“I have come to accept the feeling of not knowing where I am going. And I have trained myself to love it. Because it is only when we are suspended in mid-air with no landing in sight, that we force our wings to unravel and alas begin our flight. And as we fly, we still may not know where we are going to. But the miracle is in the unfolding of the wings. You may not know where you're going, but you know that so long as you spread your wings, the winds will carry you.” C. JoyBell C.
There is a need in me that calls me to travel to far away places. When young I travelled a lot with my parents exposing me to new cultures and alternatives lifestyles. Then one day I left my native country and moved to Australia. I love my new country but my soul still searches for familiar landscapes where spruce trees are the forest, not gum trees. I love the cold as it is in my bones as I love skiing and winter camping; it reminds me of the bitter winter mornings waiting for the school bus on snowy roads.
I find pleasure in being rugged up and feeling the cold air on my face.
My upbringing saw me outside a lot and I lived for the forests and mountains behind my house. I feel that evenings become more contemplative when I camp in cold weather; I am not a big fan of sweltering Queensland summer nights.
Give me a down jacket and a decent shelter from wind and I feel at home. After a few years of dreaming to eventually paddle in arctic waters this time the stars aligned and I am off to the land of the long shadows.
I have a vague plan but not distinct destination. I want to spend the days exploring and make decisions as I see them fit my mood. No destination syndrome and no log of my mileage: sea travel at its best with the unknown and surprises my driving force.
all images courtesy of Eric Sjostedt
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