Scotland Will Be Enough

For weeks, I’ve felt this urge to go to Norway.

The landscapes. The isolation. The magnitude of it.
I think I imagined that if I went far enough, deep enough, I might finally find whatever it is I’ve been chasing — or maybe just be far enough from everything to hear myself clearly.

But something’s shifted.

It’s not that Norway isn’t beautiful — it’s that the push to get there suddenly feels out of sync with the pull inside me now.

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I realized that what I’m really looking for isn’t scale — it’s space.
Not distance — but depth.

And the truth is… two weeks wouldn’t be enough for Norway. Not in the way I’d want to experience it. I’d be rushing. Chasing. Pushing myself through ferry timetables and foreign roads just to say I did it. Just to feel something.

But that’s not what I need.

What I need is something slower. Something softer. Something that lets me exhale.

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So I’m going to Scotland.

And the moment I made that decision, my whole body softened.

It still has the wildness. The quiet. The kind of landscapes that stir something ancient in me.
But it also comes with flexibility. With freedom. With trust.
If something doesn’t feel right, I can come home. If I want to stay longer in one place, I can.
There’s no need to prove anything. Just be present to it.

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There’s also a small opportunity to see my cousin along the way.
We don’t talk often, but I do like him. It’s one of those optional threads — one I don’t need to force, but could be nice to follow if it feels good in the moment.
And I guess that’s the theme now: not forcing anything.

Not intensity.
Not isolation.
Not even healing.

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Just letting this trip be what it is. A gentle return to myself.
A deepening of trust — in me, in my van, in life.
And maybe that’s the real adventure after all.

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