Because it might be just as inspiring to look back to your used-to-be wish list than it is to always just keep adding stuff on it. Maybe. At least we see how sometimes life is only the choices we make and the stubbornness of our will, and other times it surprises us by itself. I’m personally trying to feel its openness and less and less of the contrary. It feels more natural to think of it as a flow than to see it as our prison… (Not that I’m denying existence to certain limitations.) Because things may seem distant in the future and possible at the same time.
- Living in Paris. The youthful dreams that we dare to keep alive… and then one day we say ”Ok, I’ll wait no longer!” and move. Just like that. And once you do it, you have to keep going.
- Speaking French fluently. Almost. Hey – I can communicate!
- Seeing Alex Turner live. With The Last Shadow Puppets, not Arctic Monkeys, but I’m an equal fan of both and Miles Kane is just as well hot as hell, so… yes I saw my teenage crush live and was pretty close to the stage, too. Who cares about growing up, khm khm?!
- Attending real music festivals. With friends, alone. Austrian, Slovenian, French. Can’t believe I used to be awkward about going to a single concert by myself and now my ideal idea of having a good time is a solo enjoyment of a 3-day music festival. Glastonbury is still waiting for me, though.
- Traveling alone. Yes, it used to be unbelievable, too. I think I used to call (female) solo-travelers brave actually. Funny that I now roll my eyes when others describe them that way.
- Backpacking to South America solo. Yes, I did it for only three weeks which is a minimum of a minimum, I did it in the most comfortable country maybe, but I was there. It started. It didn’t take too much nerves neither.
- Reading Virginia Woolf in the original, English version with all the difficulties of the subtleties of language, but – I was right – all the more charm of her flow than the translations. Not that they are bad. I mean, they try and mean well.
- Falling madly in love. Like you know, flying high, you know what I mean… Intense. All consuming. And inevitably short. The impossible attraction and a certain kind of surprising connection.
- Writing as in finishing a novel. The count for now is two. If they ever get published or not, if they are any good or not, I persisted and poured my heart into it. Got the guts to (successfully) submit my short stories, too. Writing and getting my writing out is feeding my soul.
- Being a waitress. Yes. It wasn’t on my wish list, you can guess. However, I would never in my life believe I could do it, me, a shy, extremely introverted and quiet person who never wishes to approach others, ask, speak, receive attention. Yes, we can change, not in the core, but so that we function and are alright with the situation. We learn so much in the process and occasionally even enjoy it, because we might be lucky enough to meet awesome colleagues (and clients) there.
And I’m only, almost, 26. Still got a way to go.