Nordhofen Westerwald (Rheinland-Pfalz, Germany)
I work for a startup in Berlin – completely remote from the very beginning. That was a condition for me to even start. This way of working is normal there, quite different from southern Germany, where such things are still viewed with suspicion.
But this is exactly how I always wanted to work. The opportunity only arose during the Corona pandemic. And before this window would close, I wanted to have established it as my primary way of working and living. That's how I came to Berlin.
Life in the south was also difficult and became almost unbearable over time. I never had a real home, moved several times in 15 years – and each time I felt more uprooted and further away from the life I had in my daydreams. I had almost given up hope of finding a place where I could finally arrive.
Berlin was never my goal. The city never a place of longing. What I need is nature, silence, and space to breathe freely. This need has always been in me, but it lay deeply buried under the expectations of a society and environment that was mainly concerned with itself, but never interested in me. Adapting and subordinating was therefore my pattern. Not standing out. Desiring nothing. Being invisible.
Now, after years of traveling, this wish is becoming reality. We have found a house with a garden large enough that you can walk barefoot over the grass, pause, and take a deep breath. This is where I want to be and this is where I'll stay. The joy is deep and genuine. It grounds me and gives me the feeling of being valuable, and an arrival is possible – in life, not just at a place.
But on the very day we received confirmation, some of my colleagues were let go. From one moment to the next, they were gone. Only later did I realize through events that had occurred beforehand that I had almost been among them. This realization hit me hard. I had believed my position was secure, my contribution indispensable. I was naive.
Over time, it became clear to me that no one in this environment is truly safe. People disappear overnight, and no one knows exactly why. In truth, we are all just small parts in a machine, replaceable and interchangeable. I'm sitting on a bomb that could go off at any time. And it will. The only question is when.
Now this frightens me less than in the weeks when the storm was raging. Perhaps because I finally have something that remains. Something I can go to and retreat into, no matter what happens outside. A home where I can breathe, with all the space and room to be protected and creative. I think this is a new beginning.
I work for a startup in Berlin – completely remote from the very beginning. That was a condition for me to even start. This way of working is normal there, quite different from southern Germany, where such things are still viewed with suspicion.
But this is exactly how I always wanted to work. The opportunity only arose during the Corona pandemic. And before this window would close, I wanted to have established it as my primary way of working and living. That's how I came to Berlin.
Life in the south was also difficult and became almost unbearable over time. I never had a real home, moved several times in 15 years – and each time I felt more uprooted and further away from the life I had in my daydreams. I had almost given up hope of finding a place where I could finally arrive.
Berlin was never my goal. The city never a place of longing. What I need is nature, silence, and space to breathe freely. This need has always been in me, but it lay deeply buried under the expectations of a society and environment that was mainly concerned with itself, but never interested in me. Adapting and subordinating was therefore my pattern. Not standing out. Desiring nothing. Being invisible.
Now, after years of traveling, this wish is becoming reality. We have found a house with a garden large enough that you can walk barefoot over the grass, pause, and take a deep breath. This is where I want to be and this is where I'll stay. The joy is deep and genuine. It grounds me and gives me the feeling of being valuable, and an arrival is possible – in life, not just at a place.
But on the very day we received confirmation, some of my colleagues were let go. From one moment to the next, they were gone. Only later did I realize through events that had occurred beforehand that I had almost been among them. This realization hit me hard. I had believed my position was secure, my contribution indispensable. I was naive.
Over time, it became clear to me that no one in this environment is truly safe. People disappear overnight, and no one knows exactly why. In truth, we are all just small parts in a machine, replaceable and interchangeable. I'm sitting on a bomb that could go off at any time. And it will. The only question is when.
Now this frightens me less than in the weeks when the storm was raging. Perhaps because I finally have something that remains. Something I can go to and retreat into, no matter what happens outside. A home where I can breathe, with all the space and room to be protected and creative. I think this is a new beginning.