Sixteenth Letter, February 13
Dear Berlin,
Today is our one month anniversary. Not since we met, of course, but since we began this relationship of letters.
I’ve been having weird dreams this week, and I don’t think this has anything to do with you, and I know that lately some of these letters have gotten way more diary-like and way less Berlin-travel-journal-like, but the fact is that my time here is caught up so much in my living style, clouded by my emotions, and defined by the context of the first year post-grad abyss.
Every time I go for a late night walk to Edeka for groceries, I am forced to think, “Is this my life now? Do I like it? Am I just worried about how much worse it could be?”
In some ways it feels my evaluations are more aesthetically than purpose driven. I like the aesthetic of living in Berlin; is it that you can be happy anywhere that you can afford to live?
That was cynical.
I guess I’m posing these questions without answers because I feel the need for some sort of baseline experience of my life here, some personal historical background that my typically experiential letters can be compared to. Often blogs fall more into the realm of social media, which relies on some inane unspoken base level that has caused many a breakdown or diatribe, than they do into the realm of writing, which would require them to have something in common with literature. Context for the written may be the missing ingredient to bridge that gap, so I’m giving it a shot.
Last week Jesslyn told me that I overthink everything. While the instance prompting that statement was, in my opinion, not an example of overthinking at all, it got me thinking (but totally ironically, of course).
I can’t have a good day without using that as fodder for my “pros of staying in Berlin” list. I can’t have a bad day without internally confirming that I’ll be moved “home” to the US in 4.5 months. I can’t have a neutral day hanging out at the apartmentwithout either questioning my purpose in being here or telling myself that at this rate, I could live here as long as I want. For someone with an awful lot of mood swings, this inability to separate my temporary emotional state with perceived ability to thrive or even exist here long-term definitely falls into the realm of overthinking.
Somewhere along the line, I became obsessed with deciding if I want to stay here or not. I am about 80% sure that my obsession stems equally from my self-identification as a bad decision-maker and my perception that one of the two most reasonable, simple options for my next year of life includes extending my grant for a second year, while the other is moving back to Edmonds. Ergo, a decision about my future plans will be made whether I act or not, and it would be in my best interests to actively decide for myself. Rather than complicating the process by looking at all of the options, I have created a binary of keep teaching in Berlin:don’t keep teaching in Berlin.
This causes me a lot of problems. The “don’t keep teaching in Berlin” aspect is entirely unknown. It could mean teaching, but not in Berlin. It could mean staying in Berlin but not teaching. It could mean working as a Barista in Sydney, Australia, or crashing on a friend’s couch in New York City, or living with my parents while applying to grad schools, or moving back to LA to pursue writing. The possibilities are endless, which is both exhilarating and terrifying. Since that feels difficult to quantify and promises significant risk, I naturally have only used energy evaluating the other option.
The “keep teaching in Berlin” option is predictable by comparison. I would be pretty aware of what my life would look like day-to-day. I know what would be expected of me at work, what kind of lifestyle I can afford, and presumably even who my roommates would be. From the standpoint of content it is predictable, but the level of satisfaction is impossible to gauge. It has the potential to be infinitely more satisfying as well as infinitely less satisfying than the alternative, because the alternative has infinite potential.
If you’re starting to think this is a logic essay more than it is a love letter, my dear Berlin, I hate to admit one blindingly obvious fact: this is the same type of logic that has gotten in the way of every romantic relationship I’ve (n)ever been in. Welcome to my effing world.
Insert “it’s not you, it’s me” excuse here. You are humbly predictable. You are honest in your intentions, and we have a good time together. You’re interesting, smart, sexy, and socially conscious. You’re not that affectionate, we have some outstanding cultural differences, and you don’t make me laugh, but isn’t that overrated? I like that I’m learning German, and I feel independent. I forgave you that when I realized how much I like to be seen with you, and that my parents approve as long as we’re happy, and how much worse it could be. Sometimes that’s enough, and sometimes I just have to sit here and wonder, What am I missing out on?
People, how do you know when he’s right for you??
I’m not breaking up with you. I’m too much of a coward for that. To indecisive. Whenever I mentally decide to end things, the “keep teaching in Berlin” scale dips a little in the direction of positive, and I suddenly have to recalculate the ratios, forgetting that anything divided by zero “idea what the alternative is like” is undefined, and happiness is not a mathematical equation. Math does not explain what kind of joy and pain will be found in the asymptote.
Today I habe Blau gemacht. It’s Fasching, and the second day of the new term, and Will had an exam scheduled so he planned to be out of school and we took care of our class yesterday, and Andi has moved schools. My schedule has fallen apart. Therefore, I was told to “join a class trip or something,” which is all well and good if you’re talking with the teacher or scheduled to be there, but makes very little sense from the teacher’s lounge. I slept through class instead, and will be making Valentine’s for tomorrow’s lesson plans.
Be ready for a sappier tomorrow.
Love,
