People think what I’m doing is brave.

I’m never entirely sure what to do with that.

I can see why it might look that way from the outside.

I live in a van. I’m travelling around Europe. I’ve changed the way I work, and I’m trying to build something that allows me to keep living like this.

There’s a fair amount of uncertainty involved.

But from where I’m sitting, it doesn’t feel particularly heroic.

Most of the time, it just feels like my life.

I should probably explain that I liked my old life.

I wasn’t miserable. I didn’t hate everything about it. I had a good life, people I love and work I enjoyed.

I just became curious about what a different version might look like.

So I decided to find out.

During the day, I’m usually quite confident about the whole thing.

I like waking up somewhere new. I like being able to decide where to go next. I like having time to train, write, work on my projects and go for a walk.

I like the life I’m trying to create.

At four in the morning, however, I sometimes have a very different opinion.

I’ll wake up because I need to pee.

For reasons that remain unclear, my brain takes this as an invitation to conduct a full strategic review of my existence.

What if this doesn’t work?

What if I don’t earn enough?

What if none of the projects go anywhere?

What exactly am I doing?

At four in the morning, everything seems like a terrible idea.

By breakfast, I’m usually fine again.

I’ll have some coffee, look outside, think about what I want to do that day and remember that I actually enjoy all of this.

Nothing significant has changed.

It’s just daylight now.

There are other contradictions.

I regularly say that I need to find work.

A recruiter recently sent me a message on LinkedIn.

I dismissed the notification without reading it.

Then I complained to a friend that people should really leave me alone.

She’s not wrong.

I suppose this is the part people don’t see when they call it brave.

The ordinary days. The small worries. The uncertainty about money and work. The amount of time spent looking for a shower, doing laundry or trying to find somewhere decent to park.

There are beautiful beaches and sunsets too, of course.

Quite a few of those, actually.

And I’m happy I’m here.

I don’t think bravery is necessarily the wrong word. It just feels like a word that describes what I’m doing from the outside better than what it feels like from the inside.

Most days, I’m confident this was a good decision.

Other days, I’m not so sure.

Sometimes both happen before lunch.

I’m trying something. I like most of it. I don’t know yet whether all of it will work.

Ask me again after breakfast.