A moment to breathe. At home. I've spent the spring and summer running and driving thousands of kilometers. I often miss home, even while traveling. Despite all the wonder, novelty, and beauty, I long for that feeling of being grounded, somewhere familiar and safe.

When I’m home for a while, I become restless. My mind starts craving a trip, somewhere else. Over time, I’ve been trying to learn that leaving isn’t always the best solution, even though it might feel like it in the moment. On a deeper level, I know that staying put and taking root is stronger—it’s what I truly need. Leaving is like a band-aid. A quick and easy relief, but not sustainable in the long run.

What makes me restless at home is the feeling that I should accomplish something. That something needs to happen for me to feel like I exist. I enjoy being busy, cleaning, crafting, creative projects—especially those—but none of it should exist just to make me feel valuable.

Simply being should be enough.

I’ve been learning the art of doing nothing. The impossibility of modern life. The idea that in the morning, after waking up, you can have breakfast and then simply move on to reading a book. Or stare at the clouds, following their movement through the window as you stretch out on the couch. Just quietly, without doing anything at the same time. As my aunt admirably said at our summer place when I asked what the plan for the day was: "It’s raining today, so I’m not going to do anything at all."

At first, doing nothing feels utterly impossible. A list of "undone" tasks springs to mind (a silly term, really; who decides what is undone or unaccomplished?). I needed to wash the windows—it's hard to see out of them. I needed to call the insurance company. I needed to contest a parking ticket. I needed to send an email.

But as I slowly let time pass, allowing thoughts to come and go, the restlessness eventually calms down. It curls up patiently in the corner, waiting quietly.

The midsummer period has gone by slowly and peacefully. Mostly doing nothing. It’s been warm enough to slow down the pace. The heat doesn’t agree with me.

E and I went to the fells at night to watch the midnight sun. The light in the middle of the night is still bewildering. My internal clock gets completely mixed up. If you don’t hold on too tightly to it, getting lost in that confusion is quite pleasant. Fatigue fades easily, and you forget that night even exists. I enjoy summer nights.

I was sure there would be others in the fells. I thought that spending the midnight sun in the best place to see it would be part of the midsummer experience for many. In the fells, very close to the fell center. I was wrong. It was just the two of us. The silence was palpable, if you didn’t count the buzzing of the rapidly increasing mosquitoes. Even the wind was quiet, in honor of midsummer.

The following evening, we spent time with a small group of friends—what we call our Lapland family—at our home village. We enjoyed food, sauna, swimming, and each other’s company. Laughing and savoring the moments. Doing hardly anything at all.