A reflection

During my one week long post-Christmas tour of the Netherlands, visiting friends and family criss-cross through the country, I got repeatedly asked the following question by diverse crowd; ‘How is life in Dublin?’ Well, that this question is being asked to a friend living abroad isn’t altogether surprising, but my response, ‘same old’, did arouse a shimmer of marvel but also frustration every time I answered. ‘Same old’ isn’t exactly the embodiment of excitement and dynamism, and indeed, the people whom I hadn’t seen for a year got pretty much the same answer as 12 months ago. House still nice, job’s going well, still roaming the countryside in my free time, weather isn’t that bad but it’s not glorious either no, been doing a few nice hikes and bike trips recently, blablabla.

What I hadn’t consciously foreseen but what is obviously bound to happen is that any kind of destination, after a while, starts featuring its routines and patterns. Also in an expat life. Also when living in a European capital. Also in awesome Ireland with its treasure chest filled to the rim with emerald bounties. However foreign or exotic your new home may be, as soon as you hit a certain consistency in daily patterns, sports, social activities, and one week is hard to tell apart from the next, the answers one gives to questions about life become inevitably less exciting. While this isn’t necessarily a bad thing, and many people indeed very much appreciate some sort of regularity, predictability and stability in their lives, I do notice a certain restlessness rising up.

To be fair, the timing for such woeful thoughts isn’t altogether random. As one of my colleagues put it today, this Monday is on average the most depressing of the year, being so close after Christmas and with little imminent prospect of public holidays, sunshine, or some other kind of craic. Now I do not speak in terms of depressive Mondays, but one must admit that January, with its cold dark nights that kick in at around five in the afternoon, gale force winds and freezing sleet, isn't the most hospitable of months.

Comparing the past two years with the years after I left the parental nest for good, some very obvious dissimilarities stare me in the face. Since I turned 20, I have lived in six different countries. During the time I did spend in the Netherlands I moved house (and city) more than five times. Consecutive periods in one place ranged from as short as a few months (in London and at Anja’s place) to a year and a half (Tilburg), but never longer than that. Moreover, the years in my early twenties were characterised by many ‘firsts’, as I discovered while debating the issue with Koen and Luijkx in Amsterdam over the Christmas break. Going to university, becoming a member of this student club or that, moving into a student dorm, studying abroad, backpacking, first part time job at an office, first internship, etc. All firsts, all new, all peaks in their way, which you will remember for years to come as distinguishable experiences in a dynamic and rapidly changing life. The start of my working life might even have been one of the most exciting periods, as the traineeship was really and truly a rollercoaster, with a different assignment, team, city, country, every ten weeks. Plus the training courses, company visits and trainee bonding that filled the inter-assignment intervals. I loved it. And then comes the first job, abroad, in Ireland, in Dublin, another new adventure, all is new, all is exciting, and I still love it. My life is exactly how I want it and I couldn’t be happier and I couldn’t be more grateful.

But now, two years later, the initial excitement of moving abroad again has ceased. Dublin is a home I have fallen in love with, but life, especially in winter, takes a different pace. Little is new. Routine dictates the days and the weeks. (Foreign) trips are a reasonably efficient way to battle the symptoms but not an effective medicine against the underlying cause. What to do?

 What to do? First of all, not complain. This is the epitome of first world problems. I have everything I could wish for, so much to be grateful for, which indeed I am. I am not complaining, I do not feel any resentment or bad temper or anything other than happiness. A yearning for change is very much a reflection of how few worries characterise my current life, and how good this life truly is. This became all the more apparent last Thursday, when I suffered a back injury while playing tennis. For the past days, turning my back, getting up from bed or the couch, and getting dressed have been painful exercises. And as soon as something like that happens, something bad or unlucky or restricting or whatever, you start comparing your temporarily unfortunate position with the situation ex ante and realise there was really nothing to moan about. Pondering about trifles is very much a token of a good life.

Well, good we agree on that. So, what to do? Change! Change stuff in your life if you don’t like it. Change jobs, change hobbies, change where you live, but be rational about it. Changes can be small or big, but be aware of the consequences. Cherish what you have, and apply some rationality to impulsive initiatives. Or not. So, what is the plan? Even though I really enjoy playing tennis, I don’t enjoy the back injuries, and this is not the first time these have struck me. And new is always better. So let’s change it for something different. Last Sunday I visited two different gyms and by now I have picked a favourite. Plenty of varying classes to follow, a pool and a Jacuzzi and a sauna, and my new Economist subscription including their audio version to keep me company while working on the less exciting exercises. New and innovative. Write more, travel even more, read even more, host more couch surfers, volunteer at the dog shelter, take salsa classes, do some online courses, improve my pathetic level of Italian…

Let’s see in a few months’ time what has come of all these initiatives..:) Thanks for listening. Thanks for reading. And remember, change is good!