Episode 1 - Itchy feet

Lysanne Sizoo

Welcome to the first expat bite of Expat Snacks, season one. I will be taking you on a journey that many internationals will know well. The journey that begins with itchy feet. a restlessness that tells you it is time to move on, even when everything seems, on the surface, perfectly fine. Is it a curse? Or is it, maybe, an inner calling? I’m not sure I have the answer, but I do have a story.

Lysanne Sizoo

Let’s rewind to the end of 2019. I’d spent almost five years living on a houseboat in Holland. And honestly, it was delightful. I’d made it my own, right down to the last quirky detail. But then, out of nowhere, I started to get that old familiar itch. My heart sank a little. My inner homebody—yes, I do have one—was like, “Why can’t we just stay put for once?” But, well, that’s never really been my style.

Lysanne Sizoo

The funny thing is, the houseboat wasn’t even supposed to be my forever home. Back in 2014, the plan was to retire in France with my Swedish husband. I was, I mean, I thought I was, on my way to a quiet life in the South of France. But, as life does, it threw me a curveball. Instead of retiring, I ended up divorced, living on a houseboat in Holland. The universe, or the gods, or whatever you want to call it, seemed to know before I did that this was where I needed to be.

Lysanne Sizoo

And, oh, 2015 was a year. The houseboat nearly burned down in a chimney fire. My car got totalled while it was just parked by the side of the road. It was like some fiery hand was sweeping away every last bit of my old life, keeping only what was still useful and burning away the rest. I mean, it sounds dramatic, but that’s really how it felt. And, I’m actually kind of proud to say, I rose to the occasion. There were days of despair, sure, and days of grief, but also days of blissful freedom and empowerment. I rebuilt. I healed. I found out I was a lot more capable than I’d ever given myself credit for.

Lysanne Sizoo

Over those next four years, I made the houseboat into a real reflection of who I am. And, you know, being “home” for the first time in thirty years, I had to face some old cultural and family demons. But, as is often the case, those demons turned out to be angels in disguise. I even managed to reconcile with the father of my son—we became gentle friends instead of, well, warring partners.

Lysanne Sizoo

So by 2019, when the first stirrings of itchy feet started up again, my life was actually in order. I had a thriving practice, a friendly relationship with my ex, a wonderful dog to keep me company, good friends both near and far, and a strong bond with my son in Sweden. I’d even started to repair my relationship with Sweden itself, which, honestly, had been a bit rocky. I used to blame Sweden for everything I couldn’t face about my marriage. All the things I found difficult about my ex, I projected onto his homeland. It’s classic, right? But after the divorce, visiting my son, I started to see Sweden differently. Stockholm felt like a safe harbour again. The landscapes, the woods, the city—they called to me. Again.

Lysanne Sizoo

And then, of course, the pandemic hit. Suddenly, my son wasn’t just a short flight away. With all the travel restrictions, he felt further away than ever, just when we all wanted to hold our loved ones close. Sweden, with its, let’s say, unique approach to the pandemic, became a bit of a pariah in Europe. No lockdowns, no closures, just a kind of quiet solidarity. Meanwhile, in Holland, everything shut down. And, I have to admit, for the first time, I started to see the Swedish way in a new light. The collective over the individual. People just getting on with things, not making a fuss. It was, I don’t know, oddly comforting.

Lysanne Sizoo

I remember flying to Stockholm in June of that first covid year. The plane was empty, I had my mask, my business letter, all the paperwork. But when I landed, no one cared. Masks were gone, but people kept their distance. It was like stepping into a different world—less fear, more quiet resilience. We went out for dinner, and I just sat there, taking it all in. For the first time, I saw that in a crisis, these were the neighbours you wanted.

Lysanne Sizoo

Fast forward to summer 2022. The pandemic was easing, travel was possible again. On one of my trips to Sweden, I sighed and said, “Maybe I’ll move back here one day.” And my son, in that way only children can, just rolled his eyes and said, “You always say that, but you’re never going to do it.” That stung a bit, I won’t lie. But it also became a turning point. Later, by the fireplace on the houseboat, I asked him if he’d actually want me to live closer. His answer was basically, “Duh, do you even need to ask?” We laughed about it, but it got me thinking. I didn’t grow up in a family where parents and children shared daily life, so I had no idea how it would work. But the more we talked, the more it made sense. And then he said, “When you get older, I’d rather you were streets away than countries away.” Sweet, right? I tried to laugh it off, but it stuck with me.

Lysanne Sizoo

So, my itchy feet started tapping in the direction of Sweden. Early 2023, I began telling people, “It looks like I might move back to Sweden in the next few years.” But, as these things go, life moved faster than I planned. A friend wanted to buy the houseboat, someone else offered me a practice space in Stockholm. The gentle pull became a firm tug. And I just, well, I trusted the process. I let life show me the way.

Lysanne Sizoo

Because, honestly, beneath all the rational reasons—the chance to be closer to my son, the lessons from the pandemic—there was something deeper. Something I can’t quite explain. It was the same pull I’d felt towards Holland years before, the one I half-ignored because I was so set on moving to France and not letting my marriage fail. But this time, I listened. I felt the call, and I heeded it. I was ready to give up everything I’d built since that fiery year of 2015 and start putting my return to Sweden in motion.

Lysanne Sizoo

So, that’s where I am now. Following that invisible thread, trusting that the next chapter will unfold as it’s meant to. And, well, if you’ve ever felt those itchy feet, or wondered if it’s a curse or a calling, you’re definitely not alone. Thanks for listening to this first episode of Expat Snacks. I hope you’ll join me next time as we keep exploring what it means to live—and grow—away from home.