When you will receive this letter, I will be in a plane, flying above the Greenland. I will be going on the other side of the world – far from everyone and everything here, on this old Europe. I needed to write it down. To share the feeling that inhabits me since a couple of weeks or months. And it turns out I did not find anyone who would understand this better than you – I think.
When the sun rose and died, a couple of weeks back, it was over a pink and yellow reflection of the sky on the endless sea. Far away from everything. A boat is a closed world, a panopticon to the entire universe. It makes you feel safe and adventurous at the same time. I wish you would have been there, sometimes, watching the dolphins jumping in front of the boat, playing with the hull smashing smoothly on the azure water of the Med. Or to see the phosphorescent plankton lighting up in the trail that we left behind in the waves and winds. Or to spot the white chimney of a whale surfacing at some distance.
It is while sailing that the sentence you once wrote me applies best: “In fact you are never home. You were born to travel and not stay in one place”. Because while the boat travels the world, your home travels with you – this home is your boat.
But now, things are different. I am going to start a job on the other end of the world. Sometimes, I feel thrilled. Isn’t it great? A whole new area to discover, very wild and surrounded by mountains and seas! But sometimes, I feel sad. Empty again. Lonely. Lonely about all the things I left behind. The places I like. But most of all, the people I like. I will have to start from scratch. All over again. And this emptiness consumes me. I fight it with my ambition, my excitement to travel the world and never leave an undiscovered place behind.
For me, love has never been exclusive. Love radiates. It is a magnetic field that can attract and englobe many things. And as my departure date became closer, I felt that all the people and things in this magnetic field would be extracted and put at a larger distance. The persons I like to see smile. The winds I like to feel in my sails. The mountains I like to climb. The places I like to visit. But most of all, what angers me is time. Time flies. I am living behind people and things that might disappear while I am away. I wish I could take the time and strangle it until I could control its flow. Move forward at my own pace. I miss being very young, being a child. A day seemed to be an entire life – because there were not many other days to compare it to. Everything was new, raising the curiosity. We should never stop being childish. Being older does not mean we have to strictly evolve, rather to construct other, more mature layers to protect the sweetest spots. The child, in me, in my heart, eager to learn and curious, blank of judgement, is still there, asleep. He wakes up when I dream sometimes. He is there when I laugh. There when I write, when I am creative. But he sees this time fly, and with it all the opportunities that would have been. All the people I loved and the unspoken desires – because this child in me is the dreamer who never cares about anything else than the present. And this can hurt.
I wish that I could see you smile, laugh. That we would go see the surfers on the Eisbachwelle again, under a blue sky, and enjoy the silence and the flow of time together. But now is the moment to look up and far. I see a future coming where there is a lot to do. I decided to go to the other side of the world not only to discover new lands and people – my eternal thirst of grasping more – but also because it was probably one of the better jobs I could land, in a domain I think as very interesting and key to the future of us all. And while it is hard to leave the present behind, it is challenging to go towards the future.
And who knows, perhaps one day I’ll set sails, cross the Pacific and drop the anchor of my forever moving home in a bay where there is a rooftop on which we could share infinity again.