Dear Aldis,

The Everyday is here. I don’t really know when it arrived. I guess it sneaked up on me as usual. I discovered it when I was heading into the city center earlier today. I found myself not thinking about the mountains anymore, not the particular colour scheme of the houses, nor the harbour with its whale safari boats. It came way too early. I didn’t feel ready, not ready with being amazed by the state of things. I therefore tried to force myself back to consciousness. I gave the mountains extra attention, stopped and looked at the blue and green rooftops and took an extra loop down to the harbour. But it’s hard to avoid it once it has arrived. You can be brought out of it, for seconds and moments, sometimes really long ones (if a moment can be long), but it’s still the basic state. Not that it always has to be bad. No, it’s just that it’s there for such a large part of one’s life, so the moments one may be left alone becomes something extra, something special. I would not be able to live without it, of course. The luxury of wishing for its absence, is only possible because of its self-evidence and stubbornness. It’s as if the everyday constantly sings that Swedish schlager song with the rubber ball.

I should say no when I know your mocking me.
But like a rubber ball I come back to you.
Like a ball I come back to you.
Like a ball I come back to you.
Ya ha ha ha.

But tomorrow I will leave it here in Reykjavik and take a car and drive north. New mountains, new colour schemes and new harbours. I’m packing warm clothes, boots and bikini. Wonderful combination.

I have a feeling that I understand you a bit better now. Now that I’ve been at your home. It’s like when you get to meet a friend’s parents for the first time, many things fall into place, get their origin and their logic. I have thought of you often during my first week here. It seems obvious that this place is a part of you.

Love,
Johanna