Where the dreamers go.

"If your world doesn't allow you to dream, move to one where you can."

I stopped dreaming new dreams in the country where I was born 59 years earlier. I had lost too much. My heart was broken. My spirit was heavy. My mind wouldn’t rest, whispering around the clock about what I should be doing. I knew one thing for certain: I had to get away.

At the time, it seemed logical to aim for a first-world country where I could eventually become a citizen, get a passport, and travel more freely to the States and Australia. But underneath that practicality lay a deeper ache — a yearning to start again. To reawaken what had gone quiet inside me.

“We keep moving forward, opening new doors, and doing new things, because we’re curious, and curiosity keeps leading us down new paths.” — Walt Disney

So I chose to move forward.

My father, may he rest in peace, was the one who taught me how to be curious. To ask questions. To seek answers. To learn as much as possible about as many things as I could. He encouraged me to be brave — to take risks — and to never live in a way that would leave me regretting the things I didn’t try.

He never suggested I move countries in the process. But the music he loved planted something inside me from the time I was a wee girl. Songs that spoke to my European roots stirred dreams of places I’d never been, but somehow always felt I knew.

When Michael Schumacher would cross the Formula One finish line and the Italian anthem rang out, my heart would flutter. So when I met a man from Modena, Italy, I wasn’t afraid to go visit. My father didn’t stop me either — he just said, “Keep enough cash in your purse for a getaway taxi.” Bless his soul.

I’ll never forget that first breath-stealing moment in Venice. Gennaro and I had just stepped out onto the Grand Canal, and I immediately wanted to share it with my father. I called him and described everything I could see, knowing he was blind. He simply said, “See Venice and die.”

That’s exactly how I felt: overwhelmed by beauty before I’d even seen it all.

Two weeks in Italy changed me forever. The wanderer in me was born. Mystery and magic took hold of my dreaming, thinking, and feeling.

When no one knows you — when you don’t understand the language — you’re left with yourself. For yourself. By yourself. That’s when a quiet transformation begins: the shedding of old layers. A rebirth.

“I can’t think of anything that excites a greater sense of childlike wonder than to be in a country where you are ignorant of almost everything.” (Bill Bryson)

Trying to speak Italian but falling back on German, Gennaro and I had the most glorious time. I came home a different woman — one unafraid to show herself to the world.

While there, I discovered my secret wanderlust — a longing to cross oceans, to walk cobbled streets, to trace the worn edges of ancient ruins. To uncover more of myself in unfamiliar places.

I brought home all the little pieces of me I found over those two weeks. A Boere-meisie now infused with bohemian, gypsy, and hippie threads. A deep love for history. A fierce passion for telling its stories.

“We leave something of ourselves behind when we leave a place, we stay there, even though we go away. And there are things in us that we can find again only by going back there.” (Pascal Mercier)

My mind had opened wider than ever before. My ears were tuned to hear the softest whispers. My eyes ready to see what was not yet visible. And my third eye? Let’s just say she’s never been accused of laziness.

I spent my childhood days in a quiet seaside village, living by the sun, loving by the moon, and dancing with the stars. The older I got, the more I longed for the stillness of my childhood — the gentle rhythm of slow living. Even the ocean’s roar gave way to a softer pull — rivers, creeks, quiet waters.

I began dreaming of daily walks to the market. Of greeting the butcher, the baker, and perhaps the candlestick maker along the way.

And then I heard it.

“Ireland pulls at me — I can hear it calling to my soul.”

The whisper of green became a call I couldn’t ignore. I decided Ireland would be home to my soul for at least six years. I packed my bags and was ready to cross the seven seas.

I had no idea just how deeply this decision would change my life.

“Ireland has always been the home of the dreamer, the poet, and the storyteller.” — Jordan Richard

I was finally moving to a world where I could dream again - but I didn’t know it then.