I’ve always written journals. At the age of 9 I decided to write diaries. I had a love for books I could get from authors that had the capability of writing strong and honest words as a young person. There was always something that I loved about writing. I always was drawn to photographs and standing in a dark room was just one experience where I felt this unique inner freedom by doing something I love. Last year I gained the faith to write down one of my children picture book stories. It sounds so easy. There is that idea, that picture in your head and you just have to put it into words and on a piece of paper …… I thought. It has been a journey, some work and quiet some research. Mostly it has been some work on myself. The fear of failure. The fear itself.
I always wanted to be either a photographer, write or do something in the tourism. Instead I went to the most boring school, just because everyone told me that becoming a photographer wouldn't be the right thing for me, as this job would not bring the right money and it would be hard to find a job. There hasn't been any openness and encouragement to believe in a dream of a 14 year old that had to made a lifelong decision.
Now this is different. I am excavating something that once used to be me. Something that got buried, and I ve never had the self-worth to talk about it, or even mention it.
Quickly we become intimated by the idea to do something that we´ve always dreamed about. Selfishness. Irresponsible.
I ve found my other part that does understand what I am talking about. We started to nurture our creativity. Whether it does make sense or not. We simply took the time to go to a museum, or listen to music, instead of washing the laundry that has pilled up in the basement. Creativity comes in so many ways.
After I ve now landed on my feet in Austria, I ve just came back to write my daily morning pages, and this week I ve treated myself with the visit of the international book fair in Vienna. BUCH WIEN 13 and a long skype conversation with my friend overseas.
Whether it does make sense or not, I am myself. I am what I am. Whether my story gets published someday or not. I wrote it down. I ve put it on a piece of paper. It is me.
some of the children books that came to my attention at the book fair:
What does it mean to move back home? I thought moving back home would be easy. Moving back home should be just fine. It´s the place I grew up. It´s simple. It´s home. What if it´s not simple? Now – 5 months later – it´s the first time since we are back in Austria that I am feeling myself again. I ve had time to listen to music today. Drank a cup of tea and listened to Dean Martin in the background (yes, the closer we get to December it´s always time for some Dean Martin in the house). It has been foggy all morning and I am sitting here and wonder how lucky I am to have such an amazing view.
Yes, don´t get me wrong. I love being here too. I missed my friends and my family so terribly. I can´t wait to drink my first Punsch at the christmas market and overall it is simply VIENNA. It´s Austria!
I am just landing on my feet
HeLLo! I am back home. ARRIVING!
10 + 1 AWEsome MUSIC for a gloomy November day: