i’m on my way to Düsseldorf and I’m working from the train. i actually look forward to this train ride (not so much the destination) but the journey is pleasant and i get a lot of work done. i took a bolt to the hbf and my driver talked to me the whole time, mostly in German. i have to say, i love talking with cab drivers the most because they understand my wanting to try and they let me. plus, the conversation is always nice and basic enough for me to pull my own weight.
anyway, as I was listening to music and working on the train just now, we stopped in a town a few hours outside of Berlin. i saw a girl in her 30’s get on the train after saying goodbye to what i’m assuming were her parents. they stood at the train window with their hand pressed against it waving and and blowing kisses. the girl seemed a little embarassed but waved back and went back to her book. her mom started crying and her dad put his arm around her and kept waving to their daughter. it kind of choked me up to watch that and see how much these parents loved their kid and how it pained them to see her go.
i haven’t seen my dad since March 2023. i miss him so much.
I’ve been adjusting to life changes lately and while I haven’t been writing here, I’ve been journaling and sending letters to people back home. I read a quote today that said something to the effect of not feeling like you exist in one place but in many simultaneously and that’s how I feel currently.
I need to get another roll of film… that’s a note to myself. The days are getting darker and colder in Germany and I’m trying to keep the momentum up. Yesterday, the sun set promptly at 4:02pm and then we launched into an eternal darkness until 8am this morning. I went to the gym and ran on the treadmill, staring out the window into the skyline watching everyone below do their shopping and head to the train. Running has been a good form of catharsis for me and I feel powerful with my endurance, or how I’ve learned to push beyond the discomfort or exhaustion I feel. It really does become a mental exercise more than anything at a certain point.
As I was running, I thought about the seasons. I’m a big proponent of them and what they bring for a change of activity and lifestyle. Winter indicates rest and slowing down to some degree but for me, I can’t let it bring me to a screeching halt. At the very least, I’m trying to remain active after work despite the total darkness enveloping me before I’m done working for the day. I’ve decided my focus for this season will be both on discipline and creativity—sounds like a conflict of interest, no? I guess my brain is able to compartmentalize the two for the sake of pursuing two routes in my head that are unrelated to one another.
I’ve been on a mission to make myself feel better holistically by diet and exercise as the driving factors. I’ve done research on how to increase my energy as we dip into a cold, dark season and found exercises that make me want to go to the gym despite the strong pull to stay home and hibernate instead. I told someone recently I wanted to feel strong and I mean that in every form of the definition. I want to feel strong mentally and physically and those two definitely go hand in hand. This is where running has been so pivotal in highlighting this connection and paving the way for a two-way exchange.
But then I think of creativity and the down season of winter and I find myself trying to find things to do. I don’t want to overcomplicate this but I do think I can be consuming things (creatively) that will spark interest in other areas. I have a new book I’d like to read. I have a movie I’m excited to watch. I have essays I want to write. I have projects I want to pursue… this includes learning to bake something. I miss reading. I used to read constantly and then I endured a horrible period of time where my mind couldn’t focus on reading a book or sitting down to watch a movie. I hate to use the word torture but it certainly felt like a close form. I used to make collages on post cards and send them to my friends. Maybe I should do something like that again.
Anyway, I’ve been looking at tickets to Spain or Portugal to break up the six months of grey that lie ahead. This will be my third German winter and I didn’t handle the first one so well. Last year, I’d say I made the most of it and was quite active. For a year (or since January) I’ve kept an active log of all the major activities I did every month and the places I’ve traveled. When I go back through that list, I’m impressed that a. I did all the things on that list and b. that I was consistent each month in tracking them. I’ll likely do the same for 2025 and if I had to guess, there will be a lot more activities and places traveled on the docket.
I have to finish some work and then I’ll meet my friend for coffee at lunch time.
bis zum nächsten Mal!
I was on a walk with Russ earlier when for whatever reason I decided to play one of my favorite Red Hot Chili Peppers songs, for reference it’s Fortune Faded. Next on the greatest hits album is Save the Population which I also let play through. After I finished the songs, I went to the By the Way album (arguably their best) and scrolled to the bottom. I played a song that evokes strong memories and emotions: Venice Queen. It’s probably worth mentioning that the Red Hot Chili Peppers were my favorite band as a teenager. I saw them in concert many times and even met Flea when I was 15. I had an entire drawer of RHCP shirts and relied on their music to get me through my happiest and saddest days. As a kid/teenager I was dressed like a tomboy and felt uncomfortable when I dressed too feminine—reasons unknown. To this day, I still tend to dress more in line with this style and feel like a caricature of myself when I feel too done up. This was an interesting crossroads to find myself at as a teenager because I was a competitive dancer and had to wear fake eyelashes, heavy make up and glitter regularly. To me, it felt like I was playing a role and in a way, I was. I kind of went along with whatever I had to do and put my best foot forward at competitions and didn’t complain.
There always comes a time in a competitive dancers tenure where they can start competing solo. I performed my first solo at 12 and I was so nervous I could have puked. I wore a black and red sparkly costume: a long sleeve crop top with matching pants. I danced to “Lose my Breath” by Destiny’s Child. My friends came to watch me and it didn’t feel authentic so in my next rounds, I tried to find something more fitting to my style. Finally, when I was 15, I decided to go against my own rule which was to ask my teacher to choreograph and dance to a Red Hot Chili Peppers song. The understanding in the dance community is that you typically don’t choose a song you love because by the end, you’ll come to hate it. You listen to it 500 times and will always have the dance associated with it. This solo was important to me so I decided to do mine to a song that wasn’t my favorite but I still enjoyed which happened to be Venice Queen. With solos, you even get to pick out your own costumes and I finally felt like I had found a way to express myself in an art where I often felt disassociated.
For several months, I’d meet with my dance teacher on Saturdays and we’d rehearse. She would see where we could push, what my special move could be and readjust when needed. To this day, 17 years later, I can still remember a decent amount of that choreography which is kind of amazing. Anyway, I picked out a black costume with these cut out tribal looking designs. I decided to only wear dance pads on my feet as opposed to shoes so I could turn and catch traction. I opted for dark, moody make up and statement hair. I tied my hair back in a high pony tail and teased the hair to make it appear untamed. I looked in the mirror and thought I looked cool. I was so excited to dance to music that I loved and feel authentic all by myself on stage. As I waited backstage, I watched the girls in my age group perform before me. I watched them in their pastel dresses leap across the stage to Lee Ann Womac, James Blunt and the Goo Goo Dolls. I looked at their neatly tied back hair with fake floral decorations pinned on the sides. I watched them smile and make eye contact with each judge, every move timed and perfected down to the count. I walked out into the hall and told my coach I didn’t want to perform. It was in that moment I realized how different I looked and felt amongst my peers and that made me want to back out all together.
I slid my back down the wall and buried my face into my hands. She came and sat down beside me, initially frustrated at the timing of this revelation. She asked me if I would have felt better to be dressed like them or choose a song similar to theirs to blend in or would I have regretted not doing something that felt like me. She told me how cool the whole piece was and how hard we had worked to put something together that I connected with and how the solo slot was the opportunity to do that. She told me at one point I’d look back on that moment in life with gratitude that I did something with conviction and brought me closer to recognizing my own sense of self. I’ve thought about that moment since but it’s only now that I can truly connect the dots and underscore the importance of identity and the bravery it can take to do something that is authentic for yourself. I got up and wiped my eyes and took a few deep breaths. I knew my brother Ryan and his girlfriend had come to watch me and I wanted to do my best.
Somewhere in my things back home, I have this performance recorded. I can watch it with a critical eye for the technical aspects but the emotion pours through. I wasn’t meant to smile in this dance or “perform” so to say. For me, it was statement if to nobody else but myself.
So anyway, that’s what I think of when I listen to that song.
Life has been moving slowly as of late and that’s not necessarily a bad thing just a matter of fact. I’m actually grateful for the slow progression of life when things are good because they moved even slower when things weren’t. I always beg for time to come to a halt when things are stable, even if it feels boring or monotonous. It used to be that I wished time away no matter what. Maybe a part of maturing is realizing when things level out you want to stay right where you are. Highs and lows come at a great cost to my mental health and I prefer to vibrate somewhere in the middle.
I’ve been settling into a quiet/lonely era and that’s by my own design. I’ve been keeping my head down and getting my life back in order post visitors. I’ve been watching nutrition videos for fun (lol). I’ve gone for long walks with Russ at night. I’ve been scheduling my workouts to keep the seasonal depression to a minimum and give myself a reason to leave the house after work. Over the weekend I went to a Halloween party and caught up with a friend. I spent hours listening to an audiobook and reorganizing my kitchen (pictures to follow). I did a cycling class and made a nice dinner. I’ve kept my social life very minimal for the past few weeks which has been uncomfortable at times but mostly peaceful. The other day, I walked down the street to a small stationary store that I’ve been meaning to go to and bought supplies to start writing letters again.
All in all, things feel wholesome.
I was talking with Carly the other day and she said something that struck a cord with me—something I’ve always known on a subconscious level but maybe not explored further or put into context. She mentioned that she was very bad or limited with discomfort but could handle pain well. As soon as she said that it occurred to me that I’m the exact opposite and this would reveal itself in the coming weeks. I realized that through the eyes of other people, I had surrendered to a decent amount of discomfort in my life and learned to live with it. For example: my microwave, an appliance I historically used every day, has been broken for a year. Instead of fixing it or finding a solution, I just worked around it and made my life harder. Why? I don’t know. But when it comes to pain, I have a low tolerance both emotionally and physically. On the contrary, I’ve watched people like Carly handle physically painful experiences with far more grace than me and vice versa with discomfort. Sometimes I wonder if my brain is wired differently…not in a way that makes me unique or interesting but one that signals that I don’t see things in a logical way and as a result, inherently make my life harder than it needs to be.
I digress.
The other day while I was cleaning my kitchen, I started an audiobook and the main theme is grief. The book centers around the loss of a sibling which unfortunately is too on the nose for me at the moment. I listened anyway. The book I’m reading before bed is also rooted in the theme of grief or loss. Hmmmm. And then, I recently re-watched Fleabag because in my opinion, it’s a masterpiece. Again, a central theme being grief and the loss of a friend and family member. There’s a part in Fleabag when she talks about not knowing what to do with her grief or the love she had for the person she lost. “Where does it go? Where do I put it?” I’ve had this thought, although maybe not as clear, many times. Whether it was losing a person by death or circumstance, I’ve revisited the idea of where does all my love for that person go when they’re no longer in my life? Her friend responds “Give it to me. I’ll take it.” And maybe that is the solution? Passing that love you’re carrying on to the people in your life and rationing it out to make it whole.
Yesterday was Omie’s birthday and I wouldn’t consider this a dark day but it’s one that does stop me in my tracks. It’s a day where I’m used to celebrating someone I love more than anyone on the planet. On this day, I allow myself the space to listen to her voice or sit with the discomfort of her not being here anymore. If I let myself do that more often, it would consume me. Not long ago, I started talking about her in therapy and the grief I experienced when she died and ongoing. For me, this was the person in my life who brought stability and a constant stream of love. She signified or represented a version of a life I desperately wanted to have. She was secure in herself and never withheld her love or affection towards me. She was even handed in her support and constructive criticism of my choices. When I lost my childhood cat Big Momma, I poured that remaining love into Russell. When I lost Omie, I found myself redirecting that love towards Adam’s mom, Lynn. Her energy and spirit are so similar to Omie and her overlap in my life, like Russell, bridged a gap with the loss that didn’t have me carrying excess love for too long. While not every aspect of my life or upbringing was ideal, I can say that when I audit my life and those around me, I ask myself how I got so lucky on a regular basis.
Lynn visited me a few weeks ago and noticed I didn’t have a working microwave. She asked me why and reminded me how much use I get from that one single appliance. Like Omie would have done, she bought me a microwave and wished me many warm meals and coffees. She knew it was Omie’s birthday yesterday and sent me a note with money to go have a treat in her honor. And then, my neighbor (and friend) Isabel sent me an apfelstreudel to celebrate Omie. We sat on my couch and ate it together which felt like the nicest way to spend a gray afternoon.
I’m trying to address discomfort and fix things rather than getting used to them or letting it become my normal. I want to take care of myself in a way that other people would—seeing my life through their eyes. I think I’m getting there and by spending some time alone, I’m doing just that. I don’t have to tackle it all at once which is what I need to keep in mind. Writing, even for nobody else but myself, is also a way I stay consistent and take care of myself so… here I am.
auf wiedersehen!
