Dear future hubster

Dear future hubster, in times when I just arrived somewhere, or just came back from somewhere, but either way am culture shocked, tired or anxious for any reason (and reasons are many), and have lots of stuff to do that I really don't want to do, maybe want it to be done but not exactly doing it but know I have to and know I will, when I know you want to help me but I know you don't know how, and I know I'm not helping you help me, because I want solutions but I don't want you to provide them, and I probably don't want you having to deal with them, basically, when I'm being a breathing hissy fit with the attitude of a 3 months-old, please know that I don't enjoy being that version of myself. Know that it will pass. And know that the best you can do is just stick around, be there, and hold my hand time and again. The rock star me will very quietly, but very deeply appreciate that.

Dear future hubster, as an addition or elaboration or continuation of the "how friends happen to you" theory picks up where we left off: that we do choose to put in the time and effort for those accidental friendships to live on. Otherwise they will be no more than a friend fling, a could have been, a "what a great person" moment. We need to make memories. We need to have experiences together. A long car ride is an experience, be it between Luxembourg and Fehérvár or between Gisenyi and Kigali. Entebbe and Jinja. Lucca and Luzern. A long walk is an experience, be it between Logroño and Nájera or between Karanga and Barafu. Long nights of board games are an experience, long afternoons of making food are an experience, long days of listening to music, watching the Olympics and discussing shot-putting are experiences. Looking and sunsets and sunrises and storms and rainbows together. Going to see Tour de France hungover in some godforsaken village. Attracting a...

Dear future hubster, when the Saturday night is a little chillier, and we don't leave all the windows open, and as a result, on Sunday morning we don't wake up neither to the church bells ringing from 7 on, nor to the neighbour's dog's sun salutations, but lazy around in bed because it's Sunday, because I gave myself the morning off from dissertation misery and you can't work in the garden in this heat anyway - those mornings be prepared to me rolling over, with a mild kick to your shin, because my spatial awareness is not very well developed, and expect me to tickle your collarbone and mumble to your shoulders. Probably not in English, but that doesn't matter, you would know that I'm mumbling something about breakfast and coffee, but you would also know that I don't want you to go downstairs and make it, nor do I want to go downstairs and make it, it's but an acknowledgement that mornings, breakfast and coffee somehow go together.  Those ar...

Dear future hubster, during our latest future viewing session with my Senior Talent Acquisition Advisor we concluded that you probably have an engineering background, sport a tattoo or two, and would enjoy taking care of the aubergines in our little vegetable garden when you're working from your home office. You are predicted to appreciate my Kakaoschnecke and give killer back massages. And would join us on the beach for a play of any logic or strategy game. There was no mention of guitar skills or curliness of hair.

Dear future hubster, those long solo drives (you know, the ones where you sing along to Adele and cry over Harry Styles and even give some credit to Ed Sheeran) can be an analogy to life, almost too obvious. Because what is happening when your cross half the continent? You are somewhere and want to get somewhere else. You know what you have to do, and confident you can do it. You also know that some parts of it are going to be ugly, or hard, or upsetting, occasionally even dangerous. You're also aware, especially if you've had similar experiences before, that you may not always enjoy it. You know that there may be events that you can't predict or prevent, and that they may change the course of your entire journey.  And if you're doing it right, there comes a moment when you realise that you're going through lovely landscapes, and although you may be sweaty and stinky and slightly dehydrated and over-caffeinated, that moment is all that matters. You know where...