Hi, Sanna here!

One of those homeless traveling people with a Macbook and an existential crisis. Currently in Italy.

Reach me at sannastefansson@gmail.com

A few words on home (and commitments)

A few words on home (and commitments)

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As I kid, I called every place I visited home. An annoyingly precocious kid, nomad since I was old enough to walk. You could put me in a barn and say “you live here now”. I would move a bit of hay out of the way and declare it home. The older I got, the easiness of calling a place home was pushed aside for another feeling. Restlessness. Any place was home, no place was home. It was all temporary. Commitment was so foreign to me that I on some days couldn't even decide where to sit at a restaurant. Picking a seat was SUCH A BIG COMMITMENT.

Yeah, it sounds a bit insane when you write it down.

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Some people have clearly defined roots. Home is where they grew up, something I can't even explain in one sentence. Or home might be where their family is. My family, friends included, are spread out all over the country and the world, although they are always a Facebook message away. And of course, home is where they are living. I've never owned an apartment, and as for the belongings I'm not carrying with me, they fit in four boxes and a suitcase.

I could totally see myself living here, for example (Jungle Fish, Bali).

That being said, this past year has changed things. Removing most of the commitments I used to have, like my shared apartment, most of my stuff, subscriptions, the safety of a job, has made me more content. Leaving enough space in my mind to come to terms with real commitments. They do no longer make me want to run away and hide in a corner, hyperventilating. And I've realised I do want a home base. A place where I keep my ugly comfy pants, an amazing coffee machine and an internet connection that never fails me. You know, the fundamentals of life. Being able to host friends, especially those who have so generously hosted me, is also high on my list of aspirations.

This does not mean not travelling. In my dream scenario, I would be splitting my time in half between travelling and home. Three months home, three months wherever I feel like.

Gloria Steinem says it so well:

"I can go on the road—because I can come home. I come home—because I’m free to leave. Each way of being is more valued in the presence of the other."

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I’ve just embarked on this freelancing, location independent life, and even though I have enough work to keep me going, for the time being, I have yet to define what I want my business to look like. My focus now is on that and enjoying the freedom. The perfect home base is something in a distant future. Maybe in a year. Maybe five. Also, where this perfect place would be, I have no clue. Maybe Portugal. Maybe Italy. Maybe the U.S.

And I'm pretty damn excited about all of it.

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