea markets and vintage shops collecting stuff - each feat felt more like a preparation for something more permanent, an easing into of sorts. In a way, I was collecting things for a parallel life, or a life not yet lived; a life that was waiting to be made. Maybe it’s true that this time of the year always makes me even more of a sentimental sap. I cried in the shower the other night thinking about all this year has given me and how wildly lucky I feel about it all.
That same night, in very true Rachel fashion, I booked myself a one-way ticket (back) to Berlin. In the thick of winter, you ask? Bold move. Except this time, I’ll probably need a crash course in mastering layering, having only lived in one season my entire life.
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A Season of Renewal
I haven’t really been sure how to write about my time in Europe, whether to talk about the way it unfolded in the first place (abruptly, unexpectedly, fatefully), or to reflect on the experiences themselves, or to choose the future-focused approach that’s concerned with life beyond these three months. Or even if I should write about it at all, because 1. who cares? and 2. as much as I know I needed it and learned from it, I don’t know if I want to risk boiling it down to a block of text. Besides, anyone who knows me will know that I have trouble keeping things succinct.
But I remember writing something at the beginning of this summer that said, “I don’t want to be anything for a while, I just want to be”. So I guess the way I can compress all of those angles together is to say that this summer has felt like a sort of suspension, a period of stillness both following and preceding two crazy seasons of my life; so much so that it’s now marked a before and after since the expedition of a lifetime. Leaving behind the comfort of home and everything I’ve ever known to experience and celebrate different ways of healing, loving, and just simply existing in another part of the world for months can really do so much (good), even if I’m establishing an ever-amorphous sense of home.
When I wasn’t spending all my time in parks or seeking shelter from the relentless heatwaves in air-conditioned museums, I trawled the flea markets and vintage shops collecting stuff - each feat felt more like a preparation for something more permanent, an easing into of sorts. In a way, I was collecting things for a parallel life, or a life not yet lived; a life that was waiting to be made. Maybe it’s true that this time of the year always makes me even more of a sentimental sap. I cried in the shower the other night thinking about all this year has given me and how wildly lucky I feel about it all.
That same night, in very true Rachel fashion, I booked myself a one-way ticket (back) to Berlin. In the thick of winter, you ask? Bold move. Except this time, I’ll probably need a crash course in mastering layering, having only lived in one season my entire life.
