A Letter From My Future Self

I am Ulf.

No throne. No title. No fixed abode.

Just two feet, a strong back, and the freedom to go where I will.

Some nights I sleep beneath trees, my tent pitched quietly in a patch of forgotten woodland. Other times I settle behind the hedges at the edge of town, just beyond the garden where I was once a boy. And when the road calls louder, I sleep in my van — a faithful, rough-edged home I built with scraps and willpower.

It isn’t glamorous. But it’s mine.

Insulated with old blankets and lined with love, it carries all I need:

A bed built from pallets,

A pressure washer for my trade,

And ten thousand leaflets to scatter like seeds across the land.

My van is not the end of the story, of course — just the first page.

Soon, I’ll trade it for a sleek black Transporter with a tailgate and an awning, marked with runes and decals so all who see it know: the wanderer has arrived.

And before that comes the unit.

A quiet fortress. My own HQ.

A place to drive in and disappear for a while. A space where I’ll build my own gym — no mirrors, no noise, just chains, plates, cages, and peace.

A monk’s temple disguised as a garage.

Until then, I keep it simple.

I spend little, I earn enough, I move every day.

In the morning I throw a 25kg slam ball across the grass like a prayer.

In the evening, I lift heavy things and leave my thoughts on the gym floor.

Twice a week I step onto the mats to spar, to breathe, to sweat.

And in between, yoga — to quiet the fire, to listen inward, to stretch where I’m tight and learn where I’m holding on too hard.

I eat simply. Eggs daily. Meat and potatoes most nights.

If I’m camping, I cook on my mess kit — fried spam, boiled eggs, hot spuds, a bit of fruit to keep things balanced.

I carry five litres of water always. I am never caught unprepared.

I don’t grumble when the shops are far. I don’t sulk when the comforts are absent.

I was never meant for the ease of things.

That’s where most men go soft.

I talk to strangers like old friends, break bread with those who offer it, share stories and laughter with those who still know how to smile.

Like Odin, I walk this land not to conquer, but to learn.

From the mouths of old men and cheeky kids, from tired mothers and lonely barmaids — wisdom lives everywhere, if you listen.

I give help freely to those who ask with open hearts. Advice, labour, warmth, presence.

But I do not suffer fools.

I’ve danced too long with takers to fall for their charms again.

There is calm in me now. The kind that sees through games.

My eyes are old — not from age, but from living.

I have no debts. I owe no one.

But I carry many quiet favours in my ledger — and I smile knowing they’re there.

I spend my evenings reading, writing, and listening to the wind.

I rarely watch TV.

Cinema, now and then — a temple for story. But mostly I keep things still.

My children speak with me daily. They laugh, they ask, they see.

They’re watching a man who chose not just to live — but to live well.

And that is an inheritance far greater than gold.

Yes, money comes. I earn what I need and more. But it stacks slowly in the background, untouched. Because I do not need it.

There are two kinds of freedom in this life:

One is having enough gold that the cost of things becomes irrelevant.

The other is needing so little that cost itself disappears.

I chose the second.

And somehow, the first has begun to arrive anyway.

I am not chasing happiness.

Happiness comes and goes — a lovely guest, but not a landlord.

What I seek is peace.

And peace, I’ve found, is built through fire and silence, suffering and joy, stillness and effort.

There is peace in motion.

Peace in breath.

Peace in eggs, and slam balls, and a cup of tea cooked over a tiny flame while the dew clings to the grass.

Peace in sore shoulders.

In cracked hands.

In not knowing exactly where you’ll sleep tonight — but knowing you’ll be just fine.

I am Ulf Ragnarsson.

I left the noise.

I left the scroll, the swipe, the shout.

And I walk through this world not to escape it…

But to feel it, fully, as it really is.

I have found peace.

And every now and then, along the path…

Happiness walks beside me.

🪓 Like what you read?🪓

🪙 Then toss a coin into the fountain.

Make a wish —

for wilder words, sharper truths,

and more wild-folk with wild hair doing wild things.

Each offering stirs the water, feeds the fire,

and helps one such beast keep writing beneath the stars.

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