Coming Home

I have been thinking a lot about what happens when I come home.

The last time I went to rehabilitation, I rebuilt my body. Two weeks of steady training. I felt strong, almost high on the fact that my body could handle so much more than I had believed. When I came home, everything collapsed. Not because my body stopped working, but because everyday life returned in full force. So many decisions I had not had to think about inside the safe structure of the rehab center. So much noise. Relationships. Impressions. Everything at once.

I could not cope, and I concluded that I was the one who failed. It became a kind of personal defeat.

Now it is different.
This time it is not my body that has woken up first.
It is something else. More what is truly me, my essence.

The writing has returned.
The longing for the violin.
An inner movement that is not about performance, but about life.

It makes me happy.
And afraid.

Here I am protected and choose my stimuli myself. At home, the load is different. There is not only me. There is responsibility, daily life. Relationships that require presence. Conversations that matter. Silences that also matter. All the things that make life alive, but that also cost energy.

And then there is the practical side. Food. Groceries. Laundry. The dog.
Things that for others are just background noise, but for me often become a whole chain of decisions. What should I eat. When should I shop. Can I carry it. Can I cook it. Can I think it all the way through. And quite obviously, I cannot.

So I become exhausted.
Not by life.
But by everything arriving at the same time.

I did not come here to the Czech Republic to become healthier. Not even physically stronger. I came here to feel life inside me.
And now that I am beginning to feel it, the fear appears of losing what has just started to live.

When I lost my strength last time, it was painful.
If I lose that sparkle of life that comes from writing and music now, I lose something much deeper.

Because training is something I do.
The creative life is something I am.

The truth is that I cannot simply toughen up and develop a less sensitive nervous system.
I believe the solution is rather to make life simpler. Smaller, in a way. Not worse, just smaller.

I already know what costs the most.
Relationships without pauses.
Everyday logistics without margins.

And perhaps that is what is different this time.
That somewhere inside I know I will crash when I come home. That in some way it is inevitable.

At the same time, I think that this awareness creates preparedness. What I have found here is real.
But it is fragile, and I need to care for it gently.

Maybe if I plan my return home a little strategically, the crash can be softened into a slightly shaky landing.
Without anything breaking.

Well, well. As they said in the film I watched tonight: Everything will be all right in the end… if it’s not all right, then it’s not yet the end. (The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel)