This is a story of my friend Linda.

She has a house in the south of Sweden, and she lives in her own basement. Then she rents out the upper floors. She gets up at 3.45 every morning to be on time for her job at a restaurant. Right now she’s thinking about buying another house, to renovate and rent out. She’s a crazy person, really, in the best of ways. And actually the most hard working person I’ve ever met. Here are some photos of her fixing up her extra bike for me to use when I was visiting.

We met when we both lived in America, even though Linda is German. And then she moved here, to Sweden, a few years ago. She’s fluent in Swedish now, but we still speak English to each other out of habit. She has a dream about having a red house here, where she can rent out rooms and have a cafe and give people a place to feel at home. She had that vision and heard there was a lot of red houses in Sweden, so she decided to come here. She learned Swedish by being an au pair. Then she learned the hotel industry by going to Portugal for a bit and working at a hotel there. She went to Switzerland to do a school of baking. And she’s worked at a hotel restaurant here in the south of Sweden. She is a practical person like that, even with the big vision. She’s diligently collecting skills, putting the pieces together. And she’s already doing the things she wants to, by renting out the house she owns now and welcoming people there. It’s not the red house, yet, but she’s stepping into the things she’s dreaming about, bit by bit.

I went to visit Linda this summer, when I needed a place to rest. Disconnect from reality a bit. Her house is just by the train station in a small village, and I arrived while she was at work. Right inside the door there were a pair of slippers waiting. There was a post it note on them, saying that I should not get my feet cold. And then there were more post it notes. One note on the cupboard with a note guiding me to where there’s bowls and cutlery. Another on the fridge telling me to take food and ice cream. Other ones saying I can use the Wi-Fi, and the Netflix password, and that I should take a warm bath.

I kept all the post it notes. Took them off the fridge and wall and cupboards. They’re in my notebook now, bright yellow reminders.

I’m not naturally a very giving person, I think. I’m a bit better at loving through words and conversation. But even the parts we’re good at, we still need to practice, or at least be reminded of using. And we also learn love, from the people we surround ourselves with. It’s a lucky thing, a spoiled thing, that I get to spend time with people I learn from. I take and take. It makes me restless, almost. But I also learn. Hopefully absorb to give, or become.

We spent maybe most of our time painting the ceiling in her attic. White, a thin layer, so the pattern of the wood underneath could be seen through. And then we took breaks to put frozen pizza in the oven and eat it while watching The Office.

We went to the beach less than we had planned. It was a cold July. Humid, sometimes raining. But we did still go. And I went by myself a couple of times, after she’d gone to bed, just taking my own walks.

It’s so different what you need in different seasons. And this was a good trip, giving me exactly what I needed then. Love, pizza, something practical to do, and the sea.