Adapt and live.

-It feels as if we’re moving into our final disposal, I told my wife with my unfailing sense of the melodramatic. Is this the place we’re going to die in?

As you can hear, I was sceptical about moving from our 280m² villa with a large garden to an 87m² flat with a balcony. But adaptability is what makes a species viable, and now six weeks have passed without any of my fears being realised. I’ve neither had a breakdown nor completely lost my mind. On the contrary, I’m more content with life than ever and haven’t missed our house or garden for a second. It’s as if that time has been erased from my consciousness. And yet, we raised two children there, had two dogs, and spent tons of money and love on that house. Is it possible that I’ve adjusted this quickly, or am I just lying to myself?

For a while, I thought my turnaround was because our new flat is just a kilometre from where I was born and spent my first 18 years. All my old schools are still there, the sports field where I learned to skate is within walking distance, the villas where my friends lived have changed owners and look better than ever, and the library in the centre is as hopelessly outdated as ever. I can see my 12-year-old self cycling to and from school on the same streets that I now dreamily walk along. He’s not wearing a helmet, of course, and has a jacket that’s far too thin because it’s cool to act as if you’re not freezing your ass off.

-You could get cystitis! I shout affectionately to myself from a distance.

-Shut up, you bloody paedo, little Anders shouts back, cycling for his life.

I’m not going to let this pass, so I run after him at full speed to teach him a lesson. Children need clear boundaries; otherwise, they might end up as mime artists or junkies. He looks back from his bike and makes a silly face at me just as a lorry pulls out from a crossing street ahead of him.

-You’re not so cocky now, are you? I say, looking under the lorry where little Anders is wedged between the bike frame, spokes, and the lorry’s driveshaft. He’s having trouble speaking because the handlebars have gone through one of his cheeks. But there and then, I have a life-changing insight. I realise that my adaptability has nothing to do with nostalgic memories, but rather with the future.

-I’m debt-free, I say lyrically to little Anders before I skip along the streets of my childhood.