Note: I wrote this in June 2015 and never hit publish. It remains unfinished, but I feel the little that is written has importance, at least to me.
I’m not ready to leave. That’s pretty much the singular thought I have with one day left in Iceland. When I visited last year I felt a similar compulsion to stay, but attributed that feeling to typical post-vacation nostalgia. Yet that feeling lingered, giving me the impression that I’d left my heart on these black sandy shores. It’s no surprise that after months of closing my eyes to find Iceland in my imagination I returned here in less than a year’s time.
I’m finally ready to admit that my heart is in Iceland, whether it’s practical, convenient, smart or any other adjective that would describe being an accountant.
There are good reasons why I’m so drawn here, and why it’s painful for me to see images of the country when I’m not physically present on this volcanic island. They include the people, who have made me feel beyond welcomed despite my gruff American exterior. Of course a lot of the draw is the landscape, a literal representation of the toughness of Iceland’s inhabitants. I could go on and on.
The other reasons are less tangible. I can only really describe the way it feels when my plane’s wheels touch the ground in Keflavík. It’s a lifting of the spirit, an opening of the heart, and a sudden churning in my brain of creative inspiration. It’s not anything that I can forcefully replicate, nor do I believe I should try.
Despite all this, I am going home. I know I shouldn’t be, but it’s happening. The most I can hope for is to return someday, hopefully soon. After all, I can’t survive separated from my heart too long.