The Sign That Changed Everything
It was the first of December 2017. The air was cold, the canals were quiet, and I stood in a beautiful canal house on the Keizersgracht with two suitcases and a dream. The night before, I had almost given up. I was sitting on the train, tired after yet another failed house viewing, one of many over the past months.
Then a message appeared on my phone.
“Hey, somebody just cancelled. Do you still want the room?”
Without even checking the address, I said yes. At that point, I had nothing left to lose and everything to believe in.
Only the next day, when I arrived at the house, I realised the magnitude of what had just happened. A year earlier, when I decided to move to Amsterdam, I had chosen a random photo as my phone wallpaper. It was an image of three canal houses, perfectly lined up by the water. They became my symbol, my daily reminder of where I wanted to be.
Now I was standing in front of one of those exact houses. Same colours, same windows, same shape. I felt a stillness I cannot explain, a quiet knowing that this was not coincidence. It was the universe reminding me that faith is stronger than logic.
That day became my first lesson. When you trust your path and open yourself to what is meant for you, life finds ways to guide you exactly where you need to be. Sometimes, as in my case, it even brings you to the very image you once dreamed of.
A Fresh Start and a City That Felt Like Home
I arrived in Amsterdam with no plan and no one waiting for me. But I had a feeling, and that feeling was enough.
It was December, and the city looked like a painting. Snow covered the bridges, lights reflected in the canals, and music drifted from cafés where people laughed and shared stories. I had enough savings to take a short break before working again, so I gave myself the gift of stillness.
I walked for hours every day. Ten, fifteen, sometimes twenty kilometres. I walked through Jordaan, along the Amstel, through quiet neighbourhoods where people were decorating Christmas trees behind tall windows. Every step reminded me of how far I had come.
For the first time in my life, I could breathe as myself. In the small Catholic village where I grew up, I had learned to hide parts of who I was. My voice, my softness, my truth. Amsterdam felt like the first place that did not ask me to shrink. I had arrived, not just in a new city, but in my own skin.
The Door That Opened My World
During those first months, I began following people in Amsterdam who inspired me. One of them was a DJ named Darling Peter, the founder of Milkshake Festival. His energy, openness, and ability to bring people together fascinated me.
Although we had never met, one evening I decided to take a chance and created a small PDF introducing myself. It was simple, honest, and written straight from the heart.
Two months later, a message appeared in my inbox. He had replied. That invitation to help him with social media during Pride Amsterdam became the door that changed everything.
That summer brought me into a world filled with colour and kindness. Pride gave me far more than a volunteer role. It offered a sense of belonging, a place where being yourself was not only accepted but celebrated. I realised how powerful it feels to be part of something that spreads love instead of hiding it.
Over time, I joined the Pride Amsterdam office as a freelancer. Our team was small, only a handful of people, yet together we built something that touched hundreds of thousands. We travelled to Torino, Malta, Thessaloniki, and Guadalajara, where we stood on stage bidding for World Pride and won. Those moments shaped me, connected me, and reminded me that community is the true heartbeat of change.
The Wild Years
When my savings started running out, I began working in hospitality again. My first job was at Café Cuba on Nieuwmarkt. I stayed for two weeks before moving to Coco’s Outback on Rembrandtplein. It was an Australian sports bar full of laughter, energy, and the chaos of young Amsterdam nights.
Those were wild years. I was twenty-nine but felt like twenty again. I worked late, met friends from all over the world, and danced until morning. It was fun, it was intense, and it was a little too much.
One night, after a long shift and a night out, I inhaled a balloon and fainted. I fell, broke my jaw, and woke up with a message I could not ignore. It was time to stop running and start living differently.
I quit everything and became a freelancer. Over the next few years, I worked more than five hundred shifts in luxury hotels, historic canal houses, and private events across the city. I discovered Amsterdam from the inside, not as a tourist, but as someone who had become part of its rhythm.
That chapter taught me resilience. It showed me that independence can be beautiful when guided by curiosity rather than fear.
When the World Stopped
Then came 2020. Everything closed. Amsterdam went silent.
Almost everyone I knew left the city. I could not work in my profession and for the first time in years, I felt like a stranger in the place that had once set me free.
The atmosphere changed in ways I still struggle to describe. Fear spread faster than reason, and it felt as if people slowly gave up their own will to question. I watched neighbours, friends, and colleagues surrender their voices to a single story that I could not believe in. It was as if the city had fallen under a quiet spell, hypnotised by a narrative I did not share.
That time was painful. The Amsterdam I loved for its open spirit had turned cautious and closed. I felt excluded, misunderstood, and deeply alone. Yet even in that isolation, something inside me strengthened. I began to think more critically, to listen to my own intuition again, and to rebuild trust in my inner compass.
So I left. Together with my friend Thomas, I began a road trip through Europe that lasted for months. We drove across mountains, lakes, and empty roads, cooked over fires, and slept under stars. That journey gave me back the sense of freedom I had been missing.
When I finally returned, I realised that my chapter in Amsterdam had already ended, long before I was ready to admit it.
The Boat and the Goodbye
In 2023, everything changed again.
That spring I lost my dad. In autumn my grandmother passed away. Their absence left a space that words cannot fill. Yet from that loss came something that felt like a bridge between us, the family boat.
It had been with us for twenty years. It was my father’s pride, his peaceful escape, a small world made of wood and memory. Now it was mine.
Together with my dear friend Anita, I sailed it for three days from Limburg to North Holland. The sound of the water, the rhythm of the waves, the stillness between the locks, it was healing in a way I had long forgotten. Every ripple seemed to whisper the same message: keep moving, but stay calm. I felt close to my dad again, and at the same time, closer to myself.
When we arrived, I made a decision. I would leave my apartment, move onto the boat, and live differently. I wanted calm, simplicity, and a life that felt real.
That decision became my first quiet goodbye to Amsterdam. For a year and a half, the boat became my home. Winters in Colombia, summers on the Dutch canals. I learned to live by the rhythm of water and wind. I woke up with sunlight dancing on the surface, watched the city lights blur across the waves at night, and began to feel that freedom was not a destination but a state of flow.
The waterways felt alive, endless, connected to the world beyond the horizon. Through them, I could go anywhere. They reminded me that every river meets the sea, that every journey continues, and that movement itself can be home.
From the water, I saw Amsterdam differently. The noise faded, the expectations dissolved, and what remained was stillness. I realised that my love for the city would always stay, but my time living within its walls had come to an end.
The New Beginning
Now I am in Düsseldorf. The move is real. The chapter has closed, yet something new hums quietly beneath the surface.
When I look back on my eight years in Amsterdam, I feel a deep sense of gratitude and calm. The city shaped me, tested me, and taught me to live with open eyes and an open heart. It gave me everything I needed to leave it behind.
The boy who once hid himself now speaks freely. The man who once chased freedom has found it within.
Here in Düsseldorf, the air feels different. Softer, slower, more grounded. I am building something new. A home, a vision, a partnership. With Sebas by my side, the meaning of freedom is shifting again. It is no longer about escape, but about belonging. About creating a life that feels aligned, honest, and alive.
This new chapter is about balance and creation. It is about growing roots without losing wings. It is about living from love, not from fear.
I still think of the canals sometimes, of the way the water carried me toward this moment. Life, too, is a current. When you learn to trust it, it brings you exactly where you are meant to be.
To Anyone Standing at the Edge
If you are standing in that space between endings and beginnings, wondering whether to stay or to leap, trust yourself. Life always meets courage halfway.
I wrote my book How (Not) to Begin Your Dream Life for moments exactly like this. It is a guide for anyone who feels change calling but does not know where to start. It holds the lessons I learned through heartbreak, loss, adventure, and trust.
If my story touched something in you, this book will take you deeper. It will help you reconnect with your vision, rebuild your faith in timing, and remember that freedom is something you create from within.
Begin your next chapter today.
