11th week in Jablonec nad Nisou (Czech Republic).
The approaching departure spreads great joy in me. Even if it is only the joy in the thought that we are again heading for something that we don't know yet completely, but already love. Brittany is the place of our longing. I can hardly wait to arrive. But until then, there is still a time gap to bridge, places to visit and things to do.
Starts are breaks and these trigger something in me that brings forth strong feelings. I try to put these feelings into words, to give them space and to listen to them. I also try to remember if it is always the same feelings that arise in such situations or if they have changed over time. The last time we started was almost three months ago now.
The trip to Berlin is on the horizon. We have reached the end of the week and I wonder where all the time went? Other than a walk up to the lake, I haven't been outside. I don't count a few times in the garden for a short time. I spent most of my time working or organizing my onward journey or in front of the TV. I wasn't around people and if I hadn't communicated with my colleagues and my wife, I'd be pretty much alone.
But I am fine with this. I've mentioned it before, there's nothing left for me to discover here. Lately it's been like I'm just waiting for it to finally move on. And it finally does. Twelve weeks have flown by. Maybe it's because I can hardly remember anything characterizing, although I have experienced quite a bit. Maybe it's also because I stick less to something as I get older.
I often live in the moment, but I take less and less from it. Not much remains in my memory anymore. Things always change and some of this change doesn't stick. But I try to look at it positively by telling myself that it was good here. It was good to be here because we had rest. It was good because we were out of Germany. It was good because I was largely removed from world events. Hardly any news. No gossip. Nothing that would have burdened me from the outside.
Now that we are moving on again, I'm thinking about what it means for me to be in one place permanently. I have trouble putting down roots and the idea of settling down scares me. But I also long for it. I want to have a home. Often it is impossible for me to immerse myself in a place, to really let myself fall when I know that I will stay there for a long time or forever.
To fully savor life, to feel the moment completely, I only succeed when time is limited. And even then there is still something left. Something I could have done or wanted to experience. Never is a place completely discovered. But maybe for that I have to do exactly what I'm afraid of most, stay.
And then, there is something else that burdens me more and more, I feel lonely. It may be, as the days get shorter and night falls earlier, that this brings back the feeling of emptiness in me. This weighs on me and I wonder, will I ever get rid of it? Will I heal, whatever that might mean and however that might feel? I know neither you nor anyone else will be able to help me with this, but I doubt that I too will be able to fill this hole with whatever meaning.
The old olive trees come to my mind, before which I stood speechless at ArtBasel a few years ago, to which I felt an immensely deep connection. It is less to them as trees, more to the fate we share. They stood in this huge hall, uprooted in an environment unnatural to them. Alienated. Lonely. Separated from the soil and therefor their world. Taken away for a purpose that was not their natural one. I still feel for them today.
And lastly, a small observation. The house across the street is empty now. People were there again and again, dragging out small packages and boxes. Then there were two men who took down the sign. And lastly men painting the walls. We witnessed a change for this small group. Now I know why the woman was crying as she sat on the stairs few weeks ago. She knew her time here was coming to an end. The same is true for us. Only it doesn't draw a tear out of me.
The approaching departure spreads great joy in me. Even if it is only the joy in the thought that we are again heading for something that we don't know yet completely, but already love. Brittany is the place of our longing. I can hardly wait to arrive. But until then, there is still a time gap to bridge, places to visit and things to do.
Starts are breaks and these trigger something in me that brings forth strong feelings. I try to put these feelings into words, to give them space and to listen to them. I also try to remember if it is always the same feelings that arise in such situations or if they have changed over time. The last time we started was almost three months ago now.
The trip to Berlin is on the horizon. We have reached the end of the week and I wonder where all the time went? Other than a walk up to the lake, I haven't been outside. I don't count a few times in the garden for a short time. I spent most of my time working or organizing my onward journey or in front of the TV. I wasn't around people and if I hadn't communicated with my colleagues and my wife, I'd be pretty much alone.
But I am fine with this. I've mentioned it before, there's nothing left for me to discover here. Lately it's been like I'm just waiting for it to finally move on. And it finally does. Twelve weeks have flown by. Maybe it's because I can hardly remember anything characterizing, although I have experienced quite a bit. Maybe it's also because I stick less to something as I get older.
I often live in the moment, but I take less and less from it. Not much remains in my memory anymore. Things always change and some of this change doesn't stick. But I try to look at it positively by telling myself that it was good here. It was good to be here because we had rest. It was good because we were out of Germany. It was good because I was largely removed from world events. Hardly any news. No gossip. Nothing that would have burdened me from the outside.
Now that we are moving on again, I'm thinking about what it means for me to be in one place permanently. I have trouble putting down roots and the idea of settling down scares me. But I also long for it. I want to have a home. Often it is impossible for me to immerse myself in a place, to really let myself fall when I know that I will stay there for a long time or forever.
To fully savor life, to feel the moment completely, I only succeed when time is limited. And even then there is still something left. Something I could have done or wanted to experience. Never is a place completely discovered. But maybe for that I have to do exactly what I'm afraid of most, stay.
And then, there is something else that burdens me more and more, I feel lonely. It may be, as the days get shorter and night falls earlier, that this brings back the feeling of emptiness in me. This weighs on me and I wonder, will I ever get rid of it? Will I heal, whatever that might mean and however that might feel? I know neither you nor anyone else will be able to help me with this, but I doubt that I too will be able to fill this hole with whatever meaning.
The old olive trees come to my mind, before which I stood speechless at ArtBasel a few years ago, to which I felt an immensely deep connection. It is less to them as trees, more to the fate we share. They stood in this huge hall, uprooted in an environment unnatural to them. Alienated. Lonely. Separated from the soil and therefor their world. Taken away for a purpose that was not their natural one. I still feel for them today.
And lastly, a small observation. The house across the street is empty now. People were there again and again, dragging out small packages and boxes. Then there were two men who took down the sign. And lastly men painting the walls. We witnessed a change for this small group. Now I know why the woman was crying as she sat on the stairs few weeks ago. She knew her time here was coming to an end. The same is true for us. Only it doesn't draw a tear out of me.