The things I love

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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?

IMG_1972I’m not sure how you picture Ireland, but this is not how I pictured Ireland. IMG_1981How I love hydrangeas! They always remind me of my mum.
IMG_1982IMG_1976IMG_1978Today we went swimming in the ice cold sea and it was totally fab. As the Irish would say.
img_1983.jpgAfter 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.IMG_1984

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.

 

 

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