Slow Living Lessons from Sweden: When Nothing Goes as Planned

This illustration is one of the 'couch works' and is part of my autumn/winter collection which will be available in my shop by end of October.

"The car's not going anywhere," my husband said.

I thought he was joking. I really did. Because who drives 1,700 kilometres without a single hiccup – only to break down 25 kilometres before arrival?

But he wasn't joking. The car had simply decided: Nope. I'm done.

Right there, on a gravel road in the middle of Swedish nowhere, with two dogs and a cat on board.

Luckily, we have the kindest Swedish neighbours – and they let us borrow their car.

Two weeks later, on my birthday, disaster struck again:

We had just finished a refreshing morning yoga session and were walking down to the lake for a pre-breakfast swim when I slipped on a loose stone, twisted my ankle, and fell hard.

Within seconds, my ankle had swollen to three times its normal size, and the pain was so intense I nearly blacked out.

At the hospital, they confirmed it wasn't broken – but the soft tissue damage was severe.

Just like that, all my plans were off the table: long forest walks, kayaking adventures, chasing photo moments, and treasure-hunting at Swedish flea markets.

Now it was time for something else: patience, pain management, and a complete shift in mindset.

So yes, we were basically stranded in Sweden for two months. A reason for tears and frustration? Maybe. But honestly, not really. It was just time to think differently. We were in one of the most beautiful places, surrounded by forests and lakes. I've been in worse situations. It's not what we planned, but we're safe, and the view is stunning.

My view from the couch for 6 weeks - not too bad, huh?

When Life Gives You Crutches
(Instead of Forest Walks)

And here's the thing I realised while hobbling around on crutches, watching the same view from the same window for the 35th day in a row:

This is exactly how creativity actually works.

Not the Instagram version, where artists float through meadows, gracefully plucking inspiration from wildflowers. But the real version – where you're stuck, literally or figuratively, and suddenly you notice things you've been too busy to see.

Like how the light changes on the lake surface seventeen different ways a day.

How the fireflies have their wedding dance on exactly one evening, right on our terrace.

I came here planning to collect all the inspiration. To gather forest treasures. To find the perfect Swedish flea market chair. To be that artist who 'finds magic everywhere.'

Instead, I've spent six weeks on the same sofa, drawing and writing from my imagination. And my mind eventually calmed down.

Don't get me wrong – I didn't embrace this zen mindset from day one. The first two weeks were pure pain and frustration. But slowly, acceptance crept in. Only then did my mind start being constructive.

Your Stuck Season Isn't Your Enemy

I'm sharing this with you because I have a feeling you know this frustration. Maybe not the broken-down-car-sprained-ankle kind. But the life-not-going-according-to-plan kind.

The 'I was supposed to be creative/productive/adventurous but instead I'm stuck' kind.

The 'everyone else seems to be living their best life while I'm here with my limitations' kind.

So, here's what I want to tell you, from my sofa with my elevated foot and a lake and forest in front of me that keep calling my name:

Your limitations aren't stopping your creativity. They're redirecting it.

Your stuck-ness isn't wasted time. It's incubation time.

The Truth About "Making the Most of It"

Everyone said I should be using this time for a creative practice. Meditation. Sketching. Journaling. Making the most of this 'gift of stillness.'

Honestly? Often, I just stared at the lake and felt sorry for myself, then made another cup of tea.

But something weird happened: Without trying to be mindful, without forcing gratitude, without any Pinterest-worthy morning routine – I was relaxing, and thoughts and ideas that I'd long forgotten surfaced.

I was absorbing this quietness, the sounds of nature I heard when I sat on the terrace. Like a grumpy sponge on crutches. And maybe that's exactly what creativity needs sometimes – not another practice, but just... pause.

Did everything turn out alright?

Yes and no. We managed to get home (including the dogs, cat, and half the household). The car had to be transported back to Austria and arrived two weeks later, and it is still not clear whether it can be repaired.

And as for my leg: still on crutches. In Austria, doctors decided to put my leg in a cast. At the time of writing this post, the cast is gone but my ankle still hurts and there are months of physiotherapy before me.

After 6 weeks, I got a cast on my foot for another 10 days

But right now, from a different sofa with a different view, I'm slowly getting back to making art and working on my autumn/winter collection.

And maybe that's exactly the reminder we all needed:

You don't need the perfect surroundings to make magic. Your kitchen window view is enough. Your limitations are not your enemy. Your stuck-ness might be your breakthrough.

Sending love from my sofa to wherever you're reading this – probably somewhere you wish you weren't, doing something you didn't plan, living a life that's messier than your dreams.

Welcome to the club. The view from here is actually pretty good.

With cosy, crutch-wielding love,

P.S. The dogs, by the way, were having the time of their lives. Aurora and Leeloo spent their days running in and out of the house as they pleased. Being herding dogs, they never stray far from us.

P.P.S. The next creative chapter is already taking shape – my autumn/winter collection drops end of October. Plus, there are some lovely treats brewing for my newsletter subscribers. Subscribe, if you love autumn and Christmas surprises!