The question of how much of my time I spend doing things I love versus just doing things occupies lots of my brain’s capacity. Like, what the hell am I doing in Ireland out of all places? It’s gorgeous here, mystical, totally unexpected. People say things like, Hey lads, and What’s the craic?, they eat lots of butter, and I love them for it. But still. I don’t mind going to the office either, I don’t mind calculating things and analysing things and planning things, but it doesn’t fill my heart with joy. Here’s what does: Jumping into freezing cold oceans, indulging in scrumptious veggie meals, feeling connected to people. I guess it’s the latter that keeps me at Google, because I genuinely do like a lot of the people there.
And yet, there’s something that tells me I should work with organic food, farming, cooking, something to do with moving my body, healing, nurturing, nourishing, connecting with nature and people. I’m fully aware that I sound like a hippie right now. Looking back at these past years though, I was my happiest whenever I lived in the sun, surrounded by close friends, did lots of yoga, worked in the organic kitchen of a yoga retreat. I didn’t make much money then, but I was free and happy and excited about life. Am I naive to think my life could be like that? Am I afraid?
I’m not sure how you picture Ireland, but this is not how I pictured Ireland. How I love hydrangeas! They always remind me of my mum.
Today we went swimming in the ice cold sea and it was totally fab. As the Irish would say.
After our swim, we headed to vegetarian place du jour The Happy Pear. Pictured above is a Buddah Bowl with brown rice, roasted sweet potato, carrot salad, avocado, garlicy kale, lentil dahl, and kimchi. It was everything I needed it to be. Pictured below is a raw salted caramel slice that’s made of nothing but dates, nuts, coconut oil, and cacao powder. Well, and salt, obviously.
In the dark hospital room, when I held my father’s hand, when he couldn’t speak anymore, but he talked to me with his eyes still, I repeated the words that he had told me a few months earlier. He had said, “In life, I want you to be self confident, I want you to be self determined, I want you to be freedom loving.”
Selbstbewusst, selbstbestimmt, freiheitsliebend. I whispered those words to him, his eyes filled with tears, and I knew he could hear me. He muttered my nick name in dull slurs. A few hours later he was dead.
I’m not sure what he said translates to English very well. I’m not sure I live up to any of it.