I don’t often journal, but it’s always so much fun for me to read back through the occasional entries I’ve made over the past few years and recall those moments. This is an especially fond evening when I lost myself in Germany. I was fresh out of college with the whole world and the rest of my life before me. Warning, this is very stream of conscious writing, if it doesn’t make sense, sorry.

May 24th, 2008—Dosseldorf Germany (I think)

I don’t know. Here I sit, drinking a glass of wine I do not know, listening in on a conversation I cannot understand, sitting at a table I will never see again. I do not know, nor will I in this short visit to a city that will soon only be recalled as the place in this memory. Dosseldorf, I think it is, and yet it doesn’t matter because tonight I do not need to know.
There they sit, 2 men and 4 women, though I don’t know what they say, I do not need to. I can tell there is love; I can tell there is joy. They speak over each other but it is clearly a pattern of affection rather than the over-shouting of embittered arguers. Perhaps they are talking about the nice evening, the warm breeze or the pleasant dinner—I do not know, nor need to.
A street corner café table is a fine place to sit when one does not know where else to sit. The light above and table below give me all I need in this moment. The rustle of leaves next to me reminds me of the life-sustaining breath of God that gives all we need. But I do not know this breath of God—nor need to, It knows me.
I wonder if all of the cars know where they are going, or are they just trying to get “there.” What do we miss in life by trying so hard to get “there.” Sometimes we never arrive because we never leave. In school I did not know my where I was going, but I went there. Now I do not know where I am going, and I hope I never arrive.
They drive with such speed, walk with such determination, they are alone and in such a hurry. Where are they going?
The beautiful darker girl with short hair and a nice smile speaks to me in a language I do not know. What is she saying? Do I have to leave? Will she kick me off the street? Am I doing something wrong? Am I in the wrong place? I do not know. I shyly say “English” she says, “Are you using the ash tray?” “I’m not” I say. I smile. She smiles. She knows.
I’m not but the people upwind of me are, I can tell. I know. I can smell them light up a fresh round. An unusually sweet smell of small cigarettes. A new round must mean more conversation. They must be settling in for more laughs, more talking over each other and more joy, and then they leave, I guess, I don’t know.
The smoke still lingers lightly, but the air is mostly filled with the rich scents coming from the Café Vapiano. They clean the pizza oven, disposing of the remnant sauce, cheese, mushrooms, tomatoes, and herbs. The pasta grill cleans up, similar smells, different concentrations.
But then like a symphony, a new sound fills the air for the finale, the new theme: closing up. Chains wrapping around the tables and chairs, plates stacking as workers discuss their night. Like a new instrument, the street light cues the addition of cars passing and radios blaring. Occasionally, we still hear the irregular drum beat of footsteps on the street side. I don’t know this piece, but I like it. I still do not know where I will sleep tonight, nor need to.