I thought I am good in farewells, maybe even experienced; after all, I was close to having my last farewell more than once. But apparently I am not. There is the saying that you only learn to appreciate something when it’s gone. I already appreciated our friendship while it lasted. And they say ‚distance does not separate’, but it does. And so, here we are, you will stay and I will go. The distance will separate us, and we will continue on our own paths. You made me feel at home, you made me feel happy, and you made me feel safe. Thank you.
Missed opportunities amidst routines,
thoughts caught by obtrusive screens –
for laziness we stride for now,
hide from duties, disallow
old habits to creep in, begin
a time with generosity,
a life without velocity.
One last normal week. Calendars are packed with appointments, preliminary goodbyes with friends pass by, and the farewell consolidates. The two of us are now alone, to experience exertion and delight. On one of our first nights, an older German gentleman leaves us with a simple piece of advice: “Seid lieb zueinander.” – “Be kind to one another.”
A recollection of some unconnected events (which may cross the line between fact and fiction).
We are hungry. Regrettably, this won’t change for today. „Why?“, you might ask; well, I’ll tell you.
Two weeks before our departure a package is delivered to our soon to be ex-home. Finally. It is a much needed cooking pot for our gas stove. In fact, it’s my brother‘s gas stove which I am borrowing since 10 years. Anyway, the pot is urgently needed because the old one has lost its coating and any food burns immediately. The new pot is not only very shiny and posh, but it also has a new lid that allows to pour off water easily. „Neat.“, we think and carry on with packing our stuff.
The fourth evening in our newly attained vanlife settles in. „Vanlife“ — there are not many words I find more repelling, except maybe „growth mindset“ or „analytical adaptability“. (Yes, I might have been looking at too many job postings recently, and yes, I also think that „analytical adaptability“ is an entirely fictitious term.) We are rather creative on this particular evening and are planning to cook noodles. Luckily we have the new pot ready to go and, as planned, it heats the water quickly, nothing burns at the bottom, everything goes smoothly. Almost. Until I use the new lid. Just for a split second I am a little careless. I ever so slightly stop to push against the weight of the noodles. But it’s already too late; all our food merges with the filthy ground below. „Neat.“, I think, and we starve for the evening.
Two weeks later, we have finally become accustomed to living in a car. It’s too cold in the mornings, too hot during midday, too tight to spread out, but too large so that there is always stuff to clean. Put simply, it’s beautiful. And we got used to using the lid of our shiny pot and utilized it to enjoy a great variety of meals. But today, it’s noodles day again. Rice noodles to be more specific, because my significant other is looking forward to them since we started our little trip. And she is also really hungry. A joyful anticipation for rice noodles — what could go wrong?
This time the lid just gives in; I don’t even notice any change in pressure I applied. One second, all noodles are in the pot. The next second, all noodles are on the ground. „Neat.“, I think, and write an unemotional review for a shiny cooking pot.
Bouldern? Witzig! Abwaschen? Nix. Im Schlafsack frieren? Nix. Zum fünften Mal dieselbe Kiste aus dem Kofferraum holen weil man jedes Mal eine Zutat vergisst? Nix! Kurvige Straßen entlang düsen? Witzig. Aprikosensaft? Witzig? Katalonier auf Englisch ansprechen? Nix! Von Waldkäuzen wachgehalten werden? Witzig. Von Hunden wachgehalten werden? Nix. Zusammen weiterhin ins Ungewisse fahren? Witzig!
As a kid I had a whole collection of matchbox cars. My favorite one was a blue police cruiser which had blinking lights — simply wonderful. I sometimes still miss it. Together with my brother, I could play for hours and hours. They were like a large playground for us, offering endless possibilities. Among other things, we developed an intricate car racing simulation; we might even find our old notes in some hidden folder. And within this world of cars, my younger me also found meaning. At least for a while.
I guess at some point everyone who writes, writes about writing. There are endless lyrics on writing lyrics, or poems about their own creation (link). It seems an evident topic. After all, the process of creation is what characterizes any practiced craft. When I started this blog I thought I would get around this topic; but apparently I am not. Back at home when time was sparse, writing often felt easy. Accepting something with its imperfections was fine. But now, as there is seemingly endless time and no obligations, no word seems to fit in its place, no sentence bears a clever idea, and no text seems satisfactory. Simultaneously, the same happens with my photographic journey: infinite opportunities, but no direction. No purpose. No meaning.
And so, for now, I keep exploring the large playground that I’ve found in these creative crafts.
A retrospect, time to reflect:
birds, poems, and photography
of calm nature, IT mixed in,
sometimes even a unique spin.
I recollect all memories
left from my past, or simply write
what’s deep within.
An introspect, time to dissect:
I‘d like to be an architect
of words with charm and wit, that bite
and split the readership in two,
to reconnect them right again.
I’d like to describe mundane life
as if it carries weight, as if it’s great,
to resonate with other minds.
Family discussions are a precious gift: You can openly express yourself without any worries. Worries of being too open, too honest, or too unreasonable — they know you anyway. You can argue aggressively without having to fear ruining a friendship. And you can be a careful listener that provides encouragement and guidance to your loved ones. After all, if you’re open to have your opinion seriously challenged, you might learn something new about yourself after all.
Punkt im Dunkeln 