Amidst a country in crisis, I find one of my own. This expansive round stone floating around an abyss of black magic is the biggest thing humankind can experience.
And so the question arrives: where in the world do I want to live?
I’m not saying that these few trips I’ve taken in Europe have been the most extensive globe trotting— I still have so much to see. But from what I’ve gathered so far, I wouldn’t mind living…anywhere.
Looking at my past, my permanent address is still the house where I came home from the hospital. My little brown house in a middle class neighborhood of a capital city waits for me to arrive on school breaks. And for the past three years of college, my residences have been within blocks of each other, never more than a 15 minute walk to any of them.
Precedent is tough to overturn, but not impossible.
I do believe in the adage “grow where you are planted” but it becomes more a more difficult decision when I can sew the seed.
My dream has always been to live in New York City for a hot minute and eventually make my way to the Pacific Northwest. But this European adventure is broadening my horizons.
The Swedish culture enamored me, and that climate would be best suited for novel writing (I fully intend on publishing some form of sappy teenage love story) and the production of my memoirs. Stockholm itself was cozy; it’s a fun place with warm yet reserved people and not so much in the limelight as Central Europe.
Madrid is a world-class city with plenty of its own history, but it is subdued and not quite as poignant of Rome’s omnipresent ruins.
I’m not looking to settle down soon, but I should have the thought in mind. And with my proposed career, I can live wherever I want; my office is the sky, my elevator a beast.
This question won’t be answered today and quite possibly for years to come. I’m young, have minimal obligations, and a strong sense of geography paired with an internal compass pointing in the direction of my heart.