Home

Home can mean anything. To me, it’s the place I go back to. Not the building. Not the room. The place. In this case, not Iceland, but Reykjavík. Downtown Reykjavík. This is my home. This is where I do poetry readings. This is where I go to concerts. This is where I run my writing group and reading group. This is where I work. Where I meet people. Where I feel comfortable walking around, knowing every street. This is where the libraries are what give me space. This is where the language thrives that I long to speak. This is where I appreciate life as it is lived here. This is my home.

Prior to leaving for Finland, I met with some people regarding various projects. I went to Finland with this fresh in my mind: starting something. The moment I left, I was eager to return, because I wanted to work on these things that bring me life and meaning and purpose. And the day I returned, I arranged to meet these people. I had my first meeting yesterday, my second this afternoon, my third tonight. I feel motivated and inspired. I feel a momentum that I must keep alive. I feel invigorated by all that I saw in Finland.

When I arrived in Helsinki, I felt intimidated by the size. It’s a large city, and that’s only what the eye can see. It goes deep, deep underground in a sprawling labyrinth. There were so many people, so many stores, so much going on. My initial thought was that I could never live in such a place. But after a few days, I came to like the city. I went to a few museums, two art museums. The art I saw was inspirational. The modern art museum had many videos, often documentaries, that told such beautiful stories. They made me want to capture life itself.

Then I went to Jyväskylä where I spent some time with my Finnish friends who left many months ago. I saw their world, so far away. Then was Tampere where there was yet more to see. I ended the trip by attending a lecture from a Buddhist nun from the UK in a library. I talked to her briefly after, mentioning living in Iceland, and she said there was a group that used to meet in Reykjavík but stopped. Long story short, we got in touch online, and I may help her restart this group. That was quite the way to end the trip.

What do I want to do with my life? The pharmaceutical company called me on my second day to offer an interview for another position, saying I can check that out, or see about their academy in February since I missed the current one due to the trip. My current job is draining, though I love the team beyond words. All the other projects I want to pursue offer nothing but risk. Everyone is telling me to take the pharmaceutical job. I don’t think I will. I think Reykjavík is my home, and I am inspired to pursue my passions and my dreams. I did it once before. I came to this country with no home, no job, no friends, nothing at all. And I made it my home. I can take a risk, sacrifice all my money, and live my life. What is there to lose?

If there is anything I took away from Finland, it’s that I appreciate this small city. Being someone in a place as large as Finland or a city as large as Helsinki, even Tampere, feels impossible. Here, I only need to send a message or two, and I can start something immediately. So, I am committed to making things work — trying, anyway. People spotlights, artist spotlights, maybe a podcast, writing my third book, learning Icelandic fluently, collecting and translating old books, learning Finnish and Russian, running my groups, helping a Buddhist group, writing these blog posts, taking pictures, reading literature and writing reviews, starting an artist collective, starting the art gallery. That is what I want to do. I’ll still work, just less. It’s not about the money anymore — no longer about having my own home. It’s about wanting to do something and doing it.

I have a new website in the works. I hope to go public with this new project very soon. Then, I’ll have another website to go public with. I’m going to start my third book soon. And everything else along the way.

I’m not sure how to feel turning down two beautiful career prospects, especially after how incredibly fortunate I was to get my promotion. But what matters to me? What makes anywhere my home? It certainly isn’t my job, nor money. It’s the life I live. Maybe I’ll fail at everything. That doesn’t matter.

I wrote a poem in Finland to try to express my recent feelings. It’s called “Fate”:

Fate is kind and gentle, hand of reassurance. Fate is soft and sweet, voice of calming guidance. Fate is all around, enveloping peace. Fate is deep within, surfacing relief.

Fate is everywhere, fate is everything. Fate is something that is equally nothing. Fate is the bitter and sorrowful lie that makes me wish to give up and die. Fate is the death of the world all around. Fate is the loss of meaning to sound.

Fate is the tears I shed in the night. Fate is the fears that won’t leave my sight. Fate is cruel and wicked in its ways. Fate is the pain that suffocates days.

I am given to fate. Fate becomes me. Fate is something I have now grown to hate. It lies and deceives and it twists and it turns. Fate is the reason the world around me burns.

And burns and burns and never rests. What hope have I in fate’s inferno? in this burning, raging, meaningless toil? If fate is what I’ve now become, then l am all that shan’t succumb.

Fate is thus all that remains. Fate’s purpose was to tell me to take the reins.

Already, my plans are in motion. By making the conscious decision to act, everything is moving along. Slowly. But surely. Step by step. I would rather walk onwards blindly than stand in comfort, stuck.