Writing

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Work desk

I am writing this journal with a year’s delay. In other words, on May 7, 2024, I am writing about events that took place in May 2023. I don't know why but it's not easy. Every day I ask myself to, please, write your travel journal if you don’t mind. Yet day by day, I postpone the writing a with the famous excuse: who is even interested in this rubbish?

However, there is something intriguing about this journey down memory lane. I have to recall all sorts of details that have long been stored away—what camping spot did I use on the way from France to Germany? Did I travel from Clermont-Ferrand to the France-Germany border in one day or in two? What did I see along the way? How did I feel? Who did I meet? Was there any meaningful encounter or anecdote, what were the sights, the smells, what was the weather like? And the one question that is always rolling around in my time tunnel, whether it's on the other side of the tunnel or right here close by, is always, who am I? Am I an Israeli? Am I British? Am I Jewish? Am I a woman? Am I a lesbian? Am I someone? Am I no one?

We have already established that the purpose of this journey is to embark on a trip that will somehow help me determine self-definition, and it seems that this definition might somehow be created from the interaction between me and my everyday experiences against the changing backdrops of my journey. Here I stop by a lake as flat as a mirror, and there I shop at a local supermarket where I buy a buttery croissant that I absolutely shouldn't eat, but who gives a shit about cholesterol at this point in time; Hey, right now I am realizing THE dream, MY dream. So how do I really feel about the most photogenic lake that reflects with pristine clarity the cloudy sky above and the green trees and shrubs surrounding it? Like a million dollars or like a lost little piece of nothing sitting next to a big puddle? Is what I feel really how I feel, or is it what I am telling myself I should feel as a cool breeze kisses my cheek and rakes its fingers through my hair? I have no idea. What I do know is that the croissant is absolutely delicious.

I don’t like to write. I write because after I write, I feel that I’ve accomplished something and I feel better about myself. But usually, just the thought of opening a digital page and the need to choose the right opening word drains all energy from me—one of my more limited resources. But it has to be done. I’ve been told that writing is something I know how to do. I guess this means I must write. Those same entities also said that writing is healing, perhaps; that writing might be a way to untangle the many knots in my belly before these symptoms turn into a terminal disease.

In an ultrasound check that I underwent no long ago, I found that my liver is not enlarged but there is a focal lesion in the right lobe about 1 cm long or wide in size. Maybe a Hemangioma. The bile ducts are not dilated. My gallbladder has normal walls with no evidence of stones or signs of inflammation. The pancreas is showing no focal abnormalities. No enlarged lymph nodes are demonstrated in the Retroperitoneum. The spleen has a uniform texture, and the right kidney is of normal size. Its Parenchyma is preserved. There is no dilation of the collecting system. No processes were detected. No stones found. The same applies to the left kidney. No pathological findings in the adrenal area. The bladder has normal capacity, and its walls are smooth. In summary: as described, the knots are likely coming undone, and as of now there are no pathological findings.

So? What Have I Discovered So Far?

1. **Facing Fear**: During my travels I’ve realized that I do things even when I’m incredibly afraid of them. So, I am brave. When I feel intense fear, my first instinct is to try not to feel anything. Most of all I notice how very hard I try not to be afraid. But at the same time I'm always afraid, and somehow breathing helps. When I breath, for some mysterious reason I hear a distant voice commanding: "Be afraid." It's only then that I relax those knots in my belly and this weird trembling starts at the pit of my stomach and works its way up right to the crown of my head. My whole body is tingling and shivering and that, my friends, is the Energy of Fear.

Over time I’ve realized that when I learn something new, something that has to do with my body, I can change and when I change, just a tiny bit, things work out. So instead of trying to suppress my fear with various sophisticated methods, I embrace it. I let my body tremble with fear and step into the event or situation that scares me the most trusting myself to know how to get through it with flying colors.

2. **Relationships**: I’ve discovered that I don’t particularly like people, regardless of whether they are Israeli, German, Danish, French or Martians. However, I do enjoy flashing my best smiles around to receive positive response or help, but I don’t want anyone to think that we are now together forever. In parking lots, I look for a spot farthest from the center of activity, especially when there are babies, children and teenagers around. I prefer having  elderly neighbors with dogs rather than young couples, whether they are before or after the reproduction process. It’s not that old people don’t have sex lives—far from it—but for them, making out or brewing a fine cup of tea or coffee in the morning holds the same importance. Therefore, near old folks with one or two dogs, everything is calmer and, for me, much nicer.

3. **Dislike for Cities**: In my self-discovery journey, I’ve realized that I hate, really hate, the city. Since its invention, the city has been a stronghold for the downtrodden, of Les Miserables. True, Copenhagen (in this journal I haven’t yet reached that chapter, but don’t worry, I’ll get there soon) is indeed beautiful, and its aesthetics almost make it part of nature. However, even there, there are people living in misery. Although they receive a nice pension from the state, they are still wretched. I don’t know; in forests, in fields, along streams and rivers, among trees, bushes, flowers, and animals, there is no such misery, and I prefer not to see or smell the repugnant scent of human ugliness.

4. **Love for Beds**: Most of all, I’ve discovered how much I love certain beds— not soft and old ones, but new ones with hard mattresses, like the one I have in my van. From the moment I wake up, I kinda look forward to the moment I return to my wonderful bed. I love that moment when I get into bed and the day is over, when all muscles and joints relax and sink into perfect curves, when my body is balanced, when my hands hold a book, and that same sentence is read over and over again. My eyelids stay open for shorter and shorter periods of time and then my hand reaches for the night lamp switch, and I plunge into comfy darkness. I turn to my left side, pressing the corner of the pillow into the gap between my shoulder and my neck, sigh deeply, and until the next awakening, I am no longer there.

### So, What Have I Discovered?

I’ve discovered that I most enjoy not being.