It doesn’t have to be hard, actually.

I’m watching Olivia Dean’s “So Easy (To Fall in Love)” music video and her message is clear: It only takes a moment. Lean into it. Let love come to you.

Last summer was fraught with many tangles of the heart. Some tears, a panic attack, and many phone calls with friends wading through the muck. I’m pleased to say I’ve emerged from the other side not unscathed but wholly changed. More on that later.

What I learned from months of overthinking, though, is that it doesn’t have to be hard.

Quality relationships require hard work. But it doesn’t have to feel strenuous. Even the hardest moments can be smoother with the right support.

I look at my friend Ali, for example. We met through work – her being an employee, me being a contractor. We did some small projects together here and there, then a few months later, I joined her team. After enough collaboration, it became clear that we hit it off. We scheduled weekly calls to “work” and catch up. But more importantly, when my work there ended, the calls didn’t.

We still meet every other week for an hour, sometimes on Zoom, sometimes on the phone so one or both of us can walk. Every week, we marvel at how we each went into the call not knowing what we’d discuss but thrilled with the result. Because, simply put, we show up for each other. We are completely present and hear each other out. We know one another well enough by now that we can meaningfully support the other with whatever issue they might be facing. Some of the calls have resulted in tears (and plenty of laughter), but they never feel hard. Because the work is done with compassion and respect. All of this, despite the fact that we’ve never met IRL.

I look at my friend Kate. We met in Denver via a mutual friend when I was looking for a massage therapist. Little did I know I’d be spoiling myself for life by meeting her, the first massage therapist who was truly my match in both intellect and technique. As we got to know one each other on the table, it, once again, became clear that we were a great fit. I now live far too distant for a massage (tragic) and Kate is, by her own admission, not a great texter. But we’ve found ways to manage – voice notes are welcome whenever one of us feels compelled, and we know the other isn’t required to answer expeditiously or even at all. And when we do get on the phone, “I’ve been thinking about you” is always said. Because we have been. That’s just how it goes.

Moving far away from people you care about can test relationships, to be sure. There are plenty of people I’m not as close to anymore, either by function of lack of communication or simply growing apart. But there are many more who are still around, in varying frequencies, because they want to be and I want them to be. It’s a two-way street. Some calls are planned, others are scheduled days in advance. The details matter not so long as we both show up.

I don’t let myself overthink reaching out to people anymore. I live too far away to fear a poor (or nonexistent) response. I do what I would want others to do for me. You just moved to Europe but we don’t have a relationship anymore? I’m still going to say hi and make sure you know where I am and offer to help with any of the inevitable adjustments. You just went through a major life event? We haven’t spoken since college, sure, but I still care about you, so I’ll send a quick DM of congratulations or condolence. It doesn’t have to be hard. These tiny moments of connection count all the same.

And, here in Hamburg, the same holds true. I’ve been deepening my friendships and, in doing so, have occasionally ruminated over how deep the conversations I have actually are. This comes from a good place – I am no longer just meeting people but actively developing my friendships. In a way, I guess part of me is wondering who my best friend here might be. So I’ve found myself occasionally mourning what felt like a more superficial conversation when it could have been deeper. But, I remind myself, every conversation counts. Every thought exchanged and opinion shared paints a clearer picture of one another and illustrates if, in fact, we might want to become best friends. It doesn’t have to be hard, and it doesn’t have to be that deep. Time spent together is always meaningful.

An impersonal example, to finalize the point: I’ve been getting deep into Dijon, and I can’t help but notice how he’s always surrounded by people. His performances feature at least five players, always. According to comments, this is how it’s always been. And you can tell – his songs are rich soundscapes, with so many different elements it’s impossible to pick out each element on its own. He plays with the band too. He looks at his bandmates, not the audience. It’s not about him, it’s about the music, the performance. They’re all with each other in a profoundly clear way.

It’s not about me, and it’s not about you either. What we’re all chasing can only come from sharing with one another. You have to be willing to be the one the strike the match and be ready to ignite in reciprocity.

.

Here’s what I know: Less urgency. Less thinking you know better. More presence. More delight in the mystery than despair in the unknown. Less searching for the final result without taking the first step. More full-album listens, less relying on the algorithm to build your taste for you. More choosing, more intention, more presence.

Be here now.

You want to know what is most true. You want to know what will happen if you’re right. You think everything can be right or wrong, one way or another. Can it be everything or none of the above or some of it sometimes? Can experiences be experiences with varying degrees of meaning, and some with none at all?

I think, actually, this may be the most me I’ve ever been. In that I fret so little about my presentation and just concern myself with showing up. There is a gentleness to my life I didn’t have before. I spent weekend morning poring over the crossword, rushing nowhere. I sit on my terrace for as long as I want, cradling my coffee mug I so lovingly picked out. I set aside time to do…nothing. I feel present, rooted, feet firmly on the ground after nearly five years of drifting.

But I feel weariness at these reflections now, I think. The before-and-after analyses. I’ve written so many essays to this effect – for good reason! – but my life has changed. Perhaps, with my feet firmly planted, I can turn my focus elsewhere. How I’m feeling now, not compared to before. I feel a call to presence so fervent it’s almost urgent. Be here now.

I want to take my time. I want to sit with an album for weeks instead of tossing two songs onto a playlist and forgetting the rest. I want to buy physical books and underline my favorite passages. I want to do things consistently and for a while. I want to do what I say I’m going to do. I want to plan out the year by seasons, not just months. I did most of The Artist’s Way in Q4, pausing for travel and the holidays, and it showed me just how much I can show up every day and make time for what I care about. I want to feel clear on my own presence. Where am I showing up, how, why? I’m beginning to really take shape here. People are beginning to really know me here. I now have layers of friends – acquaintances, friends, close friends. An ever-fuller life.

And so I’m declaring myself. What it means to be Maeve in Hamburg, in Germany, in my 30s. Letting myself want things and daring to ask for them. My word of the year is desire – honoring it, fulfilling it, chasing it, being in it. It’s harder than I expected. When you restart your life from scratch and spend most of your time building social connections, you spend a lot more time thinking about other people’s wants than your own. You want to connect, so of course you ask about what they want. Where do you like to get coffee? How do you shape your weekends? You have a friend you think I might like, of course I’ll meet them. You build a life by others inviting you into theirs. But when there’s enough structure, your own desire starts to mount because now you have enough to build upon. You have the audacity to ask for more once you’ve seen how much more there can be.

There is an itching in me. I want my energy matched. I want hours-long conversations and big laughs that echo long after they end. I want to feel seen, known. I want to give people the opportunity to see me, and thus, give myself a chance to be seen. Presence is the only way.

Keep building the circumstances you want to be in. Live every day in honor of how you want tomorrow to take shape. How up where and how you want to be. Be it.

Ins & Outs

• In: Buying things in person and letting each object have intention + memory attached to it. Tschüss to mindless online shopping.

• In: Red! Royal blue! Patterns! | Out: any additional olive green, white t-shirts, or anything navy – my wardrobe cannot take it anymore!

• In: Telling everyone I love them all the time

• In: Selecting & cooking a cookbook recipe at least monthly, even if it’s just for me

• In: Pursuing art at every possible moment and inviting others to join me along the way – album listening parties! Continuing to see a movie in theaters every month! Finally seeing some live theatre! Singing lessons? Acting lessons? Who knows!

• Out: The same cycle of three websites I use to fill my time between work tasks. This is a horrible habit that’s just as bad as scrolling my phone but feels less sinful because work is open in a neighboring tab.

• Out: Being scared to pursue German more vigorously. I have a horrible limiting belief that my German will never be as good as my French and therefore there’s no point in trying. But I also have a keen awareness of how much it limits my life year and I have a fervent desire (!) to live more of my life auf Deutsch. I am capable!

• Out: Thinking my world stops at 6pm and I cannot commit to doing anything productive beyond that unless it’s Work™. Yes, couch time is important, but it’s not vital every single available evening. I’m building in Admin Nights to rock up at the same café one night every week to get life admin done.

• In: Leaving enthused comments/responses to people’s posts/stories regardless of how recently we’ve chatted 1:1. I am always delighted to hear from people no matter, therefore I can do the same in kind.

• In: Radical patience with myself. Having a lust for life also means pacing myself.

Today is my birthday. As ever, in a moment like this, the only way to look forward is also to look back.

Change is knocking at my door. I’ve been here enough times to know. I know the beginning of a swell, have learned to identify the signs soon enough to get up on the surfboard before the wave overtakes me.

I walk around more alert. I see poetry where I saw structure before. I yearn. I get lit up much more easily; my blood is a current and it starts crackling with thought and feeling. Ready to ignite.

That may seem a romantic description but admittedly, it gets a little old. A little tiring. I am always working on something. It’s a running joke with my therapist. Another round of self-examination? Another transformation? I never get a break. But I don’t know how not to heed the call. I wouldn’t have it any other way.

I often record voice memos in these moments, both as a way to excise the feeling and to record it. Only some are titled, so I’m never quite sure what each contains. I had two untitled recordings from the first week of 2024 I decided to listen to recently. I was having one of those dreamer moments, but instead of speaking out loud, I decided to listen to myself.

In these recordings, I’m chewing through so many of the same themes that are exactly what I’m wrestling with now. It’s funny – listening back, I don’t know exactly what I’ll say next, but I kept catching myself anticipating the exact words as I say them.

But the other thing that struck me from these memos is the clarity. While I may have hit record as a way to work through some thoughts, what resulted was undeniably cohesive.

I have beat myself up over the past year for not being further along in some of my side projects – namely, working on German and publishing more of my own creative writing. I always have the intention, but other things get in the way, and I haven’t found the right rhythm to click into my discipline.

But listening back, I hear someone who has just gone through some of the most change a single person can go through, who is daring even still to dream bigger than their current reality to find a deeper sense of self and fulfillment. I had barely lived in Germany for three months at the time I recorded these.

In one of them, I literally said, “How far can I push my joy?”

The audacity to have done so much and still know without question that I can do more. Be more. I got goosebumps. I don’t know, Maeve, how far can you push it? I’ve certainly been trying lately.

When I came back to Germany in January after spending six weeks in the States over the winter holidays, I had a renewed vigor in integrating myself here. Making friends. Improving my German. Finding community. Being in the community.

In the 12 weeks since then, I’ve solidly made at least five new friends and met at least 15 new people altogether. I don’t really know how this happened – I think I was just so determined and ready for it that I met the moment and the moment met me. I have even intentionally tested how much sleep I need. If you think how far can I push my joy is intense, how far can I push my sleepiness is flat-out diabolical.

There are other things – German, namely – that haven’t made the same strides as I was hoping, but I remind myself that one can only have so many true priorities at once. I’ve been juggling priorities (again, a theme) and know they will each have their turn.

While some of the material intentions might not have added up, I have always had my north star – being as myself as possible – and I do, in fact, see so much consistency within it all. The same through-line of yearning and dreaming of cultivating my best self. Of knowing when to push myself, to ask for me, to be more in the world.

Looking at 31, there’s a lot I don’t know. I have big questions about my work and career, my habits, my future. Again – can’t I get a break? I already moved countries and changed literally my entire life – except for my job. And now that’s on the line?

What they say is true: Your new life is going to cost your old one.

Regardless of all the upheaval, the ground below me feels solid. I feel a steadiness that I couldn’t have dreamed of a year ago. I feel rooted. I’m so incredibly proud of the dreaming and doing and trying and learning and growing and (not) sleeping I’ve done in 30. I’m grateful to have stepped into a new decade with so much newness around me – and still managed to maintain a curiosity through it all.

31’s going to be fun, isn’t it?

I come home from every party completely bowled over, awash with gratitude and amazement. Human connection on such a scale, 6,000 miles from home? My gratitude is a bottomless well and I am eager to continue drawing up the bucket.

Sometimes I laugh at myself. It was just a party, what’s such a thrill about that?

Allow me to paint a picture.

Do you know what it’s like to go to an intimate house party and almost every person is from a different country? Do you know what it is to be bizarrely grateful English is your mother tongue because it is the connecting language amongst all these people from disparate places? Do you know what it’s like to feel connected to and appreciated by people you only know on a surface level simply because you spent enough time talking at a party, maybe over the course of a few parties, and that was enough? Enough for them to ask about how your time at home over the holidays was or to laugh in French about something because they already know you can speak it?

I spent my first several months here with just about three friends. This sense of community, at least in my Hamburg life, is new in the past six months. To feel known, even in a small way, by not just stray individual people but a web of pre-existing friends, is like feeling warmth on your face after a long winter.

How often do you get a completely fresh start at 29? So much about moving is (and has been) terrifying, to be sure. Having zero friends isn’t exactly fun. But it’s also wiped clean my sense of expectation. I do not think I am entitled to anything. I am in a foreign land learning foreign customs, abiding by the local law. And in many ways, I relish that. From scratch means relearning the most basic things, like going to the grocery store (get ready to bag faster than you ever have in your life) and ventilating your apartment (windows open for 10 minutes twice a day) and paying a medical bill (I’ll spare you).

It wasn’t until almost a year into living here that I realized I could fit my own customs and ways of being into this. It’s kind of like how I pronounce my name differently if it needs to be read or written (May-fuh, if you’re wondering). I do this out of consideration for the receiver, knowing they have likely never heard the name and definitely don’t know what a “Maeve” is when pronounced correctly like “wave.”

But I don’t pronounce it that way when I’m introducing myself to someone. Because that’s not my name and I want to be known as myself. For the same reason, I stopped worrying that my famously loud cackle was too American and realized it is too much me to take away without taking myself out of the equation entirely.

Going to a party is an unexpected but welcome mirror. It helps me remember who I am. It reminds me I’m interesting! And fun to be around! That my laugh is an identifying characteristic people are excited to hear again! Like, oh, Maeve’s here!

When you move abroad alone, these moments become a luxury. So much so that it can become difficult to remember you deserve to be known. You deserve to be appreciated for who you are, to set yourself free from the foreign mold and stretch your limbs as far as they need to go in order to feel like yourself, even if you don’t know who that is for a while.

So next time you go to a party, believe you are bringing something welcome not because you are the most interesting or beautiful but you are the most you and there is inherent goodness in that.

Listen:

“The Umbrella Effect: How Rihanna’s Breakout Hit Changed Pop Music Forever” - Switched on Pop

I’m a long-time fan of Switched on Pop, but this is a stand-out episode. Who knew the lore of “Umbrella” is so hysterically dramatic? But also who knew it had such a genuinely profound impact on music? Take a trip back to 2007 and enjoy the ride.

Watch:

Latest hits:

• Touch (2024)- A random find that charmed the pants off of me. Where else can you hear both Japanese and Icelandic in one film? Beautiful.

• Flow (2024) - Watched this the night it won an Oscar and yep! I see why! Everything you’d expect from such a story but with heartrending turns.

• Severance season 2 - Good GOD

• Outlander - That’s right, I decided to restart this having never fully finished it before. Season 1 is like a drug it feels so good. No shame!!!

Read:

I’m in a bit of a reading slump insofar as everything I read last year was so good and nothing I’ve read in 2025 has knocked me off my feet except for:

Know My Name by Chanel Miller - A book I knew I had to read but I had to wait for the right moment. Finally, the moment came, and every night, I took a deep breath and tucked into Chanel’s world. While it was painful, I felt so beautifully held throughout the whole thing because that’s just what Miller’s writing is. I've also heard her speak enough that I could hear her saying the words in my head and it was a welcome companion. An absolute must-read for anyone who can handle the content.

Next up: The Wedding People by Alison Espach

My joke is that I moved to Hamburg for love – love of the city, that is. The bit is that most immigrants move here for work or a relationship. Hamburg isn’t really a destination in and of itself, apparently. People are shocked by the fact that I moved here completely alone and completely of my own volition.

But it’s true: I chose Hamburg because it moved me deeply, almost instantly. I felt a sense of mine permeating my heart with every step I took.

And so, on this Valentine’s Day, I profess my love for Hamburg. She has been my constant companion in these 15 months of learning, overwhelm, isolation, excitement, adjusting, settling. These are my 14 favorite things about Hamburg.

1. I have never been more appreciative of a sliver of blue sky than I am now. Every moment the sky – not even the sun! – pokes through on a winter’s day, I gasp in amazement. Light! Blue! Sunshine! I’m now convinced that Hamburg showed off the absolute worst of her weather my first fall/winter here – I’m talking three straight weeks with not a shred of blue sky to be seen, and rain almost every one of those days to boot – as if to say are you sure you know what you’re getting into? Because the fall I spent here before that, and now this current fall/winter, they haven’t even compared. When I went back to the US in December, I felt confused on a cellular level to walk outside at 8AM to sunshine. I could live somewhere with better weather, sure, but then when would I stop whatever I’m doing to admire a sliver of blue sky?

2. Which leads me to my next point: I have found my people. Walkers, that is. Germans adore a good Spaziergang. Especially on Sundays, when all stores are closed. Head out at 3PM and witness the parade of families and friends out with their strollers and dogs and coffees in hand. Add extra sunshine into the equation and you’ll think the entire city emerged from their homes simultaneously. It’s incredibly endearing and incredibly appropriate for someone like me who takes two walks a day.

3. Similarly, bike culture is the greatest gift. I love public transportation too, don’t get me wrong, but something about getting able to transport myself around the city entirely of my own accord is so liberating. I am at the mercy of the stoplights and that’s it. No traffic, no delays. Just me and my wheels. Shout out to the other people who sing while they bike. We’re a gift to this city.

4. Germans are deeply reliable in every way one can be reliable, and I’ve come to love that predictability. I love that I can rely on them to wait for the light to change even if there are no cars in sight (and judge me if I dare to jaywalk, though I’ve gotten over caring about that). That I can rely on seeing someone eat ice cream at an ungodly early hour in the summer. That I can rely on there being a line out the bakery door every Sunday morning. That I can rely on the guy working at the Turkish produce market to crack a joke when he rings me up. All these little reliances make me feel a little more at home every time.

5. The Alster. The canals. The Elbe. The water everywhere in this city. I haven’t stopped sighing with appreciation every time I come upon it.

6. Bread. God, the German bread really does live up to its reputation. A few favorites:

• Kartoffelbrot (potato bread made with sourdough) – Soft, fluffy, incredible when eaten warm out of the oven.

• Franzbrötchen – The signature Hamburg pastry which is essentially a cinnamon croissant in a different shape. Also essential to consume fresh out of the oven. Ideally has caramelized sugar burnt on the bottom.

• Laugenbrötchen – My latest discovery! Essentially a pretzel bun.

7. I love that I know that the ice cream shops that shuttered for the winter will reopen on March 1 and that, regardless of weather, I will see Germans all over the city eating ice cream that day. I love that I know that in April it will be Spargelzeit (asparagus time) and little stalls will pop up on the sidewalks selling green, white, and purple spears. Soon after come the strawberries and the beloved strawberry-shaped stalls selling them. Germans really do love for things to be cute.

8. I have developed a whole new appreciation for concerts since moving here. Every show I go to, no matter how I feel about the artist or the show itself, leaves me emotional, because how could it not? How could I not feel amazed that some band or singer I love, have probably loved for a long time, is also beloved by people who grew up half a world away from me? Hearing Germans sing back English lyrics is truly something special. Plus, every show I go to is about half the size it would be in the US. I feel like I hacked something.

9. Life in Germany is deeply seasonal in a way I have never experienced. In the winter, there is no light until almost 9AM and the sun starts going down at 3:30PM. Conversely, in the summer, you might almost never see a sunset because it sets at 11PM. My habits shift so wholly with each season. The second it got chilly, I started drinking tea every day after not touching it for months. I began working for an hour in the morning instead of going straight out to walk because it was dark. In the summer, I eat dinner later because it still feels like mid-afternoon at 7PM. I know when certain foods will be available and don’t even think about them when I know they’re not in season. It’s beautiful to be so in touch with the rhythms of life.

10. “Moin.” The best greeting word I’ve ever heard. Still a delight!

11. You’ve heard of walking with a coffee. Now meet: walking with a beer. The best. Bonus points when it’s a pack of bros meandering together. I love them all.

12. Across the three homes I’ve had here, I have always lived within a few blocks of a beautiful natural space. First the Alster, then a canal, and now a garden park. May I never take this for granted.

13. Hamburg is now home to the first apartment that’s had my name on it in five years. I still don’t have the words for how profound it feels to look around this space and know it is mine, that everything within it is mine, that it will only continue to be more mine.

14. Hamburg has some of the best treat culture I’ve ever seen. Every day I see someone buying flowers, wrapping up chocolates, chomping into a pastry. These people understand the art of a little treat. They know the little things are what make life beautiful.

So I’m off to get a little treat! Happy Valentine’s Day.