This week marks the start of my eleventh summer in Berlin. I moved here in June 2013, and I now get a very strong sense of having been here for longer than most people. While it’s still less than people who were born here, or people whose families have been here for generations, that’s still a lot of time, especially in a city I’ve always thought and described as transitional, for many residents.
It might be strongly correlated with having moved here in my mid-twenties, but I’ve always had the feeling that people do not settle in Berlin. Or, more precisely, do not move to Berlin with the intention to settle here. People usually come here to party for a weekend, to increase their professional experience through a six-month internship, to work on creative projects for however long these projects takes, or just to change scenery for a while. But never to really settle down. I was in this mindset when I moved here, and all the farewell parties I’ve attended (and missed) have never failed to confirm this feeling. I’d say Berlin is fairly easy to join and apparently even easier to leave, but for now, I’m glad I get to call this place home.
_
There never was an explicit plan to get where I am, but when I look back at the past ten years, I feel like I’m approximately where the younger me wanted to be. I have some of what the younger me was looking for, but didn’t know he wanted to have. He probably wouldn’t have said it this way back then, but I think he was looking for something simpler. Now that I have clarified my status with the local authorities (if you’re not employed, looking for employment, studying or retired, you’re basically an administrative question mark to them), life feels as simple as it can get.
This situation is actually a little difficult to explain, not only to local authorities, but also to people around me. Most people have never been in this situation. Unemployed and looking for a new position is common, but unemployed and “choosing to stay unemployed” is kinda rare, especially at my age and with my long(ish) experience, where many are focused on climbing the corporate ladder or seeking job promotions, in order to provide for their newly formed families.
Because I don’t have anything to keep me busy, I simply fill my time with hobbies. Whatever would be after-work and weekend hobbies when I had a full-time job are now my everyday routine. If you drop by my house at anytime during the week, you’ll find me reading, writing, cooking, drinking coffee, fixing or riding my bikes, running data analysis, trying to learn korean, taking naps or planning my next travels. All these activities together probably don’t add up to forty hours a week. I’m not doing anything very productive, and yet, feel very satisfied with how I spend my time. There’s little to distract me from doing the things I enjoy doing.
I found a simpler way. I flipped the script.
Bonus:
I posted this on my old blog the day after I landed in Berlin, on june 10th, 2013. It sounds much better in its original language, but you’ll find a translated version below.
Paris, la fin de l'hiver, le printemps, l'été qui ne vient pas, perdre son boulot, être en vacances, avoir le temps, squatter les terrasses, boire trop de café, mettre ses lunettes de soleil trop souvent, rouler un peu n'importe comment, sortir trop, acheter un appareil photo numérique, se prendre au sérieux, se dire qu'on à tort, s'inscrire au pole emploi, les Tuileries et les Champs Élysées déserts, déclarer ses impôts, annuler son abonnement Navigo, essayer de faire de la musique, refaire du photoshop, monter un nouveau vélo, écrire, lancer des projets, essayer d'écrire un business plan, tenter vainement de se justifier, cuisiner veggie, rendre les clés de son appart, faire des cadeaux et avoir une petite boule au ventre.
Londres, le tunnel sous la Manche, rouler à gauche, se perdre, manger trop de burgers, rencontrer les quatre seules personnes connues sur place, expliquer sa situation professionnelle en anglais, beaucoup marcher, se perdre (encore), aborder une parfaite inconnue dans l'Eurostar de retour, et enfin comprendre le charme de la ville, qui m'échappait depuis tout ce temps.
New York, trois ans plus tard, East Village, prendre plein de photos, manger trop de breakfast sandwiches, trop de slices, boire un peu trop un dimanche soir, tipper correctement, se faufiler entre les taxis sur la 5ème, prendre le Williamsburg Bridge sous la pluie (deux fois), faire de jolies rencontres, boire un milkshake dans Central Park, se faire conduire par un chauffeur, tremper les pieds dans la piscine du Standard, dépenser raisonnablement son argent, faire plaisir aux locaux en passant les tracks qui vont bien, être professionnel, descendre toute la 2ème à contre sens, prolonger la nuit jusqu'à beaucoup trop tard, ne pas être sérieux, et se dire sérieusement qu'on essaierait bien de venir vivre ici quelques temps.
Paris, vingt quatre heures, voir un concert au Stade de France, bouffer un dernier kebab, boucler sa valise, prendre quatre fois le RER, dire au revoir à tout le monde, prendre les gens très fort dans ses bras, ne pas chialer dans le bus, se tromper de terminal, réussir à ne pas payer l'excédent de bagages au check-in, somnoler dans la salle d'embarquement, penser à ce qu'on laisse derrière soi, à qui on laisse derrière soi, repenser aux sept dernières années, choisir soigneusement la bande-son de ce vol, dormir dans l'avion, ne pas voir les deux heures de vol passer.
Et au moment d'atterrir, espérer très très fort que l'on a eu raison de prendre cet aller simple.
[EN]
Paris, the end of the winter, the spring, the summer that doesn't come, lose your job, be on vacation, have time, squat terraces, drink too much coffee, put on your sunglasses too often, drive a bit haphazardly, go out too much, buy a digital camera, take yourself seriously, tell yourself you're wrong, sign up for unemployment, the Tuileries and the empty Champs Élysées, fill in your tax return, cancel your transit subscription, try making music, open Photoshop again, ride a new bike, write, launch projects, try writing a business plan, aimlessly try to justify yourself, cook veggies, return your apartment keys, give gifts, all of that with a little knot in your stomach.
London, the Channel, drive on the left, get lost, eat too many burgers, meet the only four people you know there, explain your professional situation in English, walk a lot, get lost (again), approach a complete stranger in the Eurostar back, and finally understand the charm of the city, which had eluded me all this time.
New York, three years later, East Village, take lots of photos, eat too many breakfast sandwiches and too many slices, drink a little too much on a Sunday evening, tip properly, slip between taxis on the 5th, ride the Williamsburg Bridge under the rain (twice), meet nice people, drink a milkshake in Central Park, get driven around, dip your feet in the Standard swimming pool, spend your money reasonably, please the locals by playing the right tracks, be professional, go down 2nd Avenue the wrong way, push through the night until way too late, be unserious, and seriously consider coming and living here for a while.
Paris, twenty-four hours, attend a concert at the Stade de France, eat one last kebab, pack your suitcase, take the RER four times, say goodbye to everyone, hug people tightly, hold your tears in the bus, go to the wrong terminal, manage not to pay for excess baggage at check-in, doze in the departure lounge, think about what you're leaving behind, who you're leaving behind, think about last seven years, carefully choose the soundtrack for this flight, sleep on the plane, not seeing the two hours of flight pass.
And when you land, hope very very strongly that you were right to book this one way flight.
Wow. I landed in Berlin exactly 11 days before you that same year. And yes, I already left but with a broken heart for doing so. Still feels like home every time I am in Berlin, and I still feel heartbroken every whenever is time to leave the city again.