On impermanence, pride and petsitting

A postcard from the platform (letter 289)

Hello hello learn-it-all,

Greetings from den Haag, Netherlands. Today’s digital postcard comes to you from a train platform somewhere between “here” and “wherever is next.” I’m sharing this as a snapshot of movement, of a life lived in backpacks, of small moments that feel oddly special.

The photo above is of me two weeks ago, thumbs-upping my way through another Dutch station, carrying what looks like an entire sporting goods store on my back. Every time I move houses, I am like a nomadic turtle. My home strapped to me. Colorful and chaotic.

I wanted to share something more like a feeling this week. It’s a poem from my five months so far of bopping around the Netherlands and noticing. This is a little imprint of this season of pet-sitting, plan-filled sublets, and family stays.

~~~

On Impermanence, Pride, and Pet-Sitting

Pride
It feels loud 
Seen as a sin
To be self-righteous 
as extra peacock feathers
Pinned to a checkered fedora.

But I need pride to be louder than the doubts
The fear of defeat
The criticisms 
The unsolicited advice
The ideas from others that pull me.

People whisper that she looks lost 
That she needs help,
But this isn’t forever.

It’s impermanent just as life is. 
This word permanent—
It grinds gears
Because nothing is. 
That’s grim
Almost so factual, 
it’s nihilistic.
But people latch onto it 
for the sake of security—
A need to manage their fear
 
But me?
A pet sitter.

Some twentysomethings have babies. 
And I watch chickens.
Roaming in the field. 
Never knowing how one chicken’s head was decapitated
Or why the dog recoiled into a retracted behavior.
The dog might’ve killed the chicken, 
but no one will ever know.

She is swimming in the impermanence.

Never knowing the next time, if ever,
To pick this dog’s poo 
Or eat that chicken’s eggs 
Or hear the kind kitty’s motor pur
Or gasp at the condoms in the teenager’s sink drawer 
Or make sparkly water with this SodaStream
Or make milk foam with that instant frother
Or stumble upon a hidden bookcase full of sex erotica
Or borrow an e-bike with a baby seat attached
Or sleep in a Dutch library on a pile of pillows
Or walk past a ‘melk salon’ full of fresh cow milk.

I live out of my backpacks. 
And I am proud. 

I am proud because I used to outsource packing to others
The planning was too much.
Because the overwhelm of packing
Defeated my brain.
Before spring break
I’d wait until the last minute
Then beg my sister to do it with me.
Or before college
My brother’s girlfriend helped me
Convincing me to leave my mom jeans behind.
Or when leaving Hawaii,
Emily and Sara supporting the sorting of stuff.

I am proud because attachment to physical things runs in my family. 
My Polish grandparents passed over a decade ago
Their house is a storage unit. 

I am proud because every time before I move, I give things away 
Even if it’s just skinny socks and a spool of yarn.
Because the weather has changed 
And realistically, if that scarf starts, the project won’t end. 
And because it makes space,
And most importantly,
It takes kilos of weight off my scoliosis curved spine

I live out of backpacks.
And look like a gypsy
vagabonding around,
With sneakers strapped to the sides.
My beige bead with brown strings 
As a keychain hanging off the zipper
Of the rainbow Nylon Cotopaxi 
strapped across my chest
Reminding me of the festival in the Thai mountains 
The day I turned 29
Feeling accepted as I am—
Wild and free.
To now, receiving
Long stares of regal Dutch ladies lingering on me
“Is she homeless?” they think.
Yes she is. 

Because in this season she was sitting pets
And exploring places 
On a budget
Moving on from decision fatigue
Channeling fierce independence.
And realizing a traveler’s life is not romantic.
It’s exhilarating
Yet, exhausting.
I am proud of how I move. 
How I pack. How I let things go. 
How I squeeze the pulp of the temporary 
without needing to make it mean something permanent.

And now she is open,
Seeing where she’ll be held for a little while longer.
And where she’ll feel inspired to stay.

~~~

I hope this tiny postcard finds you wherever you are, whether it be nestled, wandering, overwhelmed, cozy, proud, or somewhere in between.

Here’s to living lightly, carrying only what matters, and letting the rest be beautifully impermanent.

With a backpack and a wave,

Jen

PS - in case you missed last week, I wrote a little reminder to slow down :)