A Copenhagen Interlude

Dear reader,

There is nothing quite like a little escape to Copenhagen to soften the edges of an ordinary week. The city always feels like a gentle exhale with it's crooked houses leaning into one another, bikes weaving through the crisp air, and people snuggling up in blankets in the cafés' outdoor seating. M and I wandered aimlessly, stopped for some glögg (the first of the season) and I filled our luggage with new teas.

But the true reason for our visit was the long-awaited Mumford & Sons concert, a band I’ve loved since I was seventeen. It’s funny how music can hold so much of our history? How something intangible can still live within us and move us, stitched into our own story. Those songs the ones that carried me through heartbreaks, long train rides, and small triumphs felt almost physical that night.

As the bass thundered through the concert hall like a giant shared heartbeat, I remember thinking that music is a kind of muscle memory. Even when we grow and change, it remains in us ready to echo, to move, and remind.

And maybe that’s what I love most about these small escapes, how they reconnect us to the parts of ourselves that hum quietly in the background, waiting for the right song to bring them forward.