We are back in the Netherlands, and it feels good. Really good. Seeing friends and family again, hugging people we love, catching up without screens in between. There is warmth in that, and gratitude too. At the same time, being here confronts us with how deeply we have grown into life on the boat and everything that comes with it.

We have become used to living outside. To space. To wide views and endless horizons. To sunsets that seem to last forever. Here, life happens much more indoors. Walls close in faster. The sky feels lower. In Greece there is always something to look at, water, light, movement. It is simply beautiful. The air feels cleaner too. Or maybe it actually is. The funny thing is that since arriving here, Philou has a cold. I feel a bit stuffy myself. On board we never have that. Small things, but they stand out immediately.

Then there are the details you only notice once you have lived differently for a while. Standing at a metro station and seeing warnings about pickpocketing. On the boat we usually leave everything open when we are there. Even alongside the quay, anyone could step inside. I also notice that I pay more attention when Philou walks somewhere on her own here. In Greece I hardly think about it. I know where she goes, she does nothing wild, and people are exceptionally kind and caring towards children.

And then the costs. Wow. Everything feels expensive. Prices seem to have doubled. We used to love eating out, but here it just does not feel fun anymore. Not because we cannot afford it, but because you have to want it. Five euros for a coffee. Morally it just does not sit right with me. It creates a barrier to enjoying those small pleasures. I will still do it sometimes, of course, but it is a choice.

What also strikes me is the tone of conversations. There is a lot of fear. Talk about emergency supplies in case war breaks out. A feeling that everyone has to look after themselves. Can you take care of yourself, that is the underlying question. In Greece there is much more of a community feeling. We look after each other. We will manage together. Maybe that is naive. They are certainly not being prepared for these scenarios by the government. But there is a softness in that way of living that feels nourishing.

Another difference is how regulated everything is here. Rules everywhere. With so many people living so close together, it probably cannot be any other way. Still, I think of a beautiful procession we saw in Greece, where huge illuminated wish balloons were released into the sky. In the Netherlands that would be unthinkable. No permit, no chance. There it simply happened. The fire brigade was present, but there was trust. It was loose and human and very beautiful. If you love rules, the Netherlands is a great place to be. But the freedom and space you feel when they are less dominant is incredibly pleasant.

When people ask how we are doing, I often say that we live more in a bubble there. And maybe in these times, that is exactly what makes it so nice. It is not that I do not like the Netherlands. It is my motherland. I want Philou to know it, to feel it, to understand how life works here. But when I wake up in the morning and see that grey veil hanging over everything, I miss the Greek sun. When I check the temperatures and see eighteen degrees there, and a photo appears of someone in shorts under a bright sky, the contrast feels huge. As if a door has been opened that might not fully close again.

We are not struggling. But we are thinking a lot. Could we still return to that busy, overstimulating world, with a climate that simply does not compare to what we have experienced. It feels as if our glasses have been taken off and we now see the same world differently. A world we know well. A world that is not wrong. Just different.

The beautiful thing is that we have a choice. Over the coming year we will explore what the next step might be. There is a very real chance that it will be in a warmer climate, in a smaller scale environment, with more space. Not only physical space, but emotional space too. Where exactly that will be, we do not know yet.

For now, we are enjoying every appointment, every meeting, every moment with friends and family. Today we see more loved ones. We are looking forward to the holidays, which feels genuinely good. This is not complaining. It is observing. And noticing how much is different. Outside of us, and maybe even more interesting, inside of us.

All part of a personal journey that may have started long before we realised it.

Some doors, once opened, gently change how you see everything.

Written by: Mirjam