Working as a nomad for HSP's

Where do I begin? I’m sitting in Madrid, in my brand-new hostel by a big window, overlooking a busy crossing. I feel alive. I’ve escaped Busot. Finally made it to Madrid — not just the city, but this moment in my life. And I feel free. It reminds me of that time I took a bus out of Orbost headed for Sydney, guided only by the stars. This time, it wasn’t the stars — but a beautiful moment of connection. A game of chess with a stranger on the train from Alicante to Madrid. That morning started with being dropped off at the station by my host’s ex-boyfriend. C had flown back home — her mother was ill and in the hospital. After she left, I had the house to myself for one day. Then the ex returned, and with him, the heavy energy came back too. TV. Stagnation. I felt the fog, the weight of not-moving, even as everything around me shifted. But I moved anyway. Torn between going to Finland and facing a dynamic with my own ex… or heading to Asturias (why did no one ever tell me how beautiful it...

I walked out after checking into my pod hostel in Madrid — tired, hungry, and craving a soul food hamburger. But I didn’t want chain food. So I passed the Burger King and McDonald’s on the main road and kept walking. Looking around at the smaller shops, I spotted a place called Dumpling King. It looked fun, so I headed over. But inside, it was a scattered hall with big random tables. It felt chaotic. I turned to leave. Then the man shouted, “Ni Hao!” I paused. “One table, please,” I said. He looked confused — not used to solo guests — but cleared a spot for me at the front table. It was messy, disorganized. Familiar. I plugged in my charger. It reminded me of home in Suriname — not neat, but real. Two little boys were running around, eating food off the floor, brushing too close to my space while I watched a video on manifesting wealth — how to focus my energy after the rush. As I ate and watched, I centered myself. I started dreaming. A down payment on my Harley 900cc — €160K. Could I...

Learning to Trust the Bark There’s a huge Rottweiler that keeps us company here at C’s house. He’s a character—moody with strangers, hilarious with me. When someone walks by on the street, his whole face goes dark, like thunderclouds behind his eyes. But the moment I jump in the pool, he lights up. Starts sprinting laps around the water like a possessed guardian angel. He’s teaching me something, I know. At first, I was unsure. His bark is loud. He shows his teeth. He even charges at me as I’m climbing out of the water. But slowly, I’ve come to understand: his bark is just his voice. His teeth—just present. Not a threat. And his running? It’s pure excitement. A dance. When I step outside the pool, wet and fresh, he comes toward me with full enthusiasm— and instead of biting, he nudges me lovingly with his head. It’s all him. Dog. Honest. Unapologetic. And in that, I learn: Don’t project fear. Stay calm in the presence of power. Let others have their bark—but don’t lose your center. New...