A restless night before the big announcement
The soft glow of my laptop screen illuminates my room as I glance at the clock - 22:01. Outside my window in Kristiansand, the mostly cloudy sky is dimming into night, and there's a gentle breeze rustling through the old oak tree I've watched grow for the past decade.
Today I did something that still feels surreal - I officially announced my sabbatical journey to the world through this blog. The response from friends and colleagues has been overwhelming. My phone hasn't stopped buzzing with notifications since I hit "publish" this morning.
I've spent the evening triple-checking my gear spread across the floor. The backpack I bought last month still has that new smell, and I keep wondering if 65 liters will be enough for 500 days. I've already repacked it four times today, each time removing something I probably won't need. Who knew deciding between two or three merino wool shirts could feel so momentous?
The weather forecast shows rain coming tomorrow morning. Typical Kristiansand - wanting to give me one last proper Norwegian goodbye. I should probably get some sleep, but my mind keeps racing with possibilities. After hours of research, I finally booked my first flight this evening - to Amsterdam on September 6th. It felt important to have at least that first step concrete, even if everything after is deliberately unplanned.
My old birch desk is already cleared except for my laptop and a coffee mug (empty now - I had to cut myself off at 18:00 or I'd never sleep). The walls are bare where my monitors used to be. I donated most of my plants to colleagues at the hospital, except for the small jade plant my mother gave me years ago - that's going to my neighbor Astrid to care for.
Looking at the forecast - 16°C now, dropping to 13°C overnight - I can't help wondering what temperatures I'll experience over the next 500 days. Will I miss these mild Norwegian summer nights when I'm somewhere sweltering? Probably.
I keep catching myself staring at the old family photo on my nightstand. It's the last thing to pack. Mom would have loved this adventure - she always said life was too short to wait for the perfect moment. Well, Mom, I'm finally taking your advice. 499 days to go. I should probably try to sleep now, even though I know I'll just lie here making mental checklists until midnight.
At least I've already set up my out-of-office email for work. That felt strangely final. "I will be away from the office until January 9, 2027. For urgent matters, please contact..."
- Writing that date made everything feel real.
Tomorrow is another day of preparations, and according to the forecast, I'll need my rain jacket for those last errands. But for now, I'm just sitting here, watching the clouds drift past my window, trying to commit every detail of this familiar view to memory.
Time for bed. The journey has begun, even if I haven't left home yet.