The Great Plot Twist

Reflections on life amidst boxes and bags

I’m sitting on a bed in our living room.

The bed is usually in the guest room/my study. It’s a deliciously comfortable bed —something our guests always comment on during their stays. Some even slept for hours longer than normal in it, emerging from the guest room looking slightly alarmed but refreshed, puzzling at how they could sleep 11 hours without waking. It’s a magic bed.

And now the ‘magic bed’ is our couch because we’ve sold our couch. Because we’re moving. There are boxes, packed and ready to be driven to mainland Finland, then sent to Australia. Plane tickets are purchased, visas organised, and accommodation worked out.

The Great Plot Twist has begun.

The decision to move to Australia wasn’t a long thought-out one, more like a slow shift, with many small things happening over the past few years that helped us leap. Things like spending four months in Australia at the end of 2023/ start of 2024, travelling in the UK for 5 weeks at the end of last year, our band taking a break that became permanent, and a new job for my hubby that was more draining than uplifting.

Tent Life helped too. We spent almost three months of the summer in a tent at the family waterside spot in the countryside here, a glorious time where we both unwound to a point that I was worried I wouldn’t be able to do Apartment Life again. “How did this lead to a continental move?” I hear you ask. I think it helped us disconnect from our apartment, which was looking just fabulous, might I add! We disconnected from the routines we’d been in. We opened up to future possibilities, particularly when we invited people to stay in our home through the Home Exchange program, sharing our lovely space with others. Something shifted in me, a preparation of sorts, as I felt my metaphorical wings getting ready for flight.

Deconstructing a life takes some time. But less time than you think. I have the propensity to move decisively into action when needs must, and the capacity to arrange and organise things in an order that feels stress-free. I don’t feel stressed despite having had a virus that keeps returning, my partner with a similar virus (but worse and resulting in pneumonia), a couple of jobs (teaching, coaching, & mentoring), and the deadline of November 27 for boxes to be packed and ready. All the important stuff will be delivered to the cargo transport company just outside Helsinki by my good self. Boxes of what we deem important right now. Let’s hope I feel the same about my stuff at the other end in a month or three.

Making choices about what comes slowly (by ship), comes with us (in our 30kg each luggage allocation), and what gets sold or given away, has been an almost daily routine for the past month. Each item has been asked a question: Do you still serve me? For some things, it’s immediately in the give-away or sell pile. For others, it takes longer, a deliberation. It’s an interesting exploration of who we are as people. Do we attach importance to things? Do some things hold memories worth keeping?

In this consumer-focused world, it’s been refreshing to delete the Black Friday-Black Week-Cyber Monday emails (when did this become a thing? Why? Buy, buy buy…) knowing that I’m shedding layers of my life here. Not buying more.

I’ve gifted books to friends and colleagues, trinkets to friends, clothing to the only place I shop here - the second-hand store, Emmaus.

Packing and Boxes in Black & White. Photos by Lisa Bolin

I’m shedding, culling, gifting, selling, sharing, deleting, remembering. Perhaps this virus is my body’s way of shedding everything? Of enforcing rest and reducing the potential emotional load of socialising. Our bodies hold so much intelligence. It perhaps doesn’t help working at a new school. New kids, new germs!

The deconstruction of our life in this short-ish time span is bound to leave a few ripples.

Despite the to-do list looming, I’ve had time to reflect. The virus that keeps on giving has meant our calendar, fairly full, has been emptied as we sniff and sneeze, sitting on the bed in our lounge. I’m reflecting on a life. My life, so far. On the amazing adventures I’ve had during this Northern Notes chapter. And now the Plot Twist is leading us south, to new adventures, new sensory experiences, and the chance for me to spend time with the family and friends I left behind.

Hooray!

So as I sit, watching the sky get dark at 4 pm, listening to the little people who live downstairs run up and down (I call them the whirling dervishes!), pondering tomorrow (teaching Biology in Swedish), the last box to be packed, I am thankful for all of it—the time passed, the present, and the adventures to come.

I started this publication to keep a public record of my Nordic adventures—a place to reflect, to play with words, to share moments. I plodded along in late 2019, early 2020, writing about books and winter. Then came Lockdown. In 2021, I wrote about F*cking First Times and wrangling little kids. I wrote about libraries, in particular, my local library, and I’ve even gifted a meditation to readers (I’m a mindfulness instructor!)

Now? I’m not sure.

Perhaps I’ll use this space to pursue more creativity, explore nature, seasons, and life as I shift continents. More photos. A few poems. A short story or two. I’ve started writing a kind of memoir in vignettes—perhaps this is the space to do it. There are many directions I can take, and I hope you’ll join me for the next chapter, the new adventure, the Aurora Australis, the Southern Sojourn… and if you come up with a beautiful re-naming of my publication’s new section, I will send you a gift of handmade goodies by me! Comment underneath, send me a DM, reply to this email.

Stay Well,

Listen to my latest podcast chat:

Ep. 13 Sue Reed is Writing Her Way Back

Read my latest Flucking Floursishing post:

Dismantling: The Woman Who Lived Here

Consider “buying me a book”—All funds will go to rebuilding my deconstructed library.