That Small-Town Feel.

I have been dreaming of the small-town feel for — quite sometime now. The kind of feeling you get when you know you belong to a tight-knit community. You have local stores, but the first thing close to a mall or shopping centre is a town over. I have often dreamt of leaving my boring town of W (to spare the pronunciation issues) to spend a summer writing in Portugal. In the town of Vieira de Leiria. Or ... maybe spend a holiday or move permanently to a town like Salem in Massachusetts.

Salem is the kind of town that feels small enough for people to recognize you at the local bakery and high school, but not too small so not everyone knows your dating history. Or, better yet, so the dating pool isn't too restricted. Unfortunately for Salem, I have set my sight on England since the day I bought my first Harry Potter book. Before, J.K. Rowling ended up in rural waters due to her problematic views. That's putting it mildly.

England, for me, feels like a third home. Portugal is the second to the country I was born in: Belgium. I have always wanted to move to England, start my writing career and publish books. Escaping to a small town like Rye or maybe somewhere in Scotland, to finish my manuscript. Alas, my dreams were often postponed. If it weren't for the dumb decisions I made back in my youth, I would probably be close to selling my first book by now. But my life has been stuck at a crossroads for a while now. I have been dealing with the changes brought on by my recent (only recent by a year or so) diagnosis of Autism. With that came a diagnosis of ADHD and, the least surprising of all, a diagnosis of GAD or Generalized Anxiety Disorder. Which means that the early dream of getting that creative writing degree and English Lit degree in Leeds was a bust. Not to mention the dream of even living in England. Perhaps the bustling City of London to start and then gradually move out of the city to live in a small town. Bringing my laptop with me to a local pub or café and right away on the damn device while sipping, what may be the third, cup of coffee. Racking up a bill that may be close to at least twenty Euros before calling it a day and going back home for a soak in the bathtub, preferably with warm water and a lavender coconut bath soap. Only to heat up a meal in the microwave and watch another true-crime documentary.

Perhaps, I'd be sobbing into a glass of red wine, having a pity party and swiping men left and right on OkCupid or Tinder. Only to end up with anyone but the guy I swiped right not a moment earlier, and to be met with a slew of inappropriate and downright sad opening lines. Or the worst opening yet, a dry hello, how are you. Going to bed in a grandmotherly-styled floral bed at least eleven o'clock at night. Waking up to the sound of my alarm, on my smartphone (which is not an Apple iPhone by the way) at eight in the morning. Followed by a quick, below five minutes shower, ending with me in my clothes or sans shower and in a bathrobe with cute pyjamas underneath and fuzzy slippers, at the breakfast table. Bowl of cereal and must-have morning fuel: coffee.

The day then starts by probably doing the saddest but most enjoyable thing ever: word search puzzles. Before getting dressed and checking my emails. Followed by a day of writing and research.

Papers and notes scattered around me and on the couch. No way in hell I would sit my ass on an uncomfortable wooden chair. A pen or pencil, maybe a marker, behind my ear. A pen in my hand. Literary agent and best friend on speed dial to cry and complain to about the tenth mistake I will make that day in regard to the couple in the manuscript.

Social media? Non-existent for the day. But, friends and family are a must. So, I would probably update them in an email or phone call.

Yet — W doesn't have that small-town feel at all. Sure, my desk is as messy as my brain. I'm currently writing what is undoubtedly the messiest blog post in the history of this blog. But, it's a fair start to what will be a surprising journey. Although English isn't my mother language, and in no way would I be able to travel across an ocean, let alone a teeny tiny pond by myself, unless heavily sedated by alcohol or calming medication. Maybe a combination of calming medication and a meditation podcast. Just because mixing alcohol and medication isn't a good thing. At all. I wouldn't risk it either if I was truly honest.

No, I have been living quietly and rather secluded in the town of W. Still living at home and stuck with an internship that makes me either exhausted or feel dumber than I truly am. I have begun to give up my dream of writing books and settled on a blogging career. Maybe even being an online influencer. Gosh, I'm not even that pretty or have the means to be an influencer. But, we all start somewhere. And I chose, to finally start my own journey. In W. With this blog. I know I have a long way to go before I even make it into the big pond of bloggers out there. I may never reach the big pond, but ... I believe.

And I know that as a new blogger on the scene, exposure means everything!

Whether it's locally or globally. W, never felt like my home to begin with. But it's a place where I feel comfortable. It's where I was raised. So in a way, I owe it to W to start my journey here.