A Tale of Two Cities

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. Goodbye Berlin.  Thank you for your wisdom, for this age of foolishness and season of darkness, for this sudden winter of despair (I hope you'll have a spring of hope).  I have everything and nothing before me now.

My time here has come to a close and my short life in Berlin was exactly what I needed.  I came here not knowing what I wanted, but hungry to live.


I've heard a few people call Berlin Neverland.  The city where you don't have to grow up.  Where you can go out on a Monday night and crawl home into your bed (after some currywurst) in the morning light without judgment.  Where it doesn't matter if you have a real job or if you ever bothered to learn German.

Since I spent most of my teenage years and early twenties taking myself too seriously, there was something liberating about turning 27 here, going through my divorce, and making up for lost times.  I choose to have no regrets.

I've been a little emotional all week.  I love this city.  I love the creative heartbeats that fill it.  I love that I can go to bars wearing my sneakers, sweatshirt and a beanie and fit right in.  I love the unexpected.  The hidden treasures.  My brother and my friends here.

But it's time to go.  I feel it in my restless bones.  First Paris, for work, then home to the South of France to restore and finish my book, and then we'll see.  Wherever the right job appears is where I'll appear.

For now I pack my suitcase once more.  Not running from anything, just looking for what's next.

Thank you Berlin, you were everything I needed and more.

You are filthy, and gorgeous, and I will miss you.

“Perhaps some day I'll crawl back home, beaten, defeated. But not as long as I can make stories out of my heartbreak, beauty out of sorrow.” ― Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath