Driven

It's a question of perspective, like so many things. I'm currently on the ICE back to Essen to the apartment I'll be staying in for two more nights. After that, I'll be homeless.  There's still so much to do, but I've already done so much. Before Christmas I made the final decision to leave Germany, but after January 6 the whole thing took on a whole new dynamic. Terminating contracts, giving notice on the apartment, signing the contract, so many rules, renovating, packing, sorting out, selling, looking for a new tenant, sorting things out, finishing projects....  Sometimes I have to grab my head. For 14 years I fought for a permanent position in academia, since October 24 I had reached my goal and signed. Admittedly, I blackmailed myself into it (not my style, usually), rather involuntarily, I didn't know that it would be accepted. I had a very tempting offer from Berlin that I would actually have been very happy to take up and was naturally looking for a way to get out of my obligations in Essen and put the gun to my chest, either permanently (not such a far-fetched demand at my age) or I would leave. Then I sat in a video call with Trasis in Liège and couldn't believe that Essen was offering me the prospect of a permanent position (very concrete). Thank you very much for that (I really appreciate it!). So much for my plan. Is that how it works?  And me? At the end of my goals? Not at all! Opportunity makes thieves, but a really great offer came around the corner at the end of October. It involved emigrating to the continent on the other side of the world, only the moon is further away. I didn't actually have to think about it, I was already starting to plan the process. It soon became concrete, but that also meant that I had to part with a lot of things I had grown fond of. From Valeska, from my apartment, from furnishings, from friends, from relatives and places. I stood there in the 2nd week of January and started to sort things out. What was important, what could I keep, what my heart was set on. The sale of my 40 year old comic collection hurt me a lot, rather jokingly I put it up for sale, I was surprised how many requests I got and what price. An hour later, an elderly man stood in my apartment, panting heavily, and allowed me to keep a few of my favorite comics from the collection. I carried the rest to his car, I never thought I would get so much money for it. The same game with my CD collection, advertised with a surprise box of over 300 CDs, mainly heavy metal. I digitized most of them and took 45 kg of sound carriers to the post office for shipping (thanks Valeska). I sold everything except for my waterbed and a table. All in all, I made a lot of money, which would probably have been enough for my funeral, but a far cry from the amount I had spent on the items. Never mind, I wanted to clear out anyway. What I kept fits into 6 m3 of what used to be a 5-room apartment. IKEA in particular went, it was sometimes very stressful, all those requests. But what I didn't quite understand were the people who wrote you novels about why they couldn't come on a certain date, sorry next. I also renovated the apartment, found a new tenant, terminated contracts, worked and so on. And now this weekend I took my last belongings to Stuttgart for storage at Bina's, Willi (who else) helped me. So he drove the Sprinter and he actually carried a chest of drawers with me into the car, down 3 floors and then demonstratively sat down in the bakery and drank coffee and replenished the calories he had consumed. In his defense, the one chest of drawers was already considerably more than what he had carried on his own move in December. At the same time I had someone there to pick up the advertised wood. I also sold the man the last items (mirror, 2 x dogs (board with wheels), tension belts). The man didn't know what hit him as I pulled the money out of his pocket and got rid of my last useless item. Then a lady came to get 2 Ikea chairs, I could tell from her clothes that she was politically minded, people like that don't hide these days. On the way down I told her that I was emigrating because there were just too many Nazis in this country, if I'd had time I would have refused her the chairs. “But Aschaffenburg” came from her. That a child of Moroccan origin was killed and a Syrian child injured in this sad act, she hadn't scrolled down the articles that far. Victims of the headlines. I had to walk 24 times before the rest of my belongings were loaded, the bikes in the back and off we went to Stuttgart. Arrived in Stuttgart at some point, distributed everything, took the bikes to the individual mechanics. I actually wanted to take the Breezer with me on the plane after the service, but Martin came up with a wonderful idea: sending it via DHL could work, if not we'll leave the bike with Bina until I get the other things. The idea makes a lot of things easier. An offer for the bike came in from someone via Whatsapp, which was probably not very serious, but the bike is there to ride, not to own and gather dust. I've put a lot of money into it now, that's how run down I had it. A gearshift costs a lot of money. I didn't understand a lot of the messages I got these days, many of them funny, but I'm just at an age now where I know that envy is the best form of recognition and I can now tell the difference between envy and resentment. Thank you.

So Friday was full of other appointments, someone told me that it is not possible to keep your account in Germany if you live abroad, misinformation! No problem pas! Then here, then there, powers of attorney, signatures etc. In the evening I was done with everything and with the day, quite tired I went to bed to meet my good friend George at Fragola very early the next morning for the last time.

I was really glad that Tine canceled, she wanted to hug me again, but on the other hand, with her children in tow, that would have been very un-relaxing, so I was happy to drive straight through to GD. Off to see the old man, check on things, do the shopping, run errands for him, say goodbye. I didn't have the heart to tell him what was going on. Then a stroll through GD with my friend Lars before finally setting off on what I'd actually come for. Daniela had organized something like a small class reunion at her place in Leinweiler, in her kitchen. But first I had to meet her somehow, because without a bike I'm a bit dependent (something I don't like) and wanted to take the train to Mögglingen, but unfortunately it was closed. The cab would have cost me 50 euros for the few meters. So I actually thought about hitchhiking, luckily there are still buses. This used to be my main route for several years, but is now such a distant alternative. The bike makes me independent, I don't have to rely on public transport or carpooling. In wind and weather, get on the bike, crank a bit and there you go. GD - Leinzell approx. 20 - 30 minutes, depending on my mood. But not this time, I had my bike at Martin's and as I didn't want to pay 50 euros, nor did I want Daniela to pick me up so far away, I took the bus. It really used to be my regular route and what can I say, I survived, even enjoyed it. Thomas even picked me up at the bus stop by car and I was already standing in the now beautifully renovated kitchen of an old farmhouse. I witnessed the individual phases of the renovation and I have to say I was very impressed by what the two of them have done with it. It was beautiful. Slowly, this huge eat-in kitchen filled up with people whose faces and stories we knew. By now we are all a bit older, most of us married (or divorced again) with 1,2,3 children of different ages, with a house, with work or just not. With lives and destinies. So nice to meet these people again with whom you grew up and went to school for 6 years. Hearing stories about people who couldn't be there. New & old. People you had forgotten, stories you remembered differently. Fates! And I was in the middle of it all, listening and asking myself. What would have happened if? What would it have been like? What would have happened? If you hadn't been so driven and restless. What would have happened if you had stayed in your home country? What would have become of you? What if you had trained as a curative and educational nurse after your civilian service? What if you had settled down and not always been driven by an idea that you could never fulfill yourself anyway? What if someone had said “Just be happy”? Be satisfied. Envy! Now I was sitting there in this kitchen surrounded by people you went to school with 30 years ago, listening to their stories and their lives, and I became small and insignificant and envious. Envy, my dear friends, is the most beautiful form of recognition!  What would have happened if I had been sedentary? Would I have been happier, more content, calmer, more secure? What I'm doing right now, this thing I call life, without a net and a double bottom, without a safe harbor to row back to, as I've been practicing for a long time now, it's really like swimming in the open sea, without land in sight, without a solid bottom, you're completely on your own, if you stop swimming you sink. Well, it's not entirely without safety. I have myself, and I have my skillset, the ability to always land on my paws and carry on, no matter what comes, no matter how much it hits you on the face, get up, straighten your bones, carry on, for so long, until at some point it just doesn't work anymore. And so I sat there and listened and yearned for the lives of others, for maturity, for peace and quiet and loathed my own drifting. I thought others might envy me the freedom to do things that are not possible with children and property. And again I sat there and asked myself why I hadn't turned down the offer? Why did I listen to it, why am I taking this step? What is driving me? I'm not running away this time, I know that. Maybe it would have been enough if someone had said “Stay”?

Someone will probably never say it to me, so I will always be driven because I don't feel at home anywhere. Even emigrating, I don't know if this is the end of the road for me? Who knows what will happen in 6 months, I don't know. Maybe someone will say, “Stay” and the driving will stop.

I finally went to bed at 4am, the obligatory conversations about politics at the end of the evening. Only to be lovingly woken up before 8am by Charlotta, Dani & Thomas' 6-year-old daughter. She stroked my forearm until I opened my eyes on the couch. She smiled at me with a rabbit in her arms. She wanted to introduce me to Hasi and Hoppel (I hope I got the names right). She had been told yesterday that I like to get up early. Thank you Heike, thank you so much! Rarely have I been woken up so nicely after 3 hours and a bit of sleep!  At some point Dani & Thomas also came into the really nice kitchen for a coffee and then it was off to the station.  . The drive back through the Rems Valley, so much was going through my head, restless and driven thoughts of the past with sad music playing in my ears, tiny tears running down my cheeks. Once again goodbye. Slowly it dawns on me what I'm doing, the abstract thought of leaving becomes more real and I wish someone would finally say that I can stay.

On that note, no worries mate!

P.S.: Since I was once again asked about “spelling mistakes” and “oh Ralph, such mistakes”. I'm dyslexic, I make no bones about it, it's a disability, so f/(k off, move along and don't chat me up about it. You don't have to read it! Some people can't tell left from right and I write some words wrongly capitalized, some small, some with an h where none belongs or just without an h, with double n and single n. Thank you for understanding.