Nordhofen Westerwald (Rheinland-Pfalz, Germany)
I'm nervous, but I can't quite pinpoint why. There could be several reasons, but two come to mind immediately: the upcoming move or work. Work is no longer a happy place for me. Everything has taken another deep turn for the worse since the layoffs. Afterwards, there was no room for relief – not that I had expected any. Immediately I had to shift into high gear, push everything else aside, and surrender entirely to what was being demanded of me.
Work isn't meant to make us happy, though most people are at least more motivated by some trace of satisfaction than by a pure submission to tasks. Those people exist – I've just never been one of them. Work always had to carry some kind of meaning, or at least a direction worth heading in. All of that is gone. All of that was never really there, if I'm honest.
And then there's the move with all its planned phases, each one carrying the quiet possibility of failure. Will the rental company give us exactly the vehicle we need – a box van with a tail lift? Will I be able to leave my car safely in the large public car park for three days without someone breaking in, damaging it, or perhaps even stealing it? Will the drive to Berlin go without incident, and will we find somewhere to stop near the storage unit despite the construction, so we can load up without trouble?
Will we find somewhere to stay in Berlin where we can also park the van safely? Will we be able to clear out the storage unit within the time we've allowed ourselves – there are only two of us, and neither of us is quite at full strength? Will the return journey, which is meant to start right after the clear-out, go smoothly? Will we have enough energy left to haul all our belongings into our new home? Will the van be returned without any damage?
All these questions weigh on me for days beforehand, building into a mountain of dread that grows until the morning we set off. And then we set off. We arrive at the rental company on time, receive exactly the vehicle we reserved, and are even able to leave our car on their fenced-in lot. The drive starts shakily – I've never driven such a large vehicle before – but I quickly get the hang of it, and we glide to Berlin smoothly and without any traffic. We even manage to find a hotel room for the first night on the spot, and park the van in the hotel's own car park.
Parking at the storage facility is a small challenge, as the construction work is ongoing next door and the already tight car park now feels tiny. But we manage to stop right in front of the entrance. The clear-out is slow, with increasingly frequent and longer breaks as time goes on. In the end it takes eight hours, and we head straight back in the evening. Along the way I stop several times to try to sleep – which I never quite manage – and as the sun rises, we finally arrive. A full 24 hours of being awake lie behind us.
Then a bit of sleep in our sleeping bags on the floor of the still-empty living room, and after a few hours we get to work unloading. By late afternoon, after five hours, the large belly of the van is empty. We are utterly exhausted, but overjoyed to have it behind us. On the third and final day we return the vehicle to the rental company, where it is accepted back without any damage, clean and in good order.
At the end of this little journey, we are back in the holiday flat where everything began a few days ago – and I can say with pride: we did it. The nervousness is gone. Exhaustion is everywhere, but so is a deep sense of satisfaction and relief. The two of us managed it entirely on our own.
I'm nervous, but I can't quite pinpoint why. There could be several reasons, but two come to mind immediately: the upcoming move or work. Work is no longer a happy place for me. Everything has taken another deep turn for the worse since the layoffs. Afterwards, there was no room for relief – not that I had expected any. Immediately I had to shift into high gear, push everything else aside, and surrender entirely to what was being demanded of me.
Work isn't meant to make us happy, though most people are at least more motivated by some trace of satisfaction than by a pure submission to tasks. Those people exist – I've just never been one of them. Work always had to carry some kind of meaning, or at least a direction worth heading in. All of that is gone. All of that was never really there, if I'm honest.
And then there's the move with all its planned phases, each one carrying the quiet possibility of failure. Will the rental company give us exactly the vehicle we need – a box van with a tail lift? Will I be able to leave my car safely in the large public car park for three days without someone breaking in, damaging it, or perhaps even stealing it? Will the drive to Berlin go without incident, and will we find somewhere to stop near the storage unit despite the construction, so we can load up without trouble?
Will we find somewhere to stay in Berlin where we can also park the van safely? Will we be able to clear out the storage unit within the time we've allowed ourselves – there are only two of us, and neither of us is quite at full strength? Will the return journey, which is meant to start right after the clear-out, go smoothly? Will we have enough energy left to haul all our belongings into our new home? Will the van be returned without any damage?
All these questions weigh on me for days beforehand, building into a mountain of dread that grows until the morning we set off. And then we set off. We arrive at the rental company on time, receive exactly the vehicle we reserved, and are even able to leave our car on their fenced-in lot. The drive starts shakily – I've never driven such a large vehicle before – but I quickly get the hang of it, and we glide to Berlin smoothly and without any traffic. We even manage to find a hotel room for the first night on the spot, and park the van in the hotel's own car park.
Parking at the storage facility is a small challenge, as the construction work is ongoing next door and the already tight car park now feels tiny. But we manage to stop right in front of the entrance. The clear-out is slow, with increasingly frequent and longer breaks as time goes on. In the end it takes eight hours, and we head straight back in the evening. Along the way I stop several times to try to sleep – which I never quite manage – and as the sun rises, we finally arrive. A full 24 hours of being awake lie behind us.
Then a bit of sleep in our sleeping bags on the floor of the still-empty living room, and after a few hours we get to work unloading. By late afternoon, after five hours, the large belly of the van is empty. We are utterly exhausted, but overjoyed to have it behind us. On the third and final day we return the vehicle to the rental company, where it is accepted back without any damage, clean and in good order.
At the end of this little journey, we are back in the holiday flat where everything began a few days ago – and I can say with pride: we did it. The nervousness is gone. Exhaustion is everywhere, but so is a deep sense of satisfaction and relief. The two of us managed it entirely on our own.