Afternoon reflections and packing decisions

The clouds are hanging heavy over Kristiansand today, and I'm watching them roll in from my living room window. The weather app says thunderstorms are coming tonight - nature's farewell party, perhaps?

I've spent the last three hours organizing my life into piles: take, store, give away. It's fascinating how a life can be categorized so simply, yet each decision feels monumental. My trusty laptop and essential tech gear were easy choices, but other items are proving more challenging. Do I really need three different types of rain jackets? (The Norwegian in me says yes, the practical traveler says absolutely not.)

The old birch tree outside is swaying more vigorously now as the wind picks up. I've watched that tree through countless Norwegian seasons, and now someone else will track its changes while I'm gone. Strange how these ordinary things suddenly feel significant.

My colleague Maria from the hospital IT department stopped by earlier with a farewell gift - a compact power bank that she swears by for travel. We had coffee (my dwindling supply of beans from Tim Wendelboe), and she asked me the question everyone seems to be asking: "Why now?"

I still don't have a perfect answer. But watching the weather shift outside my window, I'm struck by how even the most familiar views can change in an instant. Maybe that's what this journey is about - learning to be comfortable with change, starting with leaving the comfort of my own four walls.

The forecast shows rain starting at 18:00. I should probably use these last dry hours to drop off some books at the library and handle a few more errands. 498 days suddenly feels both impossibly long and surprisingly short.

Tomorrow, I'll tackle the technical stuff - backing up my photos, setting up travel apps, making sure all my devices are ready for international use. For now, though, I'm just sitting here, watching the clouds gather over my city, trying to memorize the particular shade of grey that means rain is coming in Kristiansand.

It's strange how time feels different now that I'm counting down the days. Nine days until Amsterdam. 498 until I return. Every minute feels weightier somehow, more significant. Even this ordinary Thursday afternoon has taken on a strange, bittersweet quality.

I should probably start dinner before the rain hits. But I think I'll sit here a few minutes longer, just watching my city prepare for the storm.