Living a dream is freaking painful

If I really want to, it doesn’t take too much effort to remember the “pain and suffering” I was feeling when I was “stuck” in Finland and living a “normal” life. Oh, the awfulness of regular income. Just dreadful… I mean, who likes money? I sometimes fail to live in the here and now, and I think five years ago I really didn’t enjoy enough the beauty of comfort and a life of ease (of course there are always challenges and this and that, but you get the point, right?). Money, money, money… and shelves full of stuff. It was a good time but yet I remember there being a great amount of frustration and unbearable wanderlust. Everything was right, I was doing what I was supposed to, had absolutely nothing to complain about and yet I still felt like I was dying inside.

Though I’ve tried it for many years, I still haven’t managed to shake off the thoughts and dreams about performing on stages, of blank canvases, galleries, photo paper and darkrooms, my backpack being on my back instead of the closet, long check-in queues before boarding big planes, being constantly on the road and discovering new cultures and places.

Five years ago I couldn’t take anything seriously in university because I was so seriously in love with my future plans. I can’t tell you how many hours of lectures I have wasted sitting in the back row planning my around the world trips and perfecting the plan of living a nomad life: being six months somewhere and after that six on the other side of the world, taking the best of seasons in the best of countries with the best of people.

Back then it was a far-ahead dream but today… it’s an open door waiting for me to walk through. I could get a lot of evidence from numerous notebooks that I have filled with pages and pages of text giving away that this has been my dream for a looong time now. And now it seems as though I’m living it, I have made my dream lifestyle a reality.

How do I feel?

Scared. Insecure. Stressed. At times even a bit panicked.

It has become real to me that dreams are only comfortable when they are inside your head or scribbled on a piece of paper. The moment a dream starts taking shape in reality, it becomes as heavy as a grand piano. And as much as you enjoy playing, carrying your dream – your piano – will make you sweat, cry and ache and you probably won’t be able to move it from a to b without involving other people in one way or another. Traveling and art is my piano and I’m starting to feel the weight of it. It’s hard, man.

But would I give up on it? Never. Would I wanna change this scary time for comfort and normality? Not as long as I’m able to think, breathe and move.

There is something I once read and decided I want to live by: I’d rather have a little and see a lot than have a lot and see a little.

I’m boarding a plane to a new, unknown beginning next Tuesday around noon. I have no money or job or not even any clear plans. Just three bags, some Dirhams in my pocket and a bunch or extraordinary friends to stay with. Where will I end up? I’ll update you on this blog.

Wish me luck.



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