I used to wake up in a big bed in a friend's house, comfortable under the duvet even though the room was slightly chilly. I would stretch and yawn and then decide that although it would be nice to sleep a bit longer, instead I would get up and make the most of this day. I read a few pages from a book left lying on the nightstand, a little pretty book* that said things like "When I loved myself enough, I started taking the gift of life seriously and gratefully" and I felt seriously grateful for little things, like the grey winter daylight and the cats that came in to investigate when I opened the bedroom door.
I looked out the window and saw little back yards surrounded by crumbling stone walls, and the rooftops of a little Irish city. When I opened the window, the air was chilly and raw, yet incredibly mild for one who is used to the severe cold of a Nordic winter. There was, as always, the sounds of Ireland (a burglar alarm going off somewhere in the distance) and the smells of Ireland (turf fires). Shivering in the poorly heated house but genuinely joyful, I sensed coffee brewing and went downstairs for a shower and a simple breakfast with one of my best friends in the world. Everything, from the weird start/stop-button in the shower to the breakfast rolls with marmalade, was both foreign and well-known. I was back in my second homeland with an intense, almost physical feeling of belonging.
And everything I did that day, and all the days of my all-too-short Irish visit, I did with mindfulness and concentration and simple enjoyment. It was a series of moments, ordinary but special. It was walks on the beach, talking to stray dogs, exploring the city's bookshops and back streets, food shopping in Tesco's, driving my friend's car (on the left side of the road!), reading papers to catch up on current Irish issues, lazy evenings with my friend, her cats and some wine while laughing at stupid Celebrity Big Brother. I felt at home visiting the dry-cleaner's and walking alone through dark streets to get a bottle from the off-license.
I did not let my awareness of life slip. I spent almost no time reading, playing inane computer games, checking in on FaceBook or worrying/dreaming about the past/future. I was just there, just then, feeling loved and at home and determined not to let an hour go by unexperienced. Determined to live out every positive and negative feeling instead of analysing them too much.
And I went dancing with old friends. And when they dragged me on a midnight drive along dangerous mountain paths to someone's house for yet another party when I wanted nothing more than a long night's sleep, I was able to let go of tiredness and fear and submit to the thrill of letting adventure take me where I'd never been before.
That's the kind of people I want around me: Those who take life lightly and enjoy it. Who accept people as they are. Who don't analyse everything but who can spend a whole day just hanging out together, discussing whatever comes up (whether it's celebrity gossip or deep emotions). Who are themselves without trying to live up to ideals that are beyond them. Who let their personality shine and allow themselves to really feel every feeling. Who can dance.
That's who I am: The person I am in Ireland is ME, the one I was created to be - free, open-minded, ready for adventure, curious, carefree. Now I just have to convince her to come back to Finland with me.
Run to win. Live your life, the world will wonder why. Or like my friend advised me: "Wear high heels while you still can."
* When I Loved Myself Enough by Kim McMillen
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