a Postcard from Picos de Europa and my hazy almost-dreams

Hi friend,

I hope you’re doing well.

It’s me, Tomomi, sheepishly slipping what’s become a once-a-year note into your inbox. Writing has always been a labor of love for me, but publishing online feels harder and harder these days. I’ve let that heaviness seep into Postcards for too long. It gives me such pleasure to send these, and it’s time to take that back.

I hope you’ll continue to receive them, as moments of connection and invitations to wonder, with and without me.

On my mind tonight are the whispers of almost-dreams.

A few weeks ago, I was hiking in Picos de Europa in northern Spain. The name means Peaks of Europe, which is a little confusing. What about the Alps? That it’s not a particularly well-known mountain range deepens the irony. Certainly, none of my non-Spanish friends had heard of it. It is in fact a spectacular place, especially if you’re drawn to limestone massifs like I am.

(The actual origin of the name is both sensible and poetic: these peaks were the first sight of Europe for sailors coming in through the Bay of Biscay.)

Exploring Picos was one of those things I kept on a list of things I want to do one day. This is a fuzzy list that exists only in my daydreams. It’s not written down—I’ve long abandoned spreadsheets and Pinterest boards—and I don’t do any research on them.

In fact, I avoid capturing or revisiting these ideas too intentionally because they feel out of reach. It’s as if I prefer not to be too clear about it because the moment it’s named, even to myself, they move from imagination to expectation. And then it becomes a source of potential anxiety, a reminder of something I might never manage to make real.

So when someone asked how I’d come up with the idea to visit Picos, I said, almost without thinking, that it had been “on my list”. They wanted to know what else was on that list (a reasonable follow-up question!) and I froze. I kicked the conversation in another direction but it stayed with me.

What was this vague collection of almost-dreams and desires, anyway? Why did I keep it hidden, even from myself?

Confronted with the example of Picos, I began to trace why it might have felt out of reach. A trip like this required the stars to align on the right mix of travel companions, enough time and money, and confidence in my fitness. I’m a careful traveller, and that must have felt like too much for the person I was when I first chanced upon the idea.

Emboldened by having turned one of these almost-dreams into a fabulous time, I began untangling the convoluted loops in my brain. I also realized that it’s something I’ve been working on for a while. Just hadn’t found the right words for it yet.

Which is: I want to better learn how to let my dreams and desires have room to breathe. To protect them in their fragile states, safe from review or revision. To discern between private vs hidden, and embrace the stillness needed until something is ready to be spoken.

Thanks for reading. It means a lot to me.

Talk soon!
Tomomi