Aaand cut, that’s it. 2015 has been one absolutely crazy year, I’m tellin’ ya. I’ve traveled to more countries than ever before, worked, thought, felt and doubted more than ever before. 2015 has been a huge work in progress and a constant search for the right thing – whatever that means.
I’ve been thinking a lot about the concept of ‘feeling alive’ recently, and how we tend to not do that enough. I’ve come to the conclusion that it’s not necessarily about looking back onto all those (hopefully) decades at the end of our lives, thinking ‘Oh la la, I’ve had quite the easy ride and now bring on the pink rainbows and fluffy ponies’. I think what we long for is depth and growth and sometimes these things can only be found when, well, going through some serious crap. So then I thought about all the times where my head and heart really were more like an explosion of feelings and thoughts, not all of them pink and fluffy, and I realised that these were some of the moments I felt painfully, truly and purely alive. It’s an incredible privilege to be able to feel – and we should feel more in a society that’s so busy curating its way towards fulfilment online, creating bloody to-do guides on how to #startyourdayright or getting our ridiculously clever phones to tell us how to improve our sleep patterns (if you find a way that actually works, please let me know though!).
I’m a little too involved in pitches, projects and boring paper work (namely: sorting out my tax) to do a proper reflective post of the last twelve months, so I decided to compile some of the – more personal – work that I haven’t published anywhere else this year instead. If you still fancy an elaborate recap, head over to the Travelettes where I’ve written about my own and the gals’ favourite travels.
2014 exceeded my expectations. I feel incredibly privileged and grateful for the stories I could tell and the people that I have met on the way, even if our paths only crossed for a couple of days. I think we all long for giving our days a purpose; to make that much debated impact. For the first time in forever, I’ve come across that – at least occasionally.
Writing about Berlin is tricky and a dumb idea (I’m still gonna do it). But writing about Berlin is also writing about yourself because the city couldn’t care less about what you think about it. It’s up to you have to make it work between the two of you … and then hope for the best.
When I came here first for a couple of months two years ago, I felt uncomfortable, like I’m not fitting in. Whatever I was doing just didn’t feel enough because there was always someone who was better at it. And there still is but this time, it’s okay.