The delicate balance between homesickness and wanderlust

Plage de Tahiti, Bretagne, France.

I am writing on the balcony of our home in Brittany, which I have converted into my workspace. From my vantage point, I can see outside through floor-to-ceiling windows and relax my eyes by watching the palm trees gently swaying in the breeze - PALM TREES! HELL YES! I feel a momentary nostalgia when thinking about November in Finland, and I have to check the Finnish weather - currently, it's -5°C there. In Brittany it's entirely possible that we won't see any sub-zero temperatures at winter. Thanks to the warming Gulf Stream, the temperature is a pleasant 14°C today.

More on these always-interesting weather matters later, but for now, I want to address emotions, or one specific unpleasant feeling, rather. I'm addressing it now, even though I might prefer to just let it be and focus on something concrete.

C'est what it is!

…with the help of this already established phrase, which also reflects our current level of French language proficiency, we often dismiss that quietly gnawing feeling that has become very familiar in recent months. There's not much you can do about it, and to be honest, I'm sure it's not too much worth thinking about.

Kimmo's temperament is very steady, whereas my "normal" range of emotions fluctuates smoothly from total euphoria to complete despair, sometimes within minutes. I'm writing from my perspective, of course, but in comparing feelings, this same emotion exists in Kimmo, and its intensity is roughly the same as mine – not very strong but constantly present. It's a vague and restless feeling. It eases with rationalization but doesn't completely disappear.

Breaking it down into parts helps a lot, though. This feeling can be called "Homesickness," although I hate that word for some reason. This feeling is a longing for something that is familiar, predictable, and stable. We simply miss things we are accustomed to, and it's not about the past being somehow better than the present. I can get over that feeling when I ask myself if I want to be someone who fears change and always stays in the comfort zone - the answer is easy!

I have moved frequently in my life. But now, we have practically switched from one world to another, from one reality to another. Almost every routine has been shattered, and now routines are formed in each new place individually, but we move forward before they lock in our thoughts. We have exchanged apparent stability (because nothing is truly stable) for constant impermanence, as a two-month time period doesn't really allow for settling down anywhere. It's clear that we just have to live with it if we continue living like this.

There's a lot of good in this lifestyle, in fact, everything about it is good, if you ask me six months ago. If you ask me now, I know a bit better. And I'm not stupid, I was prepared for that - expectations and reality don't really correlate much. We don't know if we'll return to Finland next year or settle in France permanently. Or who knows, maybe we'll travel around the world for the rest of our lives.

Settling down would be an easy solution to this feeling of detachment. In a permanent home, in an environment you've built yourself, everything is easier. But it would mean the return of that feeling that originally made us leave, the piercing sense that there is so much to experience in the world and that it's a waste to spend life within a few square kilometers, where each day repeats itself, and you move smoothly and safely through life on a autopilot. I already know that if or when we settle somewhere, we will surely miss this lifestyle.

When dealing with this feeling, it's especially important to remember that we have chosen to live this way. You can remind yourself that this is what you wanted, and often, it helps you remember why. However, I can only imagine the feelings of someone who is forced to leave their homeland and settle in a foreign country and culture.

Plage de Amiets, Bretagne, France

If we ignore this unpleasant emotional guest, things have gone well here. Mornings have started well before sunrise. The time here is an hour behind Finland, which is why Kimmo wakes up around six to make it to his morning meetings. I, on the other hand, have also woken up at the same time and, most often, excited to go shoot in the morning light. Hmmm…do I see a routine here…

I have searched the map for the place I want to photograph the night before, and in the morning, I've driven there while it's still dark to be there when the sun rises. Many mornings, I've sat in the car, staring through the windshield at the slowly brightening grayness, with the wipers lazily sweeping away the dripping rain. But on many mornings, I've also witnessed incredible sunrises, and waking up and going out has always been worth it.

Weather is one of the reasons why it was really nice to leave Finland. But even though it's dark and cold in Finland, we know nothing about rain there. Based on this three-week experience, I can confidently say that it rains a lot in Brittany. Here, it pours, several times, within an hour, and the sun can quite believably shine in between. If, for example, you're shooting at the beach and don't regularly look in other directions than where your camera is pointing, you might be caught by such a heavy rain shower that you don't have time to do anything, even though rain covers for your backpack and camera and a poncho for yourself are within arm's reach. This has been tested several times, and I'm not a slow person, but you just don't have time. If there's even a slight possibility of rain, it will definitely rain, your rain gear must be on when you step out the door.

It's not just rain that complicates photography here but also the wind. Even with a very stable tripod, on windier days, there's no hope of capturing longer exposures. It might not even be advisable to let go of the camera, even if it's securely attached to the tripod, as the entire setup might be blown away. In these challenging conditions, I have been photographing for example lighthouses, and there are plenty of them in Brittany. They are so interesting and numerous that I will surely write my own piece about them  - once I've photographed more than so far.

I wrote about the Ciara storm earlier, and now two weeks have passed. All over Brittany, efforts are still being made to efficiently repair the storm's damage. Repairing the aftermath will still take months. There are still areas where only the immediate road section has been cleared, and fallen tree trunks and massive branches pulled to the side of the road are awaiting further action. Strong winds are still prevalent here, and that's likely typical for this season.

It's obvious that France is an exciting country in many ways, not least because of the weather conditions. Nomad lifestyle is exciting (thankfully not just because of the changing weather conditions).