It’s late in the morning and I’m on my way to Gerimedica, the company’s I’m excited to be joining in May, which is next week already. I’m on my bike listening to an American podcast about the history of Dutch anarchist cycling culture.¹ The scene could only be more Dutch if I had a frying pan with bitterballen on the back of my bike.

The commute is wonderful: it takes me from the East side of Amsterdam via De Pijp and Vondelpark to perhaps the most beautiful building I’ve ever had the privilege of calling my office. I cross the river Amstel, enjoy the sun, and marvel at the preparations people have been making.

Spring is here, I think? I spend the afternoon in the park with ex-colleague-turned-friend Susan, who is celebrating landing a new and challenging job. There’s a boy in the park who’s walking around barefoot. Later we see him on a slack line. I like this scene; it tells me that summer is almost upon us.

I never seem skilled at enjoying whatever season is here. Instead I’m forever yearning for what’s just out of reach. On Javastraat I pass a travel agency, the target audience of which most certainly is concerned with visiting Morocco or Turkey during the summer months. Surprisingly, there’s a wide array of names that would inspire city trips around the world.