The romance is dead

Recently I've been thinking a lot about leaving Berlin, the bustling, anxiety-inducing city I have resided in for the past four years.  This hectic, hedonistic city, best described as an adult's playground, that comes fully equipped with the tagline of 'delayed responsibility'.  Which, as a (vaguely) functioning depressive, arriving here from the quietude of the French countryside, has been both revolutionary and transformative, whilst equally difficult and panic-inducing at times.

Originating from a relatively conservative Britain, where I constantly felt restricted and bound by the country's repressive, narrow-minded and quite frankly, out-dated dogma, Berlin really felt like a breath of fresh rebellious air when I first arrived.  It was, and still remains, a melting pot of open-minded, creative freethinkers, who seem set on avoiding conformity, maintaining their freedom and expressing the shit out of themselves sexually, artistically or otherwise.

Which, after years of restless agitation, made it feel as though I'd finally found my place and my people.  It honestly felt like freedom and in those initial few years, I tried to embrace every delicious second of its relaxed joie de vivre; from the midweek trips to the lake on balmy Summer afternoons to the pizza guzzling, sunset watching evenings on Tempelhof.  I forged a life around yoga, ice cream and hanging out with friends.  I felt as though I was taking back a youth I had spent being too serious, too work-obsessed and too depressed to enjoy.

However, as the third and the fourth years have rolled by, the glossy exterior of the city has gradually worn off and the reality of what it means to constantly live on the breeze of Berlin's transitory nonchalant vibe has kicked in with a vengeance.  All the fun starts to feel skin deep.  People you love eventually leave.  Everything is always changing, year-by-year, week-by-week.  There is no solid ground here, there is no stability.  The only certainty is the uncertainty.

Which has perhaps made me realise, that whilst I might have broken those conservative binds that never agreed with me, it seems I still have traditional values at heart.  I need depth.  I need security.  I still want parts of what I left behind, just in my own way and in my own time.

If I'd have moved to Berlin when I was twenty, I would have devoured it whole.  Soaked in every sordid, reckless, rebellious aspect.  It would have been the perfect distraction from myself.  Although, who knows if that would have been transformative or disastrous.  However, I moved here at twenty-six, in crisis, suffering from mental anguish and seeking answers.

In so many ways, it's been revolutionary and I have zero regrets, but with my depressive episodes, which have continued to plague me throughout my Deutschland journey, like grey clouds following solely me on sunny days, getting more and more frequent and the bouts of anxiety, which continually tether me to my apartment, becoming increasingly more intense, I see just how much grounding I need right now.  How much calm.  How much quietude.

It's time for me, like so many Berlin friends before, to move on to the next chapter.  This city promises to break you down, to tear you apart and shake away the nonsense, so that what you're eventually left with is the truth. Your truth.  And maybe you stay and implement that truth where you found it, or maybe, like me, you take it and sow it like the seed it is, somewhere altogether new.

Turning Point

I have itchy feet from running.  Running all the time.  Thirty years of running.  Away from myself mainly.  Truths are hard to face though sometimes, especially when you don't like what you find.

On my thirtieth birthday, I stood in a room full of people.  Stood on the edge looking in.  It seemed as though I'd made it through the storm.  Well, many storms to be fair and there I was, still alive and no longer just hanging on.

Somewhere in the haze of the previous seven months, I'd built a ship for myself.  True, it was a raggedy old thing, but it was mine and it was solid.  I'd grown so tired of losing grip on rafts built by other people.  Rafts that would crumble away and leave me stranded, drowning in my own pitiful despair.

Thirty years, thirty god damn years. I'd broken my heart a thousand times over that vast expanse and each wound had always reminded me of another.  Like running through a hall of mirrors, I would lurch from one embrace to another, only to find myself, over and over and over again.  But I vowed no more.  I knew I couldn't continue like that, I couldn't start this decade, this new chapter, chasing after the same.  It was time, it was finally time, to let go of my illusions.  To learn to let go.

Cutting ties like vines that wrapped around my lungs, suffocating me.  Releasing myself from the grip I had so painfully been ensnared in for years, purely through my own hapless wondering.  I had become molten lava, I had become caustic, I had become afraid.  Endlessly melting under pressure.  Combusting in insecurity.  I'd gotten lost, because I could not face myself and my fear of losing grip had trapped me.  But no more, I said, as I hacked away.  No more.

For a long time I was shattered glass.  Jagged, fragile, useless.  Yet it seems my time of transformation has come.  Because it had to.  Because it needed to.  Because finally, I am no longer afraid.  Of course I can't deny that the pain of my past still cuts like a knife at times and those memories still haunt my dreams upon occasion, but once again I am filled with fire, burning brightly, burning to ashes, burning alone.

Now I have set sail for new adventures, embracing the oncoming waves attempting to envelope me along the way.  At night, the flickers of light from my burning flames help guide me through every dark and murky stretch, until the sun makes its return come morning, to reprise its role.  But be under no illusion, I'm no longer adrift, in search of home.  No, now I am a fearless wanderer, purposely pursuing an endless course of exploration, purely for the beauty of the great unknown.

This is my turning point.  This is thirty.

Venus Retrograde: A time for reevaluation

On March 4th, Venus, the planet most associated with love and beauty, shuffled backwards into a six-week retrograde, gliding first through the sign of Aries, followed by a jaunt into Pisces, where it will eventually turn direct on April 15th.

This retrograde, unlike that of Mercury, occurs solely once every eighteen months and as Venus is the ruling planet of both Libra and Taurus, this isn't forced contemplation in just one area of our lives, but two; that of love and money.

As with all retrogrades, this is a period of intense reflection. A time to reevaluate what is and is not working in certain aspects of our lives, most especially in regards to the love we have for others and in turn for ourselves.  We might be finding ourselves asking what exactly it is that we value in this lifetime.  What is it that truly brings us joy, happiness and a sense of fulfilment.

With the first few weeks of this retrograde spent in fiery Aries, anything that wasn't quite in balance was suddenly up for inspection, whether that was work or relationship related.  Ultimately, Venus wants harmony and in order to obtain it, certain things needed to be dealt with.  Therefore any previous leanings we may have had towards burying our head in the sand and hoping our problems went away were probably eradicated during this time frame.  Whether we liked it or not, for the good of all, our cracks were now fully on display.

Being the first sign of the zodiac, Aries literally represents beginnings and forward motion. It demands action and it's not about to wait around for everyone to get their shit together before it proceeds forward. It's a now or never, do or die kinda sign. It's not about to compromise. This astrological hot head wants all or nothing.

And just as we thought all hell was breaking loose on the emotional front, Venus did a side step into watery Pisces, a mutable sign that ushers in both endings and thus in turn beginnings.  With this energy in charge, it was probably always on the cards that old habits, old wounds and potentially old flames were going to crop up, in order to be redealt with.

This shuffle back and forth between signs is comparable to the tide flowing in and out.  Venus wants to pull back, collect what it can from the sea's murky depths and then drag its findings out onto the shoreline.  It's attempting to cleanse its waters of any pollutants that might have collected negligently over time.  It's arduous work granted and the emotional fallout can be intense, but oh is it necessary.

By the time Venus moves back round to close out its retrograde, we'll be only too painfully aware of what we need to cut loose, whether that's a person, a relationship, a job or even just an outdated idea we have of ourselves and the way we do things.  It will be time to finally let go of anything we've come to realise no longer serves us.  This shift in energy, if we choose to use it wisely, will help us lay to rest old wounds, old patterns and anything we need to move on from, in order to start anew.

Regardless of the conclusions we come to during this time, the only way we can truly move forward is fearlessly.  Love of self, love of others, love of life and of our craft; It takes a courageous heart to love anything at all because it requires us to be able and willing to accept the inevitability of loss. Yet, to hold ourselves back from loving in order to avoid the pitfalls that come attached is to cease to live altogether.  When you accept that there is no joy without pain, there is no light without dark, you live in a state of appreciation and non-resistance.  You live fully and what is the point to life, if not to be lived.

May this retrograde period bring you the clarity you need and the strength to know what to do with it.