It was my birthday, and I would have loved to spend the day in the forest. On a path, somewhere among trees, with the chirping of birds, the wind moving through still-bare branches, and the soft crackling of undergrowth beneath my feet. The forest is for me a place of stillness, a place where I arrive at myself.
But the weather had other plans. Rain, wind, no day for a longer hike. So we looked for an alternative and decided on Nuremberg. The Imperial Castle had been on our list for a while.
We walked through the city, past half-timbered houses, through narrow lanes with charming cafés and shops. This part of Nuremberg appealed to us particularly. We felt at ease.
The higher we climbed, the more the view opened up. And then we were at the top. The castle, these walls, this place that has been here for so long.
I stopped for a moment and looked at the castle more closely.
It is the city's landmark. The earliest architectural traces reach back to around the year 1000. Over centuries it was expanded, altered, adapted again and again, and yet it stands to this day as something that has endured.
Stone upon stone. History visibly grown.
And yet this place was never a place of arrival, never a home.
The emperors came, held court, dispensed justice, and moved on. Nuremberg was a station. This castle too was part of a journey, not a destination.
That thought stayed with me.
Outward permanence, inward movement.
I wondered how much permanence one actually needs.
I was once on the move myself, for months at a time. With a backpack, from place to place, a different bed almost every night.
During that time I grew closer to myself. When you travel alone, you come to know yourself in a different way. Without distraction, without fixed structure. I discovered that on that journey I was arriving at myself.
And yet at some point I also wanted to arrive on the outside. To have a place that receives me, where I can stay.
Perhaps it is not about choosing between the two.
But about knowing both.
A place that holds you.
And moments in which you arrive at yourself.
That is what I sometimes miss in everyday life. The days are full, often to the brim. From task to task, from duty to duty. But arriving? That rarely happens.
In the forest I manage it.
Everything changes there. Light, wind, sounds, the ground beneath my feet. No day is like another. And yet it is precisely here where I arrive.
No fixed place. And yet stillness. Sometimes I think it could be so simple. Everyone has their forest. Perhaps we just too rarely take the time for it in everyday life.
B.
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