On a journey...

Finding home. To some it’s the clearest thing in the world: “home is of course where you live”. But is it really? Is it a physical place or a state of the heart? Does it have to do with location only or people as well? The term “home” easily becomes something not so straightforward when locations, places, people, and heart-connections have changed numerous times. It leaves you feeling like a little bit of your heart remains in every place where you lived; every place where you made your “home” for a season. And I think you can have many “homes”, yet there has to be one place where you’re settled, whether it’s just for a season or forever. Uprooting and moving is so much more than the physical relocating of oneself and ones belongings. It's like when you pull something from one place to another, it leaves a mark, and moving leaves a mark on those who go through the process. And sometimes it can take a while to actually “move”. Being back in Amsterdam this week was so good.

Amsterdam. It still has that muggy feeling in Summer, and a constant flow of people which if you stop to think about it, it's quite amazing that there would even be space to accommodate them all. But then I guess they are not all staying. Just passing through on their way to or from somewhere. It's always good for the heart to visit somewhere that was once home. The familiarity of streets and customs makes it easier to embrace what might be new as well as the joy of being reacquainted with old friends. Friends. So many of them to be found in this city, ready with hugs and good words that are uttered when seeing someone who was away again. Friendship. A treasure that cannot be bought. Cobblestones trodden by many, including myself. Sitting on a bench. Praying. Remembering the first time I stumbled upon this area lined with windows with red lights and curtains. An area which has come to represent no longer windows, but people to me. Some still behind a window. Others who have

Sometimes I wonder what it really means to live life in the moment. What it looks like to be present in the now without sharing ones attention with what has been or is to come. What does it feel like to be fully living what is being lived right in that moment, and would it be more joyous? Does joy come merely from what is being experienced right then, or is there a place where joy is also generated through the remembering and anticipating? And do events have to fit into one of the categories or is it possible that a single event could end up bringing life before and beyond it's moment? Sometimes I think we forget the joy of the moment. So often we are watching life through the camera on our smartphones, and miss those unique moments,  where the simple act of taking a deep breath as you watch something like a beautiful sunset or someone smiling, brings a sense of amazement. Amazement which is uninterrupted by thoughts of how and who will "like" the photo. Amazement which

It's a strange sensation to be starting my holiday time from my "normal" job. A slightly new sensation to have two weeks off and not have to think about what awaits and will be pending on my return. Strange to enter into the rhythm normal people in Norway live their lives by. I am not fully immersed, choosing two weeks as opposed to four, but it is a start. And that is why I find myself at the airport. Sat in a very comfy sofa eating a raisin bun and drinking a latte that was made by pushing a button, I am packed and ready to pop for a long weekend to England. Might sound very flashy, but it's not really. It's simply a time to visit a few good friends. As I sit here reflecting (airports are really good for that), I am thinking back to the past 6 weeks in what is now my permanent job. Six very good, but also challenging weeks.  A time of figuring out what it means to be allowed into the lives of those who are in vulnerable places of their journeys, and help them

This week I stepped into memory lane. As I got into the car to drive I realized that I needed to drive barefoot. As is common knowledge, driving in flipflops is quite risky. And so when one wears flipflops, which in my case were silver-grey-peacock-feather-decorated-havaianas, the safest option is to take off said footwear, and drive barefoot. As I drove along, with the weather warm and sun shining, it made me feel so at home. Like I was right back in Fortaleza cruising along on bumpy roads in blazing sunshine (in a car without air conditioning). The memories flooded my mind and instead of a simple drive from one place to another, the journey became a lovely trip of remembering good times in Brazil. It’s funny how something as simple as barefoot driving can transport you into a sequence of good memories, if only for a moment.