Things are in a strange state right now and, despite having been a vegabond for most of my life, I’m finding the uncertainness a bit trying.

The home is to go up for sale come January even though I only just moved in in September. The town is not for me and the reason why I came in the first place is no longer a reason to stay. This makes me very happy but at the same time I had longed for a place in which to nest and unpack every single box so I’m having a strange conflict about wanting to settle but not quite.

With my return to Denmark for a few months in January I know I won’t be around to invest anymore into setting up home so instead I’m looking to stock up on tights, sweaters and boots for I’ve been living in warm climates for too long. I’m so excited to be returning but the thought of renting out another temporary flat leaves a little to be desired.

I read of my friends creating in their homes and I’m so jealous because although I finally have an office I’m hesistant to set it up so I’m still without a place to create. I haven’t been able to collect linens to sew and ribbons to put on projects. I feel like everything is still in the air and I’m working so much that I don’t have time to sit and take things in and if I did, I perhaps would fall completely apart.

At the store, the home section is almost complete and I’ve been petting the pretties daily; the linens, the kitchen goods, the christmas ornaments. With so much moving and upheavel I have not celebrated the holidays three years running. There’s this huge chunk of me that wants to buy so many things for the holidays yet I’m still not sure if my heart is set on celebrating.

It’s back and forth, back and forth.

Often when I travel, I use the phrase “let’s go home” to mean to return to the hotel. Home is where the heart is, is what is often said yet I’m not sure right now where my heart really is. It’s not here, it’s not there. It has to be somewhere, right?

So then I think perhaps I have to start small; it’s in the afternoon cup of tea I pour so that I have something warm to drink whilst scouring a mag for even ten minutes. It’s in the 10 minute walk from my house to the bus stop where I see the leaves falling and the quietness of the street overtake me. It’s in the duvet that is fluffy and warm and calls me every nights. It’s there. It’s there. And that then, is the somehwere.