.SOMETIMES RAW.

“People say that what we’re all seeking is a meaning for life. I don’t think that’s what we’re really seeking. I think what we’re seeking is an experience of being alive.”– Joseph Campbell

The big New York Marathon is over and a good friend of mine ran and finished it. Years ago, my goal was to at least attempt it. Things changed when I ran my first full marathon in Berlin. I have never been super big into running but I did it because it made me feel good afterward. I thought, “I did something for myself!” There are times when I just plod along like a sad turtle but this is fine, too because I will get there, in the end.

When I joined the German Federal Police I thought it is a good idea to stop smoking (kinda was!), get in shape and start to train for a marathon. Initially, I trained on my own with a Runners World Book Guide. This all went pretty well and I thought I am ready for the marathon after my longest training-run of 17k. I signed up for the Berlin Marathon. Of course, I had a big breakfast before; an omelet just because. I was super excited. Months of training will pay off. I was all glucosed up and my mental game was on point.

The big day arrived. I thought about ways to distract myself with my iPod (yes, this marathon was a while ago) and all the gadgets that nobody really needs. I wore extra layers of clothing because it could be cold. I took squeeze power gels and lotions and potions. With a water-bottle-belt and room for energy drinks, I started the 42.195 kilometers. In the beginning, everything was fine. I was super motivated. After about 17K (remember my longest training run?) I didn’t like running that much anymore. But hey, just a couple of kilometers left, I thought. Can’t be that bad. At around 27 kilometers in I started going through the Five Stages of Grief.

Stage 1: Denial. 27 kilometers in. When my world became meaningless and overwhelming. Life made no sense. I was in a state of shock and denial. I almost went numb. I wondered how I could go on if I can go on and why I should go on. I tried to find a way to simply go through this. I guess denial and shock helped me to cope and make the survival of this marathon possible. Isn’t there grace in denial? Isn’t it nature’s natural way of letting in only as much as I can handle? “I am becoming stronger, and the denial is beginning to fade”, I said to myself as I ran on. As I proceeded, more feelings began to surface and I realized that I am talking to myself out loud. Then the cursing started.

Stage 2: Anger. 33 kilometers in. I have to confront my inner demons. I reminded myself: I hate this f**** marathon. Why is it that bad? On my iPod playing: The soundtrack of System of a Down masked my labor-breathing and tricked me into thinking that I can do this. I shouted: “If I’m in need of catharsis, I go for something that will make me Capital F “Feel” good, now “FUCK THIS SHIT”. I wore sunglasses which is always a f***** good idea, should an errant tear or sadness creep in. MY BATTERIES ARE EMPTY ALREADY? But music will get me through this.

Stage 3: Bargaining. 35 kilometers in. I ran along in a daze. Is there a way out of this? Can I pay someone to drag or carry me to the finish line? At this point, the cursing stopped for some time. My thoughts shifted: If there is one thing I hate more than running, it is racing. In bad racing, you do not aim to win. I set out my two goals: 1) Run; 2) Don’t die. When I run a race, I am given a number. I stared at mine and shook my head while I kept running. At this point, I felt like a horse, perhaps, or a very competitive salmon. I am one with the herd, a GPS dot, a mote of dust in the grand scheme of things. But I am a glorious mote. And that is everything. Did I hallucinate? I realized that I said all this out loud when I got passed by someone who was around 80 years old. Maybe it was a child, I didn’t have my damn glasses. It did not matter.

Stage 4: Depression. 37 kilometers in. I screamed again and cursed: “I am going to die. Why am I doing this? My thighs are raw and I think all of my toenails fell off. What else could possibly go f***** wrong? Oh, everything!” I hit rock bottom. I had never been so tired in my entire life. Even my teeth were tired. “STOP PASSING ME, YOU JERKS!” I am full of empty feelings and grief entered my life. I felt like crying. “I AM SO DONE WITH THIS! I WANT TO SNAP OUT OF THIS! I AM SOOOOOOO SAD! Everyone had to know this and be sad with me so I made sure I was extra loud expressing my anger. There was this 80-year-old someone again. He told me to remove all my gadgets and I will feel better. He added: “I regret to inform you that your petition to die has been denied. There is no such thing as a bad runner.” He seemed to know what he was talking about.

Stage 5: Acceptance. 40 kilometers in. Final stage. I told myself all the affirmations I know. I accepted the situation. Conversation with myself again: “Time to dig deep. Remember that runner who finished a marathon with a broken leg? Pffff, this is nothing. If he can do it, so can I. To finish this marathon is the goal. I will live with all these blisters, and pain in my body for another 2 kilometers. I changed, I grew, I evolved”. I threw away my iPod and all the spare batteries – just because. I felt light(er) instantly. I was okay with all this now while I shuffled along. There was a tiny light at the end of the tunnel. “Btw, where is everybody? Am I still on course? I guess it is just me and myself and the road”.

At some point, I stumbled across the finish line, where I had been decorated in a crinkly foil cape and a medal. I felt so awesome and strutted about (everyone always struts) even though I limped and felt like an aluminum-wrapped rotisserie chicken. Would I run a full marathon again? NEVER, half is okay, though. But looking back, I am pretty proud of myself. Also, nipple chafing is real. Use tape.

As Haruki Murakami puts it, “When running I don’t have to talk to anybody and I don’t have to listen to anybody… All I do is keep on running on my own cozy, homemade void, my own nostalgic silence. And this is a pretty wonderful thing.”

Dedicated to K.L. “the truffle shuffle”.

“I love my kid so much, I watch her when she is taking a nap. I sneak up to her crib very quietly and observe her. It is the highlight of my day. Sometimes I am tempted to wake her up so I can play with her.” – a woman at the playground

When I heard that, I felt as if I was punched in the gut. I had never, in my few years as a parent, felt that way. I celebrated the time when my son took a nap after lunch. Did this woman have some kind of innate mothering instinct that I lacked?

“These days do you feeling lethargic. Are you getting frequent headaches and feel a loss of identity. Do you rarely if ever get time to yourself anymore? Well then, you might be suffering from PARENTING”. Don’t worry, there’s a cure. Although, I’m gonna be that mom for a second and say I can’t help but think how many more symptoms this video could list if it starred a woman.

It was early in the morning. Time to go to work and this is when (single-) parenting is pretty tough. My son was in a shitty mood, did not want to go to school, wanted to wear no shoes because it is cool, also no jacket and just had issues with everything. I got dressed in my bedroom and I said to myself: “I hate this!” I remember that day when I spoke to a mom at school drop-off and she told me, “I love my son. But parenting? Most of what it actually involves – I hate it.” I am glad I met her. We instantly hit it off and are still best friends. I thought I was a monster for thinking this way. But hey, there are other (most) moms out there who think exactly like that.

Parenting is simply something that many women struggle to enjoy, or at least find themselves loathing a decent percentage of the time. For me, the day-out vagaries of parenting are what is a hard pass. When I told some of the mom’s at my son’s school that I will write this article, I got a few raised eyebrows. Some perhaps reacted to the relative darkness of this topic but I rather would argue that those women are the born-moms and are willing to expose themselves to it all. Well, I am not.

Let’s be honest. Locking yourself in the bathroom helps sometimes but is not the solution either. Sometimes it is the sheer, repetitive monotony of parenting that makes me want to run away. Packing lunches, unpacking backpacks, washing out containers, cleaning a huge amount of clothes, making sure he brushes his teeth, and whatnot. Parenting is just this strange mix of predictability and unpredictability, and that drives me crazy sometimes.

As for myself, I am balancing making a career, making a living and caring for an almost six-year-old by myself. I also know that it is usually the women who bear the brunt of this balancing act. Some days, It is just a lot. For example, after-school activities: soccer, swimming, and guitar lessons have to be balanced. I am not the type of parent who buys into the idea that all these activities are vital for the development of my child but he loves it all so much, so I will take him. All this takes scheduling, time, staying there with him, filling out forms and paying for it all. I just need to make a bit of room for myself, too to stay sane.

The other brutal reality about children: A child exposes the gulf between my fantasy about family and the realities, where my old way of life can feel out of reach and my expectations are way different than reality. It feels to me like I have to choose between long-time satisfaction with moment-to-moment happiness (and spending my day doing stuff I don’t really like so I can make him happy; such as spending 5! hours at the playground). But I carve out time to do the things I love (writing, drinking coffee in peace, reading) but it is more of retrospective happiness – not one evidenced by how much I actually enjoy what I do from hour to hour.

But, what I also love is the bond between my son and I. I sometimes suck at making “pig-muffins” (apparently that is a thing in Vienna now) but I am great at talking to my son for hours, teaching and reading to him, creating things, art, music, exploring books, and puns and make it overall clear to him that I am always here for him, no matter what. I think it is normal to be annoyed by parenting and kid(s) at times. I remind myself that I am not in control of others – just myself. To create a smaller gap, it is important to embrace reality and try to feel how the kid(s) feel. Isn’t it all about the concept of being a good-enough parent because good-enough is great?

How do I deal with the single-parenting thing? Ideas to make things more pleasant is to outsource whatever you can, whenever you can, from finding other like-minded parents, grandparents, babysitters, friends so that you can have more time to do what you love. Whatever you need to do to recover. Just accept incongruity. There is this radical notion that two opposing ideas can coexist at the same time: You can love your kid(s) while simultaneously hating a lot of the day-to-day shit that mothering entails.

From mother to mother: Things that will keep you sane

1. A trip away alone or with a partner. I needed some time to finally relax on the first time I left on a trip alone while my son stayed with my parents (always leave kids with people whom you trust) Initially, I was terrified and sad. Will he be fine? Maybe I should have taken him? At the airport, I bought a banana because he loves to eat those realizing I am only responsible for my own snacks. Wow, how surreal. I will have a glass of red wine and chocolate then. Flying or doing anything without kid(s) is basically a SPA. As soon as the plane landed, I felt happy and thrilled. I had the most relaxing time ever because I left my parenting-self behind.
2. An evening out: Having time away from your children is essential. If I don’t work, I write, read, hang at my favorite bookstore, museums, explore….. alone time. You are not failing as a parent if and when you spend time alone. Establish a relationship with your child(ren) that works for you.
3. Don’t feel guilty. You still have a life, too. A small one, but hey. I need to require space of my own for thinking, feeling, and feeling my center.
4. I am generally a better and calmer person now that he spends his day in school. I am happy to see him growing into an independent individual, one who requires his own recharge time and enjoys quite building and art activities.
5. Institute quiet time (for one hour). I scheduled a designated quiet time when I just need to be by myself at home and my son is in his room. This gives me a mental break. We actually even close the doors and each is in their room doing their own thing. I usually have a cup of tea and read a book.
6. Find a mom who endless F-bombs and become best friends.

I think “The Honest Mom-Genre” will and should be a series. What do you think?

So far, Vienna is awesome and this city is everything I always dreamed of. Art, entertainment, peace, quiet, culture, books, readings and all for a reasonable price. Vienna has me covered. Also, as a Ph.D. student, I have a student ID. Someone asked me the other day if the area, city or place someone lives in is an indicator of the person’s success. More specifically: Does someone choose to sit in their backyard on a farm on a warm fall day in *insert rural area* doing nothing because they are in peace with themselves and feel fine just sitting with their thoughts, or does one sit in their backyard because they don’t have the capability, motivation or are afraid to live in a different place, to go places, to see other things, to explore and discover? “How did you just leave this small town and move to another country or even a bigger city,” a friend asked me.

I have to back up a tiny bit. I love peace and quiet and rural lifestyle. This is how I grew up. But I also love the thought of being able to go out and have opportunities. I moved from Coburg to Munich, from Munich to New York, from New York to Canada and from Canada to Vienna. I grew up in a place where there were porches aplenty. A few months after I turned 17, I left my hometown Coburg chasing my own version of success. At that time, success meant to me passing Police Academy to become a Police Officer. I had an awesome job and made Big City. I felt successful and fulfilled. And I lived in a big(ger) city. My dream.

The closer I get to 40, the more curious I am about the way people in my life mark their own successes. Take most of my friends, who remained in my hometown while I loved being away in my teens and eventually racing after various career milestones at the United Nations in New York. One of my friends back home has two children and lives in this awesome farm house which has a porch for sitting. It would be impossible to say which of us is more successful because it is simply not objective. We have both put tons of work into making our respective dreams come to fruition. Despite our polar-opposite journeys, we are both motivated, busy, and capable because whether you choose to live in a big city or rural areas, there is always the potential for reward. That is important to remember. Let me tell you, your life is not bad just because you chose to stay in that town to build a life for yourself and your family. If it works for you, then that is fine. It didn’t work for me, so I left. Simple as that.

In the past, I have wished some of my friends and I shared similar paths so we could have grown in the same direction and swapped advice along the way, but now I find solace in our differences. But all this ensures me that we are living our lives as intended. To look around, to realize and acknowledge that everyone can find success, regarding the size of their goals or where they live is key. Thinking this way can be incredibly reassuring because it means your motivations are yours and yours alone. Meditating on a porch and living in Midtown Vienna are two extremes of what it could mean to succeed. Ask yourself if you are happy where you are, right here, right now and what you really crave. Some of my friends back home seem like they are grappling two things right now: What it means to be successful (and work yourself to death) and where they want to live. I think it will be difficult for anyone to parse either until they reconfigure their definition of success into something more personal. Working my ass off somewhere versus slaughtering a pig in a little village are two commercial extremes of what it could mean to succeed. Until you establish your own definition, I think these will continue to feel inadequate to you. What does success mean to you? What do you really want? You are never stuck.

So, what do you want? Move to Vienna, too? Come and visit me. More specifically, what do you want right now? Look at your life; really examine it. Are you happy? Are you alone or with family? Are you stuck at work? Are you bored? Are you calm? Are you exhausted? Are you one step away from burnout or nuclear meltdown? Is the reality of this life crisp in your mind or more like a scene out of a sad movie? Do you want art, culture, artistical intercourse, Opera, entertainment, excitement? If you are finding it hard to answer these questions, I suggest you start to write or journal. It helped me immensely to list everything I want, then circle the things I desired the soonest. Then look at these words and link them together, considering the resources you will need to achieve some measure of them. Get literal: Are your goals related to a specific industry/company that operates out of a certain city? And if so, does that city conflict with any of your other goals? How do you feel? Have you felt any of these things before, and if so, how? My lists usually never go according to plan, but asking myself these questions helped me tap into my own desires, instead of looking to everyone else’s. Keep in mind that you can be successful and valid and fulfilled without ever leaving the country, state, or town you were born in.

These days, what does it mean if I woke up and craved the pace of my hometown? I would buy a train ticket and be home in four hours. Would I judge myself for returning to the place I was once so desperate to leave? No way. This is and always will be my Homebase. Where we live(d) and grew up is a large part of our identities, unpacking our thoughts about where we call home will always be a complex and deeply personal process. Am I successful? Is my life perfect? Nope. Far from it these days.

Sometimes, for some people, their most potent version of fulfillment cannot happen without a drastic life change. If you have those feelings, it is a matter of assessing how hard you want to work to make it happen, and sometimes, making peace with the fact that your other goals (porch/terrasse-sitting) might just have to wait a little. Listen to your gut and heart. Those organs will will tell you.