When I was younger, I anticipated and hoped for something more. I wasn’t sure what that something would be, but I could sense it somehow. It was there, right behind the horizon, and I had to find it. Then, like an ocean wave that has travelled the ocean to reach me, it would hit me and shake me and immerse me, and everything would be different. The ugliness and the pain that had been so heavy to carry would suddenly become light, so light that it would fly away at the first gust of wind.
Whatever it was, the notion would become more tangible during the sleepless, ever-bright summer nights we get here in Sweden. When drunk. When thinking of whoever I was in love with.
At some point the idea faded. It started to wither away when I had lived long enough to realize that everything wouldn’t be different the next year, the next country, the next job. But now, when I look back, I realize things really are different. There just wasn’t ever a powerful wave. It was a slow tide coming in through the fog.