I feel torn between Swedish and English, between what has been and what is to come, between the will of others and my own pumping heart. Between fear and courage, tiredness and excitement, silence and roar.
And however much it upsets me I must say that, life seem to circle so much around that space in-between, in the centre of the paradox, as if only there, in the place of constant friction, life gets traction on the road. That’s the place where we don’t bulldoze our way forward, and neither have come to a stall. It’s with one hopeful foot in the possibly, and one still lingering in the maybe not we have to face the reality of our selves. No success to get caught up by, neither a black hole that’s swallowed us whole, but the real and absurdly complex reality in between these two states of mind.
That place is like my local coffee shop or buss nr 50, it’s the place I seem to always get back to, pop in for a morning coffee or bring my friends to, spend hours a day just going back and forth on. It seems to take me nowhere but to the same stops, but still seem to somehow move me forward, beyond my trodden paths and marked territory.
It’s like a slowly walk along a river, I one day know will end up leading me to the sea. And i know the key is to enjoy that walk, but oh how I’m longing for that sea. And actually, I have decided now to never leave my house without my swimsuit anymore, because soon, maybe, that buss 50 is going to flip out, and drive all the way past the concrete blocks and motorway, crossing over the rivers and do a Thelma and Louise jump off a cliff at Ganlet, and in that’s the case, then I’ll be ready, summersaulting out the window and dive in.