Life is too short for boring stories

There was a time when I was always in a hurry. “Carpe diem – use the day”, that was my motto, every day, hour by hour. At first I left the weekends and the holidays, but then I thought about it and did not know why. These too were done to be productive. What should hold me? All lost time when it was not used productively. But there was still a little more. A bit early to get up, go to sleep a bit later. Unproductive things that were necessary to minimize to a minimum, food, body care, relaxation, pleasure. Who needs that?

And since I could no longer get out of the available time, it occurred to me to use this time simply more effectively. Everything had to go faster, literally, even going. And walking became a run. Double quick time. Neither to look left nor right. Always faster. Focused on the essentials. The thing to be done. Then nothing. Everything was to-do. Everything had to be done. No time to laugh. No time to pause. And the mountain which I departed seemed not to be smaller, but to grow ever greater, day by day. The summit was in the mist, but he had not been interested in me for a long time, for I was just watching the play that lay in front of me. Not a centimeter further. Restricted view. Blend the blinders tightly. It was like a delusion.

Save time to fill them even more. Clocking. Assembly line activity without assembly line. Last time I needed four minutes for something. This should be possible in three minutes. And that was the next goal. I felt more and more miserable. There was no more fun. Only more to do, to be active. Life is not a childbirth day. It’s hard work. Day after day. And once I was forced to sit and do nothing, I was spiritually active. The enjoyment was lost and also the laughter. All waste. You can still sleep when you are dead. Very plentiful even.

And when it really did not work, I just slammed a tablet. Nothing serious. Just so small things from the pharmacy. Can not hurt if they are not even prescription. And then it went on for a while. But then came the day, the tablets no longer used. As much as I wanted, my body did not leave me any more.

Too weak to move me out of bed. Four weeks hospital. Forced rest. Sleep and be tired. Two operations. No appetite. Just fear. What should be. Was this supposed to be the end? And if it was, was it at least that I could have said it was a life lived? Everything sank into insignificance. If I had not, it would neither have changed the course of the world nor had any dramatic effects. But I suddenly thought about how often you had tried to reach me.

You had sat down with me, just so, and it was so self-evident, more than that, it was annoying. And I did not allow myself to experience the joy of being there. Nothing else. You wanted to take me to your thoughts, but I could not go. I had to do. Or look into the stars. Or the flower in the garden that was freshly blossomed or the laughter of the children. Everything had been silenced. I saw the world again, out of the window of my sickbed, there was the sky in its play of colors, the autumn in all its splendor. I thought of your eyes and your hand, of our co-existence, which I no longer perceived. I saw the consolation I found in your arms, and the laughter we gave ourselves when we just let ourselves fall.

Suddenly it was back, this world full of magical moments. And I was grateful that I was forced to stop. There was a reason to be here, not to die. I wanted to live to live. And discover the world, every day anew, with you by my side. And when I close my hand around you today, I am there and feel that it is doing well and gives me strength. Maybe I’m less productive – but definitely livelier.


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