I must admit, it is hard getting back to writing after taking substantial time off from this blog. And albeit things of course have happened, I still feel like not that much has happened, especially in comparison to what readers of this blog usually get to take part of. Since I crash landed in Sweden last summer, after circumventing the world, mainly over land, I think my intentions was to sum up the adventure. To write something inspiring, connecting the dots from my first train ride, to my last. What it feels like to experience a place like Chernobyl, an Azerbaijani refugee camp, a ship full of truckers on the Caspian Sea, camels in Kazakhstan, waking up in 5 inches of snow in Kyrgyzstan and taking a two-day bus into the Muslim part of China. What it feels like to go from this to cities like Tokyo and Shanghai, to see the Georgian Alps and the Japanese Alps, to lie on a Hawaiian beach, and to see the power houses of the world in D.C. But as with most real-life stories – are there ever any happy endings?
So, I refrained from summing up the trip in words for you and have instead spent a great many hours staring at my photos from my last adventure, eyes tearing up, shaking my head in disbelief that all this really is my life. Coming back to Gothenburg I had a loose plan that this was my last big trip. From now on, no more rooting up and moving about. Let’s keep on travelling as a reasonable person. A month or two a year. Some weekend trips in between, a week here and there in exotic places in Europe. No five, six- or ten-months trips on dirty roads and endless trains. Let’s slow down.
But try to outlive the Swedish winter without existential fear.
As climate change became hotter than ever this winter, I fell into and existential crisis. I know from experience that Mother Earth is fantastic, and I actually happen to love a good plenty of her inhabitants too. But what is the point of all this if we are about to go extinct? This winter I read so many books on politics, philosophy, contemporary history, religion, I devoured podcasts on these topics (and football of course) like an addict, and I fell back into the habit of meditating. I took better care of myself, became healthier and stronger than ever, but the pieces missing in this puzzle starting to become more and more prominent in their absence than the ones I had put together. I felt the urgency to run up to people and shout in their faces. I wanted to ask the person next to me at the gym, the toilet cleaning lady at the train station, the cashier at the supermarket, the guy laughing into his phone on the bus, the homeless begging for pennies, I wanted to ask them all “What the hell is the point of all this?!”
And when I finally asked, though, not shouting luckily, the response smacked me as hard as a good old-fashioned baseball bat.
“All we can do is to learn and to pass it on, really.”
Perhaps the girl had no intention smacking me psychologically, emotionally and spiritually with a baseball bat, but thankfully she did. Instantly, it became an explanative mantra of what the hell was the point with all this. Just keep on doing what humans always done throughout our history, gather knowledge and pass it on. That’s our mission and that’s the only way forward. Some raise children, some teach, some create helpful tools and some sing about the things they learn. What future generations, or even the ones living now, choose to do with it is not up to us.
My existential crisis is subdued. I learn while travelling and then I pass it on in writing. BAP. Homerun!
Time to plan next adventure!