Big step: I’ve just given notice on my apartment; I’m moving to England. I know, that’s not far away and not all that different. Although there’s probably a lot more that’s different from what I’m aware of now…

Moving means moving towards something or away from something. It means gaining something or letting go of something, growing into something, or freeing yourself from something that no longer feels right.

I’ve moved dozens of times, but never have both sides come together so closely as now. I want to leave Kiel, and I want to go to England—I want both equally and independently of each other.

Getting away from here…

I lived in Kiel for fourteen years. But the city is no longer home to me without my dog, Polly. It has become one of those cities that “have beautiful parts, too.” (usually the German euphemism for “If you don’t know where to find these parts, the city’s not worth going to.”)

Even my apartment is no longer home. Since returning from Iran, I could barely stand being or breathing there, let alone living. Everywhere I look, I don’t see Polly.

I wish I’d outgrown Kiel. Instead, it’s like that cozy favorite sweater that’s been washed on the wrong program. It’s become itchy, lost its comfort. You’re wearing it anyway and realize it’s shrunk, too. You can’t get it off fast enough to scratch the itchiness.

Things got better once I started packing up the flat. Since I’ve been emptying the place, being there feels better. The outside and my inside fit together again. As I read on a card once: “Grief is love that has become homeless.”

…to here.

How could I possibly describe the place I’m moving to? It’s a village in the New Forest National Park in southern England. Google pictures of it, and you’ll understand my problem: it’s hard to believe that such a beautiful region actually exists. Let alone that you can live there.

Two years ago, I went there first time, and several times since. I have tried to capture my feelings for this place.

Are you sure?!

Of course, I’m also a little nervous. Will everything work out fine? Will I earn enough money? Won’t I be lonely?

We’ll see. Deep down, I’m sure it will all be fine. I want to live in this house, which has been there since 1786. I want to care for it with my mother-in-law and my husband. I want to bring it into the future, as well as the property that belongs to it. I want to become part of its history. And I want to continue traveling and writing—and continue earning money from it. And I want to continue working with dogs—in whatever way that may be.

It doesn’t sound like a life too hard to grow into—I can’t wait for it to start.

article in German

The post Between Farewells and a New Beginning first appeared on Eva Strehler.

How is it that there is no word for a feeling that everyone knows?

How is it that there is no word for a feeling that everyone knows? For the feeling of coming to a place and knowing: this is the right place for me. This is where I want to be. This is where my soul comes to rest.

Many people have an inkling of this from being near the sea. Researchers suspect that it’s because we originated from the sea. Others feel it in Tuscany. Researchers say that’s because it reminds us of the African savannah, through which our ancestors roamed.

But what I mean is smaller and more concrete – not a landscape, but a place, a house. You arrive, you wonder, and you exhale. Then, as you breathe in, you feel it: a sense of home in a place you’ve never been before. Familiarity where there should be none, with discovery and recognition at the same time.

I have yet to find a name for it in any language. The Welsh word hiraeth probably comes closest. It describes the feeling of belonging to a place, even though you are only just getting to know it. And it has a nice additional meaning: the idea that this place knows a part of you.

In ancient Greek (and here I am venturing onto thin ice, because among my readers is an ancient Greek teacher) there is the word nostos. In addition to a deep, almost mystical longing, it can also be understood as a return home, even if you have never physically been to this place before.

I have spent the last few days in such a place: a house in the south of England, built in 1786 in a village on a small river. The flagstones in the kitchen are as old as the house; it has a fireplace, old furniture, and the front door remains unlocked. And of course, it has a garden currently in full bloom.

Again and again, I had to stop, look, and marvel. Where does this quiet and peaceful feeling come from? What triggers it? The fact that one of the most lovable women I have ever met has lived in the house for almost 60 years and that she is also my mother-in-law certainly contributes to this feeling… but it doesn’t even begin to explain it.

What is it that appeals to our souls so much? Environmental psychology calls it “place attachment” when people develop an emotional bond with special places. Although this sounds okay, it neglects the fact that such a feeling can be there from the very beginning. At least it explains: the place – its light, smells, sounds, etc. – could address precisely the needs of the person who has fallen in love with it.

There is no good word for it. ChatGPT (since we are supposed to be open to new technologies) suggests you might have a déjà-home when you come to that special soul-ground of yours. I must admit: I love these words! The propositions for my native tongue German, weren’t half as nice as these. So, quite unexpectedly, and while I’ve been translating this text, I’ve been given what I was asking for.

What I’m wondering is whether we could also feel this kind of spontaneous affection for ugly places? Or to big cities? Maybe none of that matters. The main thing is that we all find such a place, and can spend as much time there as we like.

Here’s the article in German.

The post Call it by its name – about a feeling first appeared on Eva Strehler.

Dear friends,

(I still have to set up the newsletter program that will address you individually—everything is in flux…),

Here’s the new newsletter! I was thrilled that you all enjoyed the first one so much. Thanks for all the positive feedback, even though—or perhaps because—the topics weren’t all easy.

(Travel) Dreams: Always Georgia

When asked about your big (travel) dreams, the answer you often gave was “Georgia,” the tiny Caucasian country. I feel the same. The landscapes must be magnificent, the people unique, the food delicious.

Also, I have a feeling I should get my butt there while it’s still possible—Putin will be there at some point. Is this a kind of preventative disaster tourism? Voyeurism on the edge of a foreign abyss from which we can travel back to the safety of our homeland?

Maybe it’s part of it. Above all, I agree with Ted Simon, motorcycle legend and wonderful human being: we (motorcycle) travelers are also ambassadors and reporters:

Individual explorers have a great role to play in understanding what is going on in the world and communicating their observations. These personal observations, to my mind, are at least as useful as any media reporting that’s done these days.

Happy birthday to me!

I’m turning 50 these days—insane. Nobody gets that old, do they? Ah, the innocent thoughts of those under 30…

Some people don’t celebrate their birthdays; some don’t even want to receive birthday greetings. Of course, everyone has their own opinion—for me, I think my birthdays are great. They allow me to pause and reflect on what I’ve accomplished, experienced, and survived. I’m still here.

And I’m not just 50, I also have 50 (okay, 49), as the French say. All these years are mine. I’ve had so much to enjoy, so much to draw from, so much to be proud of. Sure, some of it was awful—but I own that, too. I’ve grown from it and made something of it. If that’s not a reason to celebrate… So: happy birthday to me!

Projects

What about something to listen to?

I’m currently considering offering my books as audiobooks—I’ve had enquiries about it from time to time. When I read that they’re the fastest-growing segment of the book market in the US, it’s naturally really interesting.

There are various options:

1. 1. Read it myself. Good: inexpensive. Bad: it takes time. I’m not a trained narrator, and bad audiobook narrators are terrible.
   2. Have someone read it for me. Good: a professional at work. Bad: it takes time and is expensive.
   3. Use an AI voice. Good: cheap and fast. Bad: It’s just an AI voice.
   4. Working with a voice clone. I provide a good sample of my voice, from which the audiobook is then generated. Good: It would be my voice, it would be quick, and in some cases, the production would even be handled.

Reading this, it all points towards option 4, doesn’t it?

What do you think? Would you mind if an AI read to you?

The Rest of Life

About hoping and waiting—and what spirals have to do with it

Besides preparing for the move—my apartment is getting emptier by the day—my foster dog Marta naturally takes up a large part of my days.

She’s been with me since September 7th—some of you have followed her progress on Facebook. From being a completely terrified dog I literally couldn’t touch for weeks, who didn’t want to explore the world outside my apartment, she has developed into a curious (albeit still cautious) young lady who sniffs the world around her and even enjoys a massage now and then.

While I held her in my arms for what felt like an eternity in the weeks in between (because the grass beneath her feet frightened her), or a little later stood beside her for just as long because the grass was okay now, but she still lacked the courage to take her own steps, I thought a lot about waiting and hoping.
I didn’t want to force Marta (or entice her with treats) into progress she wasn’t ready for—I could only hope that she would grow into her next step, internally and invisibly to me.

Waiting is the little sister of hoping—here you know something will happen. The key is to make waiting as elegant as possible. If you hope for something, there’s no guarantee it will happen. If you’re unlucky, you won’t even see any intermediate steps.
That’s how it was with Marta—I could only hope. Especially rewarding is that my approach was correct, since I have no formal training in dealing with dogs.
“We’re going around in circles,” I often thought as I carried her into the house after she’d just stood there shivering in the greenery. Although even the circle would have been progress…

What helped me was the thought (not mine, but still good 😉 ) that something that looks like a circle can actually turn out to be a spiral. You just have to change your perspective, and you suddenly realize that a development is taking place, round by round.

And indeed, now Madame also walks in circles—for example, when she circles her dog friend Picasso.

Tomorrow I’m meeting someone interested in adopting Marta—I hope he proves himself worthy of her.

I’m looking forward to your feedback—and wish you wonderful autumn days 🙂

Eva

The post NL +++ Georgia +++ Birthday +++ When nothing at all happens +++ first appeared on Eva Strehler.