Hello, dearest BBs. I’m writing to you from Stockholm, Sweden, a purring cat lain across one knee, my computer balanced on the other.
The last week has felt like one of the most transformative periods of my last few years. I am not sure I have any particularly poetic or profound way of reflecting on it, but perhaps I will just write to you, today, like I would a friend, about these new feelings finding their way through me.
One week ago, on Friday at 4 am, Sofia and I had packed our backpacks full of dumpster food, a thermos of tea, my handycam, a few sparkly outfits, lipstick and glitter, four dried roses, and a box of freshly baked cookies, wrapped in a tea-towel.
We started the descent on our bikes toward the station, where we would leave them locked up until we returned some days later. Dawn unbroken, the pavement slick and shining, mist on our cheeks, stretched into the kind of grin that comes from an open road and brakes untouched by gloved fingers.
Upon arrival, there was an hour to kill before our duties began. We wandered through quiet city streets, a slow stream trickled in of commuters going this way and that, carrying briefcases or army duffel bags, their service caps on. We watched the flag rise on the hill at the city’s old bunker. We ate cookies and sipped coffee in an empty square.
At 8, we were allowed to enter the oldest bank in Oslo, where we would spend the rest of the day working for a ticket to a special event there that night. We fluffed pillows, arranged couches, climbed ladders, and carried boxes. We rolled scrolls of invitations, we carried rugs, and tied knots. We napped in the Vault, restlessly.
Finally, we were dismissed and could rest before the opening ceremonies. We could now go meet the stranger from the Internet who opened her home to us for the night. These cookies were for her and we really ought to stop eating them.
Black riding the train out of the city, I was too tired to be tense. The sun came in through the car window and I pressed my flushed cheek to Sofia’s shoulder. From the train stop to the Stranger’s home were long, winding, sun-dappled streets. They reminded Sofia of Spring in Spain and me of the fact that we are here and now and somehow also there and then.
The pin on the map brought us to a big, beautiful, orange home, tucked inside the trees, guarded by a metal gate. Was this where Berit lived? I had no internet and no way of calling her. We circled the property, so big and full of trees and wild bushes. She came to the door.
“Welcome home!” Berit said, smiling at the two tired women on her front step, wrapped in scarves and puffy jackets. She introduced us to Nova, her shamanic chihuahua, and Ole, her partner, who put a hand on my shoulder when he welcomed us inside. It felt like a true welcome— warm, real.
They were already in their OMG outfits, with sparkling cheeks and dance-able coveralls. Berit showed us to our room, and Sofia and I were not sure if we were in some dream, or if this was some mirage of exhaustion. We collapsed onto a sea of purple sheets, surrounded by green wallpaper and an old man’s antique furniture. There was a private balcony and a bathroom with kaleidoscopic windows. It was a dream. We were so glad we could at least offer them cookies.
The miracles continued. We joined their friends downstairs, some hours later, sharing names and stories and the mixture of anticipation and excitement for the night ahead.
The group of us eventually made moves toward the bank, which would surely by now be transformed into a dancefloor, a special portal into the Spring Equinox.
On the way there, a particularly warm woman and I shared a glance up at the moon. She was shining, almost full. The woman confessed how much she had been feeling the effects of this full moon, how it felt like so much pressure had been building up.
I agreed, and wondered, when will it be released, this tension?
We talked the whole way to the bank. We spoke and her words felt like they were ringing from a deep cavernous part of my being. She, being courteous, asked me to share, but I didn’t know how to — I just wanted her to continue speaking, to hear what had gone on inside of her world. There was a resonance in the air, hanging between us, an almost unspoken shared experience. I have difficulty naming it now.
We arrived and all got split up. I ate plums in the volunteer room. Felt my socks rub against the rugs as I danced to music I had never heard before. I recognized friends and hugged them, I made new ones and hugged them. And strange things happened.
Strange things that I don’t think I can share yet, here. Not because I don’t trust the beautiful Bicycle Boys of the Internet, but because I feel a deep thing growing and incubating in my heart. It felt so bizarre, so important, and so sobering that I know the work runs deeper. Do I sound like some strange hippie, dear Bicycle Boys? I don’t know, I don’t feel that way.
2021 and 2022 were the most difficult years of my life. I truly thought I was losing my mind. I found myself in deeply dangerous circumstances and found in my head a constant circulation of thoughts absurd and dark.
Somehow, with much support, therapy, love, and a history of self-study and practice, I healed. I am healing, every day. And somehow, it seemed that everything I went through during those years and the time surrounding it, needed to happen. They were preparing me for the role I needed to take on Friday, and Saturday, and Sunday, and every day for the rest of my life.
Do I sound cryptic? Maybe. I feel cryptic! All I want to do is watch The Bachelor and disengage but I can’t stop thinking about the work that needs to be done. The Deep Work. Whatever that means.
Right now, it means writing this, but in the long term, it looks like writing a full-length publication. A book, a novel, a collection of poems and stories, a visual narrative. Something.
I’m here in Stockholm currently taking care of a cat and a home, in exchange for a free place to exist, a new city to explore, and the grounds to dive deep into writing my first piece of long-form published work.
I don’t know exactly how this process will look. I am sure it will not be linear. I’m sure I’ll stay longer with it than I meant to, and go deeper than I had imagined. Just like Sofia and I ended up staying 2 days more than we had originally planned with Berit and Ole. And we ate and laughed, and watched movies, and cried, and talked and talked and shared and shared. It was pure magic. Meant to be. A special encounter, on the day of equal dark and light.
Meet me on the equinox!
This week, I also want to give two special thank yous before we head into the list.
The first is to Berit and Ole for opening their hearts and homes to us and giving us such a magical weekend.
The second is to all of you reading. Whether you support this newsletter financially, or you read occasionally or listen every Friday. Thank you so so much. From the bottom of my heart. The healing I wrote of above is in part by the support I feel to do what I love, here. Which is writing, sharing, and connecting with the people I love. Thank you, thank you.
The List! - a segment for sensory exploration
5 sights:
the screen of my handy cam, working on a home movie, Dad-At-Disney style
these two new books I picked up in Stockholm. Excited to read, or let them sit on the shelf forever. Whichever.
sweet Stockholm scenes:
Amy, my new writing partner:
More How To with John Wilson. It might be my favorite show of all time.
4 feelings:
frustration at the beaurocratic system of Norway that has taken more than 9 months to issue me a number that would give me healthcare and the ability to work 😕
that aforementioned urge to do ‘The Deep Work’
completely different than my 19-year-old self, who could go wandering through a city all day and not be completely exhausted at 7 pm.
demotivated after getting latest my grades back. :/ oops
3 sounds:
the intricacies of techno music filtered through earplugs, somehow I could hear the layers of the music better this way. and I am starting to care more about my hearing as I approach my late twenties, I suppose.
a new language with a slightly more sing-song-y rhythm. The train from which I write this list has now crossed the border into Sweden.
this song, laying on Berit’s living room floor… in a tiny heaven
2 smells:
a distinctly spring breeze, coming through the bedroom window, left open all through the night.
the remnants of perfume on my clothes from a hug with someone dear— patchouli, pepper, and the slight sweetness of pear.
1 taste:
corn-meal porridge, decorated with rescued pineapple and the sweetest frozen grapes.
Songs you heard in the Voiceover:
None! We were low budget this week.
Thank you all so much for your support — to Bicycle Boys far and wide.
You and your house sitting!! I swear you are going to do it all over the world <3