Harder to admit fear than boast confidence.

I want to share some of my doubts.

Thing is, the doubts I want to share are usually restrained by a kind of elegant savoir paraître (knowing how to make-believe) where damn, even if your life is indeed ripping you to shreds and you don’t have an once of certainty, you should shut your mouth, suck it up and look like if right now is the most amazing of times. Social media does just that and everyone do their best to make it look like every day is an endless paradise of porn food, amazing landscapes and grateful friends.

Eat up your doubts and uncertainty. Those things are not attractive and no one wants to hear them. It creates with efficiency a bunch of frustrated people, seemingly happy but hollow inside, with fears and doubts they’re forbidden to share because damn, it doesn’t look cool.
It’s written in self help books, successful people claim it: fake it till you make it! I embraced it for years during my exchange to make things easier and it did. If you pretend you’re in charge of the situation and that any outcome is wanted, then you’re fine and admired. You might be eaten up inside but no worry, on the outside you look awesome so it’s all good.
I’m told to get a boyfriend already and not to throw away the idea of children, a house and stable life. That’s what society is teaching us to aim for isn’t it? Success isn’t personal achievement or mental nurture, it is a mix of possessions and stereotyped way of lives. If you get this house and these three children, you will have succeeded, congrats! Be also prepared for it not being ever enough and be constantly under the spot of accusations on how you decide to raise them, your choices at the supermarket, and please be selfless while also maintaining a successful career and love life. May you fail in one of those and you’ll just be tossed in the pitt of ungrateful women, not good enough for this world, that couldn’t jungle between the labels “prude” or “whore”.

Whatever you choose, you never win but god damnit you better make it look like you’re the luckiest winner in there!
So I’m being told to aim for that mainstream way of living because that’s how everyone has been raised and this is how society works. The economy, the social model expects people to settle down and produce kids, to continue making the machine works.
Understandable. But not applicable today anymore.
When I’m being told to think of having a settled life, I am just crippled with anxiety. A settled life? You say that to a 21 year old whose life at school was basically hearing constantly “ahah guys you’re screwed.  Planet is fucked, jobs are dead and you might as well forget about your dream house or even the sight of retirement!”.
Since high school I’ve been told that times have changed and that it would be hard. Forget the 30 years of excess, now it is time to buckle up and oh honey, the price is gonna be so expansive.
But at the same time please maintain the economy and accepted the idea you’re raised in that if you aren’t settled with a husband and kids at 35, you better hurry because your biological clock is running. And also, do you really want to be a social failure? Do like everybody damn else. Of course it’ll be harder and yes, we are applying concepts of an era now dead. Yes, we still expect you to magically get out of your parents’ house by your own means, while still affording your education and building a family.
Too much selfless acts for me in 2016.
I cannot possibly fantom the idea of providing for someone else when I don’t even know how I’ll provide for myself sufficiently. Doesn’t matter how hard I try, it feels like some inexorable fate is going to hinder my efforts because simply I’ve been told it’d be hard and times have changed. It feels like the responsibility of previous generations has been lightened by telling the next ones they were screwed.
To me we’re creating a mass of growing anxiety in younger generations where it becomes easier to escape and pretend than actually be honest and say out loud that no one knows what to do.
I want to be an optimist. I feel like no one in this world will be optimist for me and that I won’t help adding to the constant negativity if I were to decide we were screwed anyway.

I want to think that humans adapt and even though it always seems like it was better before, things are just different and they’re changed. And change isn’t a bad thing because you can be sure that the moment things aren’t changing anymore, it’s because they’re dead and cold.
The world, our world, is constantly evolving and metamorphosing, and so we with it. It requires us to be flexible and ready to adapt in circumstances before unknown. It is hard to change and the idea of difference can be a fearful one. One dreads change and would rather like that things stay the same.
Bullocks, and impossible I’d say. Except if you have the luxury to allow yourself to be outside the bubble of the world, truth is you’ll have to adapt and this isn’t necessarily a bad thing.
True, sometimes good times end and more dreadful ones are ahead.
But people survive and people adapt. They change their way but you can be sure they’ll continue to live their lives. This is why when I’m constantly hearing around that the world is declining, that France is just going berserk and being destroyed, I don’t want to feed the constant feed of negativity. Damn, which century was boasting about having the best time of their lives? Middle age where Europeans were just sad peasants in their holes? Religion wars where the population were the puppets of bigger things? WW1, WW2? Are we saying those times are better?
According to humans, the world has been going to its loss for a long time and guess what, it is still standing. People have just changed their way of lives and adapted themselves.
And we’ll do the same things. Yes, it will be different and probably less comfortable than what previous generations lived. But we’ll survive with change and flexibility.
So for god’s sake, stop applying concepts and exigences that cannot be applied anymore. A house and a family isn’t the only way to “success” or “personal achievement”. It cannot be done as easily anymore and it’s alright.
Give people some chance and do not be surprised to find them anxious and hidden in a world where paraître (the make-believe) is more important than être (the being). Fake it till you make it, uh?
So let’s accept that we have doubts and that we are worried. It’s fine. We don’t have to pretend that everything is okay, and we don’t have to think that the old way is the way. We’ll have to find what works with our time and with ourselves. We are many individuals and we have different aspirations. One model shouldn’t apply to all, it’s ineffective and counterproductive.
And when I am told I am a little naive brat, “socialist influenced” and that really I haven’t got a shred of reality attached to my brain, the world needs dreamers. It has enough of lipid, stern and radical people. Just take a look to your national news reports and listen at all the people who get a voice: those who use it to communicate a hateful and stigmatizing speech. Don’t you think they’re doing enough, do you need to fuel their energy in their negative discourse? The world needs some dreamers too and while the destination might not be reached, we can at least try to push the wheel in the good direction.
So I’ll say it. I’m anxious about so many things. I’m anxious about never finding a boyfriend (damn, it is forbidden to say that, I should rather be the badass woman sure of myself, ready to walk on the face of the world), I’m anxious about not finding a job that will provide for me or that I’ll find interest in, I’m anxious (and pretty sure) I am not selfless enough to raise another human being. And please, tell me, who wants to create another being in the world we are told we live in? I’ve already been told since I’m 16 that I’m screwed to death and that the world isn’t going to fix itself anytime soon, why would I want to put someone in a seemingly even worse situation? Shall I just adopt this behaviour of saying: “good luck son, it’s your problem now. You didn’t ask to be there, but I’m counting on you to fix all the shit I didn’t take care of”.
When I’m being told of thinking about a boyfriend, children and a house, I cannot get these doubts out of mind. It is not a pretty subject and it isn’t really attractive to be saying around: “I’m gonna have a seizure of uncertainty.” Maybe I’m not helping by sabotaging myself and admitting this out loud. After all, we are in this world of impression and make-believe and it is considered weak to recognize that you’re not sure what the hell is going on.
How many times I’ve read that men prefer women sure of themselves but not too assertive either so they don’t feel threatened? It’s again this paradigm of being either a prude or a bitch.
It’s a game with no winners that everyone puts each other through and I don’t think I want to play this game anymore. I can pretend but I cannot be doubtless and make-believe certainty forever. The anxiety I’m burying isn’t going away and I don’t see how faking it is a sane way to deal with it.
Let’s not build a mass of people crippled and obsessed with what things seem like, but rather encourage people to see what things are and what they could be. And understand that times changes and norms and educations belong to a certain time. This is bound to evolve and this doesn’t mean this is going to decadence. Difference isn’t a punition or a thing we should be afraid of; it’s not even a choiceDeal with it.

Disclaimer: this was written at 4  a.m. at 2645 m. of altitude while waiting for a timelapse. Read and corrected several days later, you get there the essence of what’s been bothering me lately. Concentrated and explicit.

Do the unexpected, do the seemingly difficult; enjoy the cost of effort.

First words I want to write are: damn, are we really in August already? Am I 21 already?

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Beginning of July, I was looking at my summer like this plan-less period of time where both wonderful things and boring ones could happen. Luckily for me, it turned out to be the first option and I’ve lived some things I didn’t thing I would. In a nutshell, got dragged into the crazy organization of the European football tournament in France that led me to accompany a group of 15 English that later got drunk and got lost in the city of St Etienne (that I had to look for at midnight). I accompanied an infamous European prime minister (I’ll let you guess, who in Europe is in power at the border and has fascist/racist views?) to a football match and we got escorted by the police on the highway. It was quite something to see. I accompanied a group of people from Saudi Arabia and got kindly invited to see the match Portugal – Iceland. I accompanied a group of Australian tourists and got invited to a visit of a chocolate factory (where to be honest, all I did was eat chocolate all morning). Got dragged to bars to work for an infamous French betting game company. I hated it but it did bring me to places I’d never go (a bar during a match? It’s literally drunk people everywhere).

Some other odd jobs before I fly for the island of Lampedusa to volunteer and protect a natural area where turtles lay their eggs in the summer season. This was a spontaneous decision, took a week before the actual departure, without really thinking too much about it. When I arrived 12 hours later with 3 delayed flights, I was thrown in the lion’s den and my first encounter with Italian was violent.

To put a bit of context, I learned Italian for 5 years at school but never got a chance to actually speak it. Of course, when I occasionally went on holidays in touristic destinations, I would try to mumble some words but would often be interrupted to continue the discussion shamefully in French or in English.

So that was the first time I actually got the chance to use some of my Italian, 3 years after my last Italian lessons in high school. The first night was sad. I could understand what was being said to me but what came out of my mouth was only a mixture of English and Japanese (which for a reason sounds like Italian to me?) and I kept quiet the two first days.

And this was after a two hour flights where I was sat next to an Italian version of  Ben Affleck (with the haircut from the Argo movie), architect, very kind, very cute, and I was starting to realize that I actually couldn’t speak Italian at all. He couldn’t speak English and had a broken French but we managed to have a conversation mixing the two languages we could barely use. At this moment, I had some doubts about my decision to come to Lampedusa and be of actual use with no skill in the language at all.

Things got worse the day after my night arrival, as we left the house at 7:30 a.m. to go down at the beach we were working on and I was asked to go interact with people. The beach being a natural reserve, there are some strict rules that need to be respected, such as not taking rocks from wherever the fuck people take them and not put them on the beach because otherwise turtles cannot lay their eggs anymore. Simple uh? Try to argue that with tourists whose first argument is: “I paid to be there!”

 

Anyway, this ruth way of learning was the best as I had to quickly learn and override any ounce of shyness that was in me. I had to get out there, be confident and try to make myself understood. I was surprised by how quickly I adapted myself and how well I could express my ideas and opinions in Italian. I had so little faith in my language skills and really thought I’d be condemned to be the silent foreigner in the group for 10 days.

But damn, I was so wrong. The experience was amazing, the people extraordinary and I got to discover the culture of a language I learned for years. In Junior High School, I wanted to learn Spanish but classes were full. It was out of question for me to choose German (I’ll say it: French people make fun of the German language out of ignorance. The accents that are mocked aren’t German for a dime, and after knowing more about what actually is German and what is the accent we were mocking -a Dutch accent-, I do think it was completely unjust. Damn, German is pretty, just watch Goodbye Lenin and close your eyes when Christiane is talking. Sugar for your ears.) so I chose Italian. I had no attach, no particular interest and decided that the best way to deal with this situation was to do my best to be absolutely shitty in Italian. Which I did successfully for 4 years out of 5. The last year, when I realized I was wasting my time and I could actually get some interesting experience from it, I decided to learn. But it was too late, I was behind in class and while I was still struggling with conjugation and grammar, other students would be debating in classes about various subjects. Ironically, we mentioned Lampedusa and a piece of art present on the island to mourn the migrants dead at sea: Porta di Europa.

Who knew 5 years later I’d actually be there and reflect on these hours I willfully wasted, just out of pride because I didn’t get the language I wanted?

Anyway, one learns and I saw myself grow during these little ten days. I expected nothing, arrived without any preparations, and I came back with so much more.

It isn’t really clear to me how I can explain this experience yet, but damn, getting out of your comfort zone and putting yourself in difficult situations can be so rewarding at times!

I won’t lie, it was hard and frustrating at times. Trying to express something and feeling like a 5 year-old because I couldn’t be understood was harsh. It felt like being in Japan again and starting from scratch. But the people surrounding me were patient, kind and understanding. They took the time to listen. I know I was a bit more of work then others; some things we had to do for the day had to explained to me again, because I just couldn’t understand the Sicilian dialect at first. It just sounded like marmelade to my ears. They first explained, and then day by day things got easier.

I got confident and in the end, I could argue with tourists who found that unbelievable that their right to put rocks all over the beach was denied and that sadly, the money they spent didn’t grant them the possibility to be a bitch about it. I got asked if I was Spanish way too many times, and mixed two words by mistake during my stay. Now I know that I should rather yell “pazzo” than “cazzo” to dangerous cars in the street, because really, yelling “penis” in the street isn’t the way to go.

 

It was with a way heavier heart than I expected that I walked to the airport (the island is that small) and waved goodbye to everyone. I wish I had write about everyday to remember every little details that made me smile, that made me cheer and be a bit sad too. But I think sometimes you have to let it go and live the moment. Be ready to have very little sleep and still work the day after. Live everyday at more than 100% and be ready to have plans change. Even better, don’t make plans. Just take what’s coming and build along.

I escaped for a while on this tiny island in the Mediterranean sea. The reputation it has isn’t bright in Europe and it is true that it can have a poor image once there. But damn, this experience offered so much and it felt so good. All I hope is that I could be of help and that I brought as much as I got in return.

Before heading home, I spent eleven hours in Rome’s airport at night(you can be sure there is no international connection with Lampedusa) and when I finally came back to Lyon, I was ready to welcome an American friend. We ended up in Paris, walking 20km per day before I drove to the Alps where I continued this crazy rhythm for a week. And tomorrow I’m going home again. Nothing planned for the next few days.

Working on a timelapse I shot in the Alps for sure. I am still planning to wake up at 3 a.m. tomorrow to take some pictures of the stars, the previous attempts being failed. It’s hard to find the motivation to wake up at 3 to then drive 30mn to an altitude of 2000 meters, where the wind is blasting and the temperature as low as 3 degrees celcius. But the result is fun, and it’s the same thing as hiking. God I hate going up but once you’re up there and you see the view, you appreciate it a thousand times more. And it feels good.

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That superhero

During my time in the Netherlands, I have often complained about the lack of hills or any type of non-flat landscapes. Along with that, the cold and the rain was a constant downer to do any type of cool outdoor activity. I did go for long rides, trying to pick the days where it was the least windy, but it was never really satisfying.

Over these two years of living there, I built in my head the image of an active person, that likes hiking and enjoys going out of the house to do stuff. Going back home with a perfect warm weather and amazing sceneries not far out, it was time to put to test this image I spent two years creating.

 

I took the car and drove to a nearby mountain range I’ve never been before. The good thing about Lyon is that you have the choice; you have the Alps or some other mountainous chains more in the center of the country. I chose the latter, may it just be so I didn’t have to pay the toll on the road. After driving through some big cities, I took the way to the “Natural Regional Park” of the Pilat. Out of Saint Etienne, in 5mn, the city is out of sight and what is left is just forest, lands and cute houses in the middle of all that.

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Some parts of the road can be quite narrow and it’s especially true when going through villages that are literally hanging off a cliff. Sometimes, the path is large enough for only one car but you still have to share it with eventual newcomers and it was an interesting challenge for me to drive there. I often stopped on the side to take pictures of the landscape as the blue sky, clouds and yellow fields just fitted perfectly together. I can get that these snaps can seem boring but after 2 years of dead-flat land and wind, I love it.

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After 2 hours of driving and a constant elevation in the mountains (reaching 1200m altitude), I parked my car at some old inn. And I started hiking.

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Mind you, there were a few details that I forgot while building this image of super active woman for two years. Hiking often involves going up, in sometimes really steep ways. Going down is all fine with me and staying at the same level’s perfect. But going up, damn, do I hate that. And this is the way my hike started. As I went up, I noticed some other parkings that were higher up where I could have put my car and avoid the uninteresting climb. But nope, I had parked the car all the way down. Too bad. I also forgot my earphones and was alone with my thoughts and my panting breath.

This is another thing that bothers me about going up.

Being out of breath really quickly. I don’t smoke, nor am I overweight, and yet I struggle like hell when it’s about breathing normally and climbing up stuff. Maybe it’s the asthma I’m carrying with me, or just the fact that I don’t climb that often. Still, I couldn’t stop thinking that maybe I’m not this super active person I thought I was for two years. Maybe I don’t really like hiking uh? Because this steep climb here, really sucks.

As I was having an inside turmoil, I finally reached some flat ground and went on my way to join the first pass. Today’s plan was to visit all the passes of Mont Pilat, consisting of a rough walk of 10km. Surprisingly, the following climb was starting to be okay. I don’t know if it’s the fact that the path was covered with big rocks and forced me to jump from boulder to boulder (which I love doing. It’s incredibly easy to break your ankle here, but damn, it’s fun) but things got easier. At the top of the first pass, at an altitude of 1430m, I sat and took some time to look around. Two people were paragliding and were flirting with the ground before going back up with the wind currents. It was so quiet and they came so close that you could hear the wind going through the fabric of their big parachutes.

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I didn’t get their view but it felt like sharing a bit of their bliss in these mountains.

I decided to continue my hike and walked on the mountain crests to join the difference passes. I met a few people on the way, such as the same four ladies that I ran into 3 or 4 times during the afternoon. I was dreading a bit such an afternoon without any music or beat to keep me going. I’m listening to music pretty much all the time and it is helping when doing physical activities. I don’t think I could have climbed Mount Fuji without music, or my mind would have been clouded by thoughts about how harsh it was to climb thousand of meters in the pitch darkness at 10°c. But the music helped and allowed me to focus on the effort rather than the “why am I doing this to myself” factor.

But overall, everything went fine. As I walked, the hike got somehow easier. I think it’s all about getting the machine started. Once it’s started, it’s good to go.

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After some mountainous passes, I went through a forestry area to join the big radio antenna area. On this mountain, there are a few buildings used for the main French radio and it is so big that we can see it through Lyon. We see this big mountain with the antenna on top, and it was time to go check it out.

Some paths through the forest reminded me of the Japanese forests, without ever surpassing their mysteries. Forests in Japan have a spirit of their own and I can understand that people with amazing imagination such as Miyazaki can feel nothing but wonder for them.

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The rest of the hike was smooth and as I got to the antenna, I started heading back to the inn. Time was running out and I didn’t want to be caught in traffic once back on the road.

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On the way back, there was some stele headstone for an American plane crashing there during WW2, along with an American/German/French flags to celebrate peace and cooperation.

Back at the car, I grabbed some fresh water from a nearby source and took a last look at what was around.

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Yeah, I’m definitely not the superhero I wanted myself to be, nor the amazing hiker I boasted about for 24 months. But you know, I think it’s about taking time and doing things one step at a time. Nothing’s preventing me to a one day be this great person that can hike for 10 hours in the mountains on a whim. For now, I do these small steps and at least get a bit closer to doing things that I like.

Having this afternoon for myself, confronted to a difficult climb but beautiful views, felt good. And let’s not talk about the drive back through the natural park. No matter where you looked, the golden sun was embracing the yellow fields and the atmosphere was just magical. I felt a bit sad not being able to take pictures of everything but sometimes you gotta decide if you wanna go home in one piece or stop every 5 seconds on a narrow road with cars around.

I chose safety and did my best to get a firm mental grasp of the experience.

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Page 189 of that big year book

Driving at 10pm with the windows open and an amazing 23°c degree, with some nice songs, blissfully. The sky was still coloured by the setting sun.

I could smell the earth of the nearby fields I crossed, 30km from the city.

It just felt so good. I felt so alive.

I just want to keep driving in these unknown places, my hand out of the window embracing the wind.

I’m alive.

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Today

Start my day by bringing my mom to work and then driving the car to the garage for reparation (the famous driver-less car that collided with the car). I’m getting the keys of an old car for replacement, the time they fix our car. The old car is almost a wreck with no gas in it. I drive it back home, hoping it won’t fall off and that the wheel won’t remain stuck in my hands while driving.

I call my working agency and get some work for the end of the week. Amazing.

I bike on the elliptical for a good 40mn, prepare lunch and get ready to leave in the afternoon, by bike again.

Wearing a skirt, hair down, sunglasses on while biking in Lyon in early July is just a treat. I don’t have to worry about rain, wind or cold. It is just a marvelous 25 degrees celcius and a gentle wind accompanies the trip. I swear, with my earphones, I literally feel like the trip to the city center is some French movie shit. I love it. I meet up with a friend and we walk around. We climb one of Lyon’s hill and we admire the view. Going down, we stop for an ice cream and again, it just feels marvelous. The atmosphere is good.

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I walk her back to her bus station and continue walking around. I was supposed to meet up with someone later in the day for coffee but that didn’t happen. Instead I got coffee on my own and enjoyed the company of a busy street. A mix of hipsters, bikes, working families walking on the pavement while I sit there grabbing parts of conversations.

Maybe that’s what I should do. Find a place to sit outside and sip on some iced coffee to pass the time rather than staying home miserably when I’m not working. It’s a pricey hobbit, almost 4.5€ for an iced coffee (being cool is expensive apparently). But it’s a nice feeling.

I stay until 7, having nothing to rush for. I ride my bike back home, falling into this soundtrack-life for 20mn. Get home, prepare a salad that my dad won’t adore but I like the crunchiness of red peppers, cucumbers and tomatoes. The end of the day is in contrast quite boring. I’m killing time browsing the internet, looking at the time. If I go to bed to early (and if I want to respect my 8-hour sleeping schedule), I’ll have to wake up at 6 and there is nothing to do at 6 in the morning. I know it sounds like a boring routine but having some structure is not all bad, and I can be more efficient in stuff that I do (or let’s say I can have more energy to complain about not having enough to do!).

 

That was today.

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Almost a month

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I’ve been home for almost four weeks.

I’ve done a lot but it feels like I haven’t progressed at all in my mind. I got some odd jobs, keeping me busy. It drives me crazy to have nothing to do and a day spent home feels like a painful sting.

Yet, I’ve done quite a lot of driving. Even a small, tiny tiny road trip through the alps. Got myself into some roads I wouldn’t have dared go (but let’s be honest, in the mountains you can’t really decide to do a u-turn in a narrow, cliffy path. You just grind your teeth and go down, hoping there’ll be enough space when another car shows up in front of you). But it felt good. It felt good to see the mountains, to be in the driver seat (bye car-sickness in the Alps!) and to just sing along with a friend on a countryside road. My parents did a good job. They made me like driving and I’m appreciating the long drives in the region.

When I came back home, I was a bit anxious about driving alone and being the only one in the car. But my mom desacralized the process well and only one week after, when my parents were gone, I was using the car everyday for small trips in the region.

 

I have to say, this is a curious summer for me. I have nothing planned. No big country to go visit, no faraway trips or destinations. It feels less like a punition than last year where I was bitterly looking at acquaintances travelling the world while I was working. I’m working too this summer, but less intensely. Let’s say that this time, I’m the one welcoming people instead of the one going to places. Some friends are visiting in July and August, and they will be my pieces of holiday.

I’m trying to see it as my last long-stay in Lyon before I really lift off for somewhere else. So it’s maybe not a bad thing that I’m there all summer. For one last time (hopefully?).

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I don’t want to feed any feeling of inferiority that I cultivate when looking at my friends’ internet feed so I better convince myself well that I’m not wasting my time!

So this month, I’ve improved my driving and even came to like it. I made interesting encounters at work, found myself in crazy (and some boring) situations and it was worth it. I barely made any good money though, and the free time I have between each job is haunting me. Uuuugh, wasted time for nothing.

Other thing that I’ve done is work on my tanning. But the hours spent lying under the sun also feel like torture and just plain boredom. It’s true, I have some nice shades now (and some very very nice burns) but damn, can tanning be any less interesting? I can try to read a book, listen to podcasts or sleep, it just doesn’t feel rewarding.

 

To be honest, I think the one thing I’d like to do is travel around the region and make timelapses. So at least it feels like I’m doing something and I’m deserving all the views my Vimeo channel is getting on years-old videos. I want to be creative and I want to see amazing sights. I want to be challenged and not just look at another day passing being like “great, nothing happened”. Damn, I’m out of school for a good period of time, I should enjoy it before being forced to head back to useless essays!

 

So yeah. I know what I want to do. I just need to be doing it now. Tomorrow I’m working, 3 hours of driving to get to the working location being needed. Monday, some technical work needs to be done on the car (a driver-less car just collided with mine, you should have seen the scene, it was magical)(nothing bad happened, just esthetic damage) and then next working day is Wednesday. Better be doing something on Monday afternoon and Tuesday. Motivation motivation motivation!  Time to get ambitious.

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It’s getting better! And harder to bear

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Freckles are starting to show. Me gusta. 

Hey there,

Despite coming back in the South of France, the weather lately has been the same as the good old Netherlands and even though I boast in my old old swimming suit, I am freezing inside.

Today I wanted to talk about my skin and how it did get better. You could check the picture up there, but I’d have to warn you. It’s a lie. I’ve retouched it and removed the biggest scars. But it’s getting there.

And the funny thing with my skin getting better is that I can hardly tolerate the scars anymore.

 

It feels like since my face was basically the battle ground of a sebumic manifestation for years, I was used to have it look like shit and wouldn’t really care. But now that I see it getting better, I realize I have less tolerance for the scars and I just can’t wait for them to disappear out of my face (literally). Thing is, scars are gonna stick for a long, with no real guarantee they’ll go away. I can still more or less attenuate them under make up but let’s be honest, I am not living with foundation 24/24. Neither do I want to.

I wrote another post about selfies (not published yet) and how taking pictures allow you to create a bit of your reality in your self-image. Long story short, I’m trying to reconcile myself with what I look like and be an actor of my self-image. Constructing my appearance and having a say on how I’m seen; so I don’t feel like I’m just the poor victim of unflattering pictures taken once a year by other people (uh, pity of being the one who takes pictures, you won’t get a chance to have your picture taken as you’d take others).

Here’s the result then below. My skin doesn’t look that bad. But I can’t deal with letting the scars out there without raising the exposure or carefully attenuating them.
And it feels like cheating. I mean, make-up would have the same effect, but this ‘post-editing’ action guilts me.

I don’t really know what to do in the end. I don’t feel comfortable publishing this ‘corrected’ version of the picture. Or only accompanied with a long-ass justification as to why I did so.

Gotta love and cherish this ‘stay true to yourself’ and ‘be natural’ shitty mantra that doesn’t really work in these cases.

Nope, not gonna love the scars and nope, not gonna let them be a part of me. I see myself without them and this is the identity I want to convey. A face where freckles override the scars.

 

 

 

Putting some trust in myself

I need to take myself seriously. I’m now back and I’ve spent my week running everywhere. Yet, I can assure you it doesn’t feel like it and my mind highlights aggressively the moments I was sitting down. In addition to that, I’m back in an environment where food is low and noticed I haven’t been eating enough. It’s great for losing weight but going under 1200 calories just leaves me dizzy with no energy left. That’s how I felt yesterday and today; legs heavy, the mind disconnected. I just wanted to take a nap, and I did, I just felt even worse.

I need to get at least 1200 calories in that body. Doesn’t matter the weight I want to lose, I need fuel to do stuff.

 

And there’s things that I want to do. A whole lot of them. Ideas are big, now it’s up to me to do it or not. Luckily, it really doesn’t require anyone else and I can do most of the things on my own. So it’ll depend on if I get the guts to take the car for hours trip, bike/hike and then come back. It’s doable. I just really don’t want to mess up the car part. There’s no reasons but I want to be careful.

 

So I’m making sure I can have a reliable body which will not leave me energy-less, and maybe a good weather. This week is crappy for that, it’s gonna be storms only. But I’m still gonna try to go in between the rain. If I let the weather be an excuse, then I’ll never do anything. At least, it’s not cold, so it should be fine.

 

So yes, things are planned. I hope the body will follow the mind and will allow me to do what I want.

 

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