I've been waking before 7 am. The birds sing through the open bathroom window, the fresh morning air tumbles in. I look forward to each day now because I'm waiting on so many responses, emails and phone calls and mail and the greenlight to finally go home. There are many things I still have to do: send our shipment home, give back the keys, sign a waiver, get official approval from the apartment manager that Oma's lease will be ending, attend an in-person meeting for inheritance.
I have now been in Germany for two months, eight of the longest weeks of my life. When we first got here, I said I could see myself being here indefinitely, called to duty, purpose, a challenge to make the best of it, something I like to pretend I do. But you know? I'm ready to admit that just because it's different, it doesn't mean it's better.
Austin left on Friday--which already feels so long ago. I spent that day running errands, working, writing letters and addressing packages, wrapping the marble table for shipment, and decoding Oma's combination bike lock. Honestly, it took three tries, and yes that was super satisfying. And then I filled the bike tires using a foot pump, but the gauge was not working. Unconvinced they were at the right pressure, I planned to bike Saturday to the nearest bike shop and ask them for an inspection of the bike to make sure everything was still working well.
That night, I walked to the döner restaurant and ordered a currywurst. My salty-sticky fingers fed me crispy hot fries slowly as I sank into the first solid people-watching I'd done in a while. The locals drank beer from the tap and sat at the MultiWild and Mystic Force gambling machines, spinning cherries and 7s. The table of three next to me cackled with smoker-heavy laughs, crowed at the person opening the bathroom door that it was besetzt, besetzt! Besetzt! And when the man finally understood, they said, well you're welcome to join him. In front of me, carryout customers collected under the dim light as the three workers bagged orders, fast-chopped peppers and tomatoes and tossed them on the grill. The kebab was almost gone, disappearing slice by slice and almost to the center, grease spitting from the rotisserie flames. In the background: the sound of sizzle and games.
The next morning, I leisure-biked to the shop in about 20 minutes, but alas, Saturday was International Women's Day, and the city shut down, save the super bustling McDonalds. I knew there was a chance of them not being open, so I wasn't too disappointed. I biked back and spent a few hours writing the Paris blog.
Mid-afternoon, I felt the warm Saturday pulling me back out (60s and sunny!), so I biked again--slowly--almost to Havelpark, a shopping center less than three miles west of here. An elderly person zoomed by me on their motorized scooter as I pedaled, recalling memories of biking there with Opa through endless green fields. Turns out the main bike path follows a perfectly parallel line with the noisy interstate; however, there is a perpendicular path that offers some reprieve, some quiet between fallow fields. I biked slowly and occasionally stopped to appreciate the feeling of being actually, temporarily, out of the public eye. I passed a few tucked away houses and wondered if I could live like that, down a path that no one visits. I love getting away, but maybe I like having something to get away from? The older I get, the more I appreciate time alone only in contrast with sufficient social stimulation.
Sunday I took the bike out again but just around the neighborhood; I dropped off a donation bag and then biked to a bench in the sun, where I wracked my brain about the recent news of Walgreens entering a deal to be purchased by a private equity company. A coworker emailed late Friday asking if I, or another coworker, could write a Market Event Summary about it. I was going to say no, because I have no time during the week, but then I spent all yesterday drafting one--mainly because none of my excuses sounded good enough, and also it can be fun to challenge myself. Sometimes I wonder if I would like my job more if I had to do more analysis and less busy work. The beauty of analysis is you really can't ever be wrong, unless you're basing your analysis on false reports. If your sources are accurate, the best you can do is offer perspective and best-guesses based on everything else you've read.
After work, I treated myself to a YouTube documentary about the people of Appalachia, which was really interesting and heartwarming. And also eye-opening, how young kids out in the hollers have a solid chance of either being on drugs or being so hard-working that they put most city-living adults to shame. I have a serious fascination and admiration for people who do hard work. Ten, twelve hours a day in coal mines or working on cars. And they're masters at crafts, woodworking and engines and gritty things that actually get your hands dirty.
It's also insightful to hear their perspectives on clean energy since it directly threatens their livelihood and families. This is what I really miss about journalism--I love hearing and reporting both sides, although how often does that lead to inaction? At some point, do you have to pick a side? The whole thing reminded me of a book I've been reading (pause to take that in) about conservation in Afghanistan. The book, The Snow Leopard Project, talks a lot about the importance of a well-managed hunting program in conservation. And it mentions trophy hunting as a way to fund conservation efforts, since luxury hunting programs can charge tens of thousands of dollars for a single kill.
After the Appalachia documentary, I clicked on another by the same creator, about a young man named Titus who lives off the grid in Kentucky. It was so fascinating (and had some excellent cinematic moments)! Apparently there's some court battle going on with him, but I stopped myself from going too far down the rabbit hole on that one. From what I saw, he was such an inspiring dude. Definitely spirited by his belief in God and his connection to the earth. It really made me think a lot about how society these days is so sick, including myself. I am SO REMOVED from nature, from healthy food and fresh air. I am so reliant on modern conveniences, I have no sense of true inner strength or resilience. Titus said something that stuck with me: either way, you work. Either you live self-sufficiently where your monthly expenses are so minimal they don't require a full-time job, or you work in an office, perpetually hunched over and in recycled air, to sustain your “easy” lifestyle.
After that documentary, the YouTube algorithm gave me videos of plastic surgery and a 24-year-old influencer who posted a goodbye video because she was dying from terminal cancer. Ah! This is why I got off social media months ago; I haven't logged into Instagram since last year nor Facebook since the beginning of January. Social media truly is an addiction, and most of the time it hollows you out and makes you feel worse. To that point, I lay wide awake in bed after that remembering the sights and smells and sounds of death, tossing and turning. After about an hour, I took a melatonin and thankfully fell asleep by 10:30.
Today I plan to go to the gym for the first time in weeks. After literal years of consistent gym usage, even to the point of signing up for gyms on vacations, I have sadly slacked off these last six months due to travel, sickness, and depression. I'm at my lowest weight I've been in years, and I think it's because I've lost muscle. So today will be leg day! And then I'll go to the store since stores were closed allllll weekend, which felt particularly long--I can only eat days-old bread for so long.
It’s supposed to be sunny today again. There's something about perpetual clouds in a dirty, dark city that feels imprisoning more than cathartic. When the sun shines, the sidewalk edges here in Spandau glitter with shattered amber glass.
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