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We all know how hard it can be in a world where everything seems to be a competition.
Who has the best this, who does that better or who is the funniest.
Allow me to blow your mind here — it doesn’t matter, though i am one of the funniest.
Let’s just have that settled.
Recently i’ve received a lot of messages telling me how brave i was to move, ” i could never do that.” False.
You could, but you probably don’t want to. Thats probably all it is. And thats ok.
It may sound melodramatic, but no place has ever been truly home to me. So i’ve always found it easy to move because i’ve moved to new countries all my life. I spent almost every day of my life wishing i was everywhere but where i was. And that is a huge fault because it means i forget to live in the now. Every one has a different path. Looking back for the last two years its hit me hard how many times i should have been happy with what i had now that i don’t have it anymore. Cliché. No. It’s the honest and harsh reality of living. It’s not an epic adventure filled with childhood dreams and giggles. It’s fucking hard. And devastating. I find myself looking at others and just wishing i could be half as positive — but realistically i know they aren’t necessarily that happy behind the scenes. So let me tell you, and i’m telling myself this too — stop dreaming you were as pretty as her, she ain’t all that. Stop wishing he’d notice you — because if he hasn’t now he obviously doesn’t see the greatness that is YOU. Just as you are. Stop wishing you were a million miles away because someone else makes a different place looks like a dream. Don’t allow social media to make you think you need to change.
And to myself, most absolutely, stop dreaming that anywhere but here is where living starts.
Sweet girl, it started 26 years ago and it’s about time you figured it out.
The snow falls for many months in the winter here, heavier than it would in Denmark and its one of the few things about New England i actually love. Leaving the heavy bustle of apartment living and cities to go through the woods in the snow, is a welcome retreat for me.
Feeling the great spirit of everything around me. The rustling in the woods of the deer, Thor brewing another storm and just being able to truly breathe.
I don’t have my little plot of land with yet, so wilderness is my freedom till that day comes.
As many of you know, you grow older and the hardships start to pile and bring you down to earth where the worms live. The ground is tough in every land and you have to work to make those flowers grow. They may not grow in Texas the way they do in Denmark, but no matter how hard and covered in ice the ground becomes — when the seasons bloom as do the flowers.
Hello everyone! Its 6.26pm Saturday night and its black as a cave drop outside already. Winter is definitely here.
It’s been a lazy day just puttering around the apartment sorting through clothes, books etc. I really want to downsize the things I have. One reason is to make moving so much simpler and two because I just hating having so much random “stuff.” Maybe its since I’ve moved across the world and I realize what material things matter and which don’t, on the other hand it might the hole Danish thing of hating clutter. Which I do. With a passion.
Anyway as I was tucking into some old pizza this afternoon I saw these orange sun lined clouds flying across the sky, and I ran out to the balcony to watch them go. The cold wind smacked me in the face like an angry ex-boyfriend.
I gave Jack my “I MUST PHOTOGRAPH THAT” look, pulled on my jeans, vintage sweater and some snow boots — Jack pulled on clothes and flip flops. Resulting in him almost losing all his toes, because its cold enough to freeze the balls off a brass monkey.
And so we chased the sun down as we burned daylight.
He’s so lovely to let me follow my soul wherever it takes me, and knowing that he’ll always be right there next to me.
He’s made of diamonds that one.
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Ever since i was a child i was frightened of wandering into the woods alone.
There were all kinds of darknesses between the gnarled tree trunks, and the tricksters hiding under a blanket of moss that covered the forest bed. I always had the feeling that i was a little girl in a H.C Andersen fairytale. The gloom of his depresses and the depth of his fantastical visions ever present in the Danish countryside that i grew up in. Life had lessons for me even then, and the innocence was always laced in a dim light of frightening events.
All my life i’ve believed in the legends of norse mythology.
Trolls eating rocks and all the bad little children. Having a house nisse to keep your home safe and Thor hammering mjölnir into the sky when he’s angry.
After all these years im glad those childish beliefs and thoughts have never left me. Still now, as i wander through the thicket of a forest and climb the crumpled stones — i think of those mountain kings, the big nosed trolls and the bad witches. I wonder what they’re doing and if they are with me on turtle island — or if they keep to the nordic scapes alone.
I wonder if i ran into a troll if he would speak in tongues.
In truth i contemplate if i am a viking alone on a vast continent of settlers, and thats all there is to it. I have no kinship and no ancestors here, but i believe that thor still pisses through the clouds when hes drunk — and that odin still watches over me when times are tough.
I am so thankful for my heritage, my history and where i come from.
An old country kid from danish farm country, blood of the vikings and ravens as my guardian angels.
This blog post is nothing special — just random ramblings to clear my mind.
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