Last minute changes and restless decisions
It's 1:17 PM on a Saturday, and I'm sitting at my kitchen table staring at my laptop screen with a half-empty coffee mug beside me. The apartment is quiet except for the gentle hum of the refrigerator and the occasional car passing by outside. Everything is packed, organized, and ready for my departure next week.
And that's exactly the problem.
I'm feeling restless here in Kristiansand. The September 6th flight suddenly feels too far away. Maybe I should look into changing my ticket to leave earlier? I'm ready for this adventure to begin...
After staring at the KLM website for twenty minutes, I've done it. My flight is now booked for Tuesday, September 2nd. That's just three days from now. My stomach does a little flip every time I think about it.
Why wait when everything is ready? My backpack sits by the door, fully packed. The apartment is clean. All the administrative tasks are complete. The handover at work is done. There's nothing holding me here except... fear, maybe? The comfort of the familiar? Whatever it is, I need to push past it.
I've spent the morning reading about San Francisco, for some reason. The weather there seems perfect right now - forecasts showing temperatures between 15-25°C over the next week, mostly sunny skies. I'm not planning to visit there anytime soon, but I find myself researching random destinations lately. It's like my mind is already traveling while my body waits impatiently in Kristiansand.
The thought of being in Amsterdam in just three days makes me both excited and terrified. I'll be walking along canals, navigating tram systems, and ordering coffee in a place where everything is new. The trees there will be different from the ones outside my window now. The air will smell different. The light will fall differently on the buildings.
I've decided to leave a small box of things with my neighbor Astrid - items I might want later but don't need to carry now. She stopped by earlier and noticed my restlessness immediately.
"You look like you're about to jump out of your skin," she said, accepting the spare key I handed her.
"I changed my flight," I admitted. "I'm leaving Tuesday."
She wasn't surprised at all. "I wondered how long you'd last once everything was packed."
She knows me too well.
I've made a few last-minute decisions today:
- I'm taking the watch after all. The romantic notion of living without time constraints has given way to practicality. But I'm putting it in my backpack, not on my wrist.
- I've reduced my coffee supply to just 250 grams. It's symbolic more than practical now.
- I've canceled my phone plan effective Tuesday instead of next Saturday.
The countdown has accelerated. Three days. 72 hours. 4,320 minutes.
I need to call my mother this afternoon to let her know about the change of plans. She'll understand. She's always said I get antsy when I stay in one place too long.
The apartment feels different now that I've made this decision. It's already becoming a memory rather than my home. I'm looking at everything through the lens of "this is the last Saturday I'll spend here for 500 days."
The birch tree outside my window is swaying slightly in the breeze. I wonder what trees I'll be looking at this time next week.
496 days to go, and now just 3 days until takeoff. The journey is about to begin, ready or not.