FOMO

I’ve had a decent run at doing nothing last season. Not so much this one. As I’m boarding a plane for my fourth business trip this month, there’s epiphany striking hard: I’m falling down the rabbit hole fast again.

Longing for an adventure calls for an easy fix — and then one’s hugging the pillow at 3 AM, just to go places. Does that make any sense? An empty, cold suite someplace far, is this what one wants? Dying alone ain’t ever going to be fashionable.

It’s a drag.

This week, I fell asleep twice during presentations I attended, a clear manifestation of my drive and ability. I don’t give much fuck, but I’m a junkie and edging is my favourite sport.

Listening to Air or Pink Floyd, spending time walking around and in a gym; it’s like early noughties, sans illicit drugs, late-night escapades and chasing chicks.

Sipping a coffee, this black viagra of business, to keep me going. Got a promotion of sorts and I’m dragging myself through more airports now, trying to remember more names and make an impact on a larger scale.

I guess that’s the nice part — when I see they want me to come and change things. When they ask me to step in. When they trust I’m helping.

I have to learn to see myself that way.

Right, right, just I need a bed first.

Flame

It’s fucking raining all day long. Speeding through the downpour, through heavy torrents to get there on time.

And there she is, a silhouette in the window, looking for me, calling me. What took you, she serves, yet it’s so sweet I’m melting.

I score an intense, heartening hug — and then I get an hour of laughs before we part ways again.

Without any hint of what may or may not come next.

A messed up thirteen year old with a driver license.

Carousel Life

The sun is setting. Licking ice cream and feeling the vibe of long forlorn days of Prague and Sydney. Mostly alone and often lonely, that’s what I was.

Does it feel any different now?

Had a great meeting in the morning. My only attempt at work today. I love the smell of money in the morning far better than the one of napalm. Good meeting, I say.

Lunch with friends. An hour which turned into three and a half. A Lebanese cuisine in the middle of nowhere. Mexican beer. Nonalcoholic.

Licking ice cream while the sun is setting.

Two more hours to drive home. Should I hurry? Sometimes I wonder.

Corporate Chill, Part Two

Took a mini-holiday, courtesy of a multi-billion dollar enterprise. Got to walk by the Thames, wander through Regent St and chill in Camden. Ate local English breakfast and local Japanese dinner. Met people I wanted to meet and declined to see some others — to spend more time by myself. It’s better for one’s well-being to take nighttime photographs than socialize with corporate folks. I know what I’m talking about, I’m one of them.

Drank Czech beer and English one, too. Plus gin, of course.

Got a nice phone call just after a lunch in a former don’t-be-evil office. The topic I asked about the other day.

Flew home relaxed.

More holidays to come.

Corporate chill

I drive slower these days than I used to for ages. Along the way, I listen to music collection which I stopped updating about twenty years ago. No, I don’t use Spotify.

It’s only work, I remind myself, no need to rush. They don’t really need me much, there’s no point to stress.

Seems that I can finally take things somehow easier now.

Executive meeting.

I love them, especially when our corporate president shows up. Everybody’s making jokes, yet they’re a little clumsier than usual. A shade of anxiety is hanging about.

Still, it’s a game. A guy with a salary of millions of dollars plus stock options will share his precious time with mere mortals who make ten times less. Or less. Sharing his time and valuable advise on shit he only knows from a helicopter ride.

He pretends he knows and we pretend we learn and accept his view. Yeah, right, sure.

Oh, how much does it remind me of myself sharing my valuable advise with staff in offices across the continent.

Then, we dine at a Michelin restaurant only to split again, meeting again in a few months. Vienna, Istanbul, Prague, Paris.

Convenient, at least I can take those long night walks on my own, snapping a picture here and there. I’m not asking for more.

Except for a payrise.

Domestic

Sitting in a bar at 8 AM. Half asleep, sipping coffee, eating a sandwich and browsing through conservative right-wing news. The weirded the better — to know the enemy, of course. I’m a liberal, I proclaimed to my missus the other day. Are you?, she quipped and let me wonder.

Sipping coffee and waiting for my flight. The first one since the turmoil started a year and a half back. A foreign country, a small airport, one of two daily scheduled domestic flights. It’s quiet but it feels normal. Espresso, chitchat, people glued to their screens. Wouldn’t it be for a face mask, it’d be easy to forget what’s been going on.

An airplane taxis to the gate. Let’s go, we’re back in business.

Lockdown

What would a year-long lockdown do to a fellow who has used to spend half of his lifetime on the road? Whose essence was to lead a trouble-free double life of Dr Jackyll and Mr Hyde, sans horrible crimes of the latter?

I came to know. First few months were a sort of a game. A sort of a challenge — oh, we’re locked down, cannot travel, what are you going to do, huh?

Challenge accepted, I learned to walk from one of my places to the other, taking advantage of having two of them, conveniently located about two and a half miles apart. A nice stroll along the river. And it was spring, so fresh air and gentle sun were a regular bonus to me walking.

Then the summer came and went. I left one of the places permanently and settled in a house large enough to keep me occupied for years to come. Few visits abroad made the illusion of normalcy and freedom almost perfect. Yet I was deceived.

The autumn was dark and rainy — with one particularly bleak shivery morning I can never forget. It was numbing; numbing more than anything I’ve been through before. And it still lingers.

Where was I? Oh yeah, lockdown. It started hurting, it’s been a bit too much, nauseating, obnoxious.

Went to the mountains for a few days. Unplugging and seeing the nature showing off with three different seasons within a span of a long weekend was rejuvenating. At least for a moment.

Winter? Well — it’s been a long cold lonely winter as somebody put it a few decades ago. Haven’t seen that much snow in over twenty years. But I didn’t have to clean the windshield or unfreeze the car. It just sat quietly in a garage, waiting for its moment which failed to come. I haven’t traveled for four months.

A new spring is coming. And maybe it’s all coming to a close. It’s a kind of solace I live with, too tired and longing for times that are possibly never to return in the same way, form or shape as before. A little more complexity for lives of commoners seems inevitable.

And here I am, a year later, desperately hoping for this nightmare to end, indifferent to few more regulations, accepting the new normal as it unfolds. I cherish the family. I cherish each ride I take. I cherish each place I visit. For I learned the hard way what I knew but never fully realized — that nothing can be taken for granted.

Notably freedom and life.

Bubly

I went to bed at nine. Posh hotel at Main Sq, the very center of this yokelish wannabe city I’ve never warmed to like. I’m up at 3:30, my bad, shouldn’t go that early last night.

Working from my room, breakfast and a first meeting at eight. Followed by three more — and off I go, 400 kilometers across the country. I don’t have to be there — but I want to. It’s like a probe into my past. Time machine of sorts.

Here I am, with plenty of time to spare. Buying flowers and having a coffee with the florist. If everyone were doing business the way they do, the world would be a much better place. People are somehow nicer here.

And it’s time. Wedding march, here she walks down the isle. She’s radiating — and at the same time she seems so natural, so unaffected by the occasion. It’s a candid moment. She’s at ease.

It’s her the same way I got to know her years back. The same way I recall few brief moments spent in her proximity. I get to keep that image for years to come.

And I love the way she described herself back then. Bubbly. Maybe only now I came to fully understand the transcendent meaning of the word and what it represents.

A fleeting kiss after the ceremony, a photo or two are taken, and I wish them both love, lots of neverending love and understanding. And I’m gone again, back to the busy schedule split between airports and hotels — and some bubbly time here and there.

Correction

Originally, it meant to be oversweeten:

A bowl or rice, a green tea, a romantic movie. On my own. What changed since the heydays of the noughties? A totally different part of the planet, though it feels almost the same. Yet there's a twist: I know where she is, I know that she's mine. I'll be packing soon; leaving the place, the quarter, the city and the country. Not to be falling asleep alone anymore.

Well, I suppose I leave it that way.

Early spring

It's an early spring afternoon and I'm sitting here at the bank of the river, sipping coffee and eating icecream. This city is said to have a mediterranean feel and I admit I believe it, being sunlit, warm and inviting. Wearing Wayfarers, with the breeze in the hair, it feels very much like a holiday.

This girl, sitting opposite, she's a friend. We're here for the sake of not-so-old times. She's here to tell me how the others are, the group of friends I hardly come to see anymore. And she relays how my ex is doing. And I'm to tell her how happy I am doing what I'm doing and about the whole unexpected twist in my life.

We chat until the wind picks up and the skies darken. Shall I drive you home?, I suggest and she hastily refuses only to agree a moment later after a quick look at the clouds. We smile softly and I take her home just as the pelting rain starts whipping the sidewalk.

It's an early spring after all.

Corporate pleasures

Having decided some months ago about the future, the corporate life brings all of a sudden unexpected pleasures. Funny, I haven't thought about sending emails like this one before:

Dear Ralf:

I threw a little celebration party earlier this week as my original email to you has already marked its first month anniversary without being replied to.

That being said, I hope you're doing fine. But as you may understand, I'm starting to feel a bit worried. It would be great if you could find some time to reply to me with a blank email, so I know there's no need to panic. Ctrl-R and Alt-S would do if you happen to have a PC with Outlook in English.

And I patiently wait for your full-scale email and your advise on processes for another month.

Kind regards

dw

Stuck

Two days of nothing. I hardly left the bed over the weekend. There's nobody I'd like to see and I can't think of anything of any interest to me. Having a call or two but just listening quietly rather than talking. It feels a bit like dying, yet I'm unable and unwilling to fight it.

I don't have to do much though. I did my part already and the dominoes are moving. Things are slightly changing. My work, my life, my priorities, it's happening without my further intervention.

When I made love to this girl I adored just last year, I felt very little, too. Maybe a guilt of some sort, maybe shame or humiliation. She thought it was great and I did not know what to say. I should not have done it.

Lying in bed, unable to breathe. Stuck in the state of nothingness.

Penny Lane

Once I was called over to a party; yet it was just a friend with two chicks. She was one of them. Incredibly beautiful, funny and outgoing. The more I came to think of it, the more she reminded me of Penny Lane character in Almost Famous. Just cutting the groupie scenario and keeping the character itself.

I remember we were playing darts and drinking vodka. And I was snorting white powder while nobody was looking.

That night, I wanted her and it did not happen. Neither then, nor ever again. Maybe it could: from time to time when I wasn't with anybody and she was available, too. Maybe. I don't know. I never tried again. We went through two roadtrips in America together, shared the bed innumberable times — and I never even touched her. And I thought I wouldn't. Never-ever. Because. Period.

Tonight, I did. To a degree. It was weird and asexual. Tonight, I saw her crying for the very first time. I embraced her clumsily and said it would be okay. I know it's going to be okay, it always is, only it takes time sometimes.

Some dickhead got her pregnant. Somebody who doesn't really want to spend his life with her.

She asked me so I told her what I would do but it's ultimately her decision. Whatever she does, it will not affect the way I care.

Home again

Dreams do come true sometimes. It's Christmas, I made it, I made it to her place. It's becoming my home, too, at least temporarily till I get a proper one. Preferably together with her.

I don't know how many times we made love, I lost count during those unbelievable past months; not that I don't care, I'm just trying to look furter into what's next.

For now, it's the family thing. I spend times with her folks and relatives and I take her to see mine. They know her even from our high school days, however I'm still kind of nervous bringing her over to see them. I'm paralyzed, to be fair. It goes smoothly and I'm relieved.

Few days later I'm taking her to see my squat and spend the New Year's Eve with me there. She's fine with it and she's fine with places I take her around the city. And she's fine with me. And I feel so normal all of a sudden. Just being with her.

Menu

Sometimes, even though less and less, I feel the urge to reset. To get wasted; a sort of like in the old days, just a tiny bit more sophisticated. Maybe the way the others would not notice. Or if they would, they could not be certain.

A top floor lounge, the spot to be. Great views of the city, a decent lighting and deep-deep sofas. An open bar with an unlimited stream of drinks coming my way.

— What're you having?
— Champagne. And I'll run the cocktails menu then.

Laugh. There's only about eight cocktails on the list and I'm running the second round soon. I'm being nice. I can walk. I'm still articulate.

Leaving after hours, smashed yet civilized. Perhaps I'm growing up.

Surreal

We went hiking. Hand in hand, up the hill, leisurely talking about future. A mutual one. It's surreal, we've only been together briefly, so it should not surface yet. Am I worried? I must be! I keep asking myself but always coming down to the same conclusion: nope, there's nothing to be worried about. I love her the way I never loved anybody else. And I want to spend the rest of my days with her. Pathetic. I know. Sigh.

Drinking tea in a cabin, then slowly returning to the car. Mid-November weather is gracious; as if the summer should never end. It is all too overwhelming, overwhelming for both of us. I cannot count how many times we have to stop to kiss and embrace. Crazy. Odd. Puzzling.

Surreal. Surreal but nice.

Euphoria

It takes ages to get there. Traffic jams in the city and then some more on the highway. A stop or two to recharge. I'm not sure if the time I'm pulling off still qualifies as night, or is it dawn already. Who cares, I'm with her.

Electrifying. That's the word. The moment she opens the door and the rest of the world stops existing. She's half naked, her lips parting, her scent filling my senses, we're making love immediately, no foreplay, no hesitation, no time to waste.

She's feeding me and then we're making love until the sun is up. It's almost November but the Indian summer is not giving in. I'm not either, though I'm drifting off dead tired. Dead tired — yet euphoric. This is working. I have a woman I always wanted.

A walk downtown, a dinner in the country nearby, then coming back to make love again. And again. Remember these moments well, I keep repeating, remember and cherish them. It's not always like that and there's things that will not last, transforming hopefully into something equally beautiful but definitely far less lustful. She's nodding. Fingers crossed, she gets it as she might be even more overpowered by emotions than I am.

A lunch with her parents on Sunday, then walking the dog around the neighbourhood. We have time to talk. And we do talk. And the more we talk, the more I feel she's the one. I wanna stay with her, would God let me.

Another night of pure passion and then it's time to pack. I'll be back soon, my lady, for I need you in order to be myself.

Law of attraction

It's true. I'm here, drenched in my thoughts, all circling around a single piece of information: it's real. This is really happening. And it's happening to me.

I'm kissing her, kissing her over and over again as if to make sure I'm not dreaming; and I'm madly in love, just like in those heydays of the nineties, just a bit wrinkled and greyish, yet still young — maybe even too young — at heart. Loving and being loved — and enjoying every moment of it.

I've had this recurring dream over the years, hidden back in my head, showing up unexpectedly from time to time, leaving me shaken once I woke up. I'd take her out, we'd talk, I'd see her off, she'd let me in, we'd make love.

I'm overjoyed and fascinated. And above all, happy, happier than I would ever hope I'd be.

Fingers crossed, I'm not gonna fuck up.

Love that never fades

It's been a while, a while approaching fifteen years. So much has happened, so much I've experienced. A lot's been forgotten, a lot crooked, a lot has gone amiss.

But there were good days, yeah, frankly, most of them were good. And the faith that there would be some even better ones, that faith kept me going and does until now.

Yet here I come, back for a week, with feelings that went unnoticed for ages. This is my city, I proclaim, not even being there yet, just imagining the high street with its bars and shops, with its preserved intangible atmosphere, unseen and unfelt by strangers, imagining the parks and backstreets with genius loci untouched by time passing by.

Do I belong here? I keep questioning myself; and I have no means to tell. I suppose. Or suppose not; I've lived in so many places, so many apartments which I called home that pointing at this one as the real one seems creepy. It has to grow on me, and even if it does, I'll go back to my current home in seven days and I might keep looking for a new one again all over again. A constant wanderer, a constant nomad fueled by craving to seek beauty wherever I move.

My city. My love that never fades but unceasingly calls for being apart to excite. Until I'm back and for a moment I stop in a silent embrace with this centre of my universe that once shaped me into what I still am today.

Sentimental blues

Six years ago, we used to party together. He, freewheeling through his life, careless and free, me, a squarish drunk trying to fight insomnia and depression, two souls who probably found each other at some bash at three in the morning.

Comin' home to fight cancer, said a short line I got less than two months ago. What cancer?, I replied few weeks later when I found the message. He did not live to read it.

Dressed all in black, staring at the coffin. And all I can think of is — too young, too fucking young.

Those were the heydays, sharing money, each other's apartments, alcohol, drugs and experience. Talking shit and chicks, somehow missing that we were going through the time of our lives. Everything was real, everything was possible.

Dressed all in black, squeezing a tiny little bottle of Jim Beam. He's still here with me.