After three months of being away from this place called „home“ you should think it must be awesome to be back where you grew up, where your friends are, where your family is.
Last fall I decided to try something different. It felt like I needed to go away again for a couple of months. ‘Before I turn 30, I need to do something out of the ordinary’, I told myself. I’m 29 now. So I headed to the South of France, to the Atlantic Coast, to Soustons, to work at a small, very friendly Surfing Guesthouse.
It was right then, when I felt really at home in my hometown. Probably for the very first time in years, or maybe ever. This might sound weird. It’s not like I hated the place where I grew up. And of course, I love my family and being around them. And yes, I do have the most awesome friends ever! But I always had this urge to visit places from a very young age on. Every time we went on a family vacation, I didn’t want to leave. And when we were back home again, I imagined how it would feel like if the mountains were blown up and became sand for us to be near the ocean! But last year, things seemed to come together somehow. I had this tiny flat in the middle of the city, and a girl, which wasn’t my girlfriend, but no doubt the best girl I’ve ever met in my life. I also had a job I loved doing. I also started to appreciate the atmosphere of the city, the quiet places at the lake, felt how much the creativity sucked me in, pushed me on a daily basis to create something new. So then, why would I decide to leave right when it felt so good to be where I was?
Well honestly, I don’t have a clue. First, like I said, I always felt a deep connection to the ocean, the wideness, and the freedom. And secondly, I thought I should end that job I loved, but which didn’t get me anywhere financially. And maybe I just felt I needed to get out there and live, experience the new, the unknown. So I quit. I quit my job and I quit my apartment. I wanted to experience full freedom, without boundaries.
I left my hometown April 27th after a very emotional goodbye from my girl at the airport in Basel, because at that time I wasn’t sure at all when I would come back as I had barely anymore bills left to pay in Switzerland. With a good book in my hand and Tom Rosenthal’s „Go Solo“ I stepped into the airplane that took me to Bordeaux. Once arrived, I took a bus to the next railway station. Hungry as I was, I spent my layover searching for some good, preferably healthy food. This was my first experience as a Vegetarian in France. Packed with chocolate croissants and an orange juice I headed to the next stop where one of the guys from the guesthouse was supposed to pick me up. Somehow something with the communication must have gone wrong and no one came until 2 hours later. Once arrived at the camp, I felt pretty exhausted, but warmly welcomed by the crew.
The first weeks haven’t been what I expected at all. It was the pre season and the weather in April on this coast is usually mostly rainy and not too warm. The first surf session lasted maybe forty minutes with no booties and an old cheap wetsuit with holes in it! While there were not many guests for the first couple of weeks we were working and adding new stuff members to the camp for mostly 12-16 hours a day. Me, never being a craftsman before, learned so much in this time. We built a room under a skate ramp, which would become my incredible charming room 1.5 months later.
After an incredible summer, meeting tons of new people, countless skate sessions, surfing almost everyday and enjoying life, my employment ended July 24th. I spent ten more day at the camp, cruising around spots and sleeping in hammocks. When the main season got very very busy, the waves flatting out and after all what happened back home, it felt it would be the right time to go back for a while. A friend of mine who spent 20 day at the camp told me he was driving down the North coast on a three-day trip and his final destination would be where I needed to go. This was a perfect match. So I took my chance and jumped in his van. During these wonderful days, we stopped at several places, parked the van in the woods, had one last surf, the probably best pizza I’ve ever tasted and we road tripped down the road back to Switzerland.
Then I got home. With no plan, no job, no apartment, but luckily a little money left in my pocket. The first days of coming home were amazing, seeing your people again, telling stories, drinking some bottles of wine with everyone every night while telling yourself that all other stuff can wait until the next day. Until it kicks in and I realized that I’m back where I left and nothing had changed expect myself and I started to feel lost somehow lost. The longer it went, I realized even more what I already knew my whole life… That a 8-5 Monday to Friday job is nothing for me. I have never been a material guy. Living low budget is totally okay for me as long as I like my job and can save enough money for my next travel destination.
It felt like I just didn’t fit in here anymore. I felt strange, even uncomfortable. I think everybody who’s a traveller, a free spirit or suffering from a disease called wanderlust knows what I’m talking about. Just opening bottles and having philosophic conversations all night long wasn’t an option anymore. But getting back in the meditative flow of ease and trust in the universe that all will open up by itself is also harder than expected. So what’s there for me? Is there a creative way to live through live loving what you do and still earning enough money to see the world? It must be! But how? I haven’t figured it out yet. But finding myself again piece by piece stepping out of the anxiety slowly but surely I’m pretty sure life is basically a dance to be danced by the most beautiful song you can find.
What I’ve learned on my trip? „On ne voit bien qu’avec le ceur.“ So I pour myself a fresh coffee and book a flight. Goodbye… At least that’s what I am dreaming of… Let’s see what the next dance will be.
