Severe case of butterflies

Some moments hit you in the chest, not like a punch, but like a kaleidoscope of butterflies bursting to life inside your ribcage. Your heart starts beating fast and light, and suddenly your brain is flooded, not with clarity, but with colour and movement and sound. It’s not panic. It’s something brighter. A kind of inner trembling that feels close to joy, but not calm enough to be called that.

That’s how I felt last week when I got the news. I’m to board the vessel MV Roland Oldendorff. The first leg of the journey will take me from Rotterdam to Baffin Island in the far north of Canada. It is a place I have only imagined, with rarefied light, vast stretches of sea ice, and waters that carry stories few people ever get to see up close.

Since then, my thoughts have refused to land.

There is only one week left before I board the ship. There is plenty to do. Lists to write. Tech to test. Clothes to sort. Gear to double-check and some essentials still to buy. The usual last-minute scurry of details that try to pull me back to earth.

But no matter what pep talks I give myself, I seem determine to stay aloft a little longer. The realisation that grounded planning is needed, hasn’t set in.

Today, I’m in my favourite café. Little Simz is playing in the background, and my cup of tea is going cold beside me. I’m letting my thoughts rise and scatter, dipping in and out of the lyrics, smiling at nothing. My head is full of whirling thoughts, and I’m not quite ready to come back down.