The Festival

Dear fellow travelers,

I've been very tired these past few days.

I was so tired that I kept thinking I should be regaining my strength by now. After all, the house is standing. And even my iron stores are finally full again.

And yet my body still wanted to sleep, eat, lie down, and dream. Especially eat. I had a particular fondness for cheese, salami, and cake—everything that the disciplined version of me would probably have frowned upon in the past.

At first, I didn't understand. Until I did.

Sometimes a great insight requires building materials.

Because while I was lying on my sofa eating cheese, something clicked inside me. A realization so profound that I had to laugh and cry at the same time.

For many years, I’ve dreamed of a place. A place like a spiritual Disneyland. A place where families can go together. A place where people can immerse themselves to varying degrees. Full of stories, encounters, rituals, campfires, wonder, and adventure. A place that’s big enough for many different paths.

I always thought I'd build this place someday. Somewhere. On a piece of land. In some other future.

And then I realized: The place is already there.

It is the house I have built over many years. From books. From rooms. From stories. From mountains. From Brazil. From Chile. From campfires. From meditations. From maps. From dreams. From transitions. From tears. From love.

I'm no longer on my way there. I'm already living there.

And people are slowly starting to walk through the doors. Some stay for a short while. Some sit by the fire. Some just read. Some dive deeper. Just the way I’ve always wanted it to be.

Maybe that explains the tiredness. Maybe my mind isn't just sorting through information right now. Maybe it's arranging the furniture in a house that has finally become livable.

*

Something else has struck me over the past few days. When I simplify something within myself, things around me often become simpler, too.

My boyfriend brought some cake. For the tax stuff. Later, he brought some salami. And he grinned. He said that would probably make me happier right now than flowers would.

He was right.

I was thrilled. Not because of the salami. Well, the salami too. But mostly because he had understood.

Not too long ago, he was still making fun of my cravings. Now he brings them along.

Maybe that's what love is. Not understanding everything. Not going along on every journey. Not sharing every dream.

But rather, to know at some point: What nourishes the other person ?

*

I've noticed how much easier things are becoming. I've archived old files. Deleted old wish lists. Given away old shoes.

And as I set my black, clunky boots down on the street, I thought: Maybe I don't need heavy shoes anymore. Maybe I'm allowed to lighten up.

Later, I was sitting in a café. Someone gave me a piece of cherry cake. A ladybug landed on my arm.

Sometimes life doesn't speak through grand revelations. Sometimes it just gives you a little nod. With cake. With a beetle. With someone who brings salami.

*

There have been many things I've wanted to be in my life. A bush pilot. An artist. A designer. A DJ. A dancer. A travel journalist. A life coach.

And now I realize: They’ve all come. Not as professions, but as facets. They all live in the same house.

Maybe that's what growing up is. Not choosing a path, but realizing that all those paths were the same all along.

And as I write this, I’m looking forward to the Falkenhütte. To sunshine. To wide-open spaces. To the Spaceship. To everything that’s yet to come.

Not because I have to get somewhere. But because I've arrived.

And now I can start enjoying my own festival.

With love and a little glitter on my face,
Jeannette