“Not because I wanted to quit.
But because I realized things couldn't go on like this.”
Initial Situation
Dortmund.
I had a permanent position as a set design assistant at the Schauspielhaus.
Actually, something you work toward.
And yet it became clear relatively quickly that:
That doesn't work for me.
From the outside, it all looked just right.
But not so much from the inside.
I had high living expenses, responsibilities, and, of course, obligations.
It worked; it did its job and did it well.
But at the end of the day, it didn't work out.
Time versus money.
A lot of energy goes in, but little comes back.
And again and again, that quiet but clear question:
Is this really my life? How did I end up here?
What Didn't Work
For a long time, I thought I just had to do a better job of it.
Be more disciplined and just follow through more.
But that was exactly the point.
I've been drifting further and further away from my own rhythm.
It wasn't a sudden break.
It was more like a slow grind to a halt.
On top of that, my father had died, and I couldn't see my son regularly anymore. It was a wild mix.
And then there are things that numb you rather than actually help.
At some point, I just wasn't really there anymore.
And at the same time, this realization:
Things can't go on like this.
Turning Point
The idea of living differently wasn't new.
It had been there for quite a while.
Be less dependent. Lower fixed costs.
Closer to what feels real. Closer to nature and closer to my loved ones.
I've played with the idea of going on a wandering life before.
Working outdoors and being on the go.
It didn't happen back then because my son wanted to come.
But the impulse was always there.
And at some point, it became so strong that I could no longer ignore it.
I've left the old life behind. Without a set plan.
but with the firm decision to do things differently.
Intervention / Implementation
I gave up living in an apartment. And I bought two construction trailers.
They were standing in a meadow, relatively secluded, on a farm.
And there they were. With all their potential.
No water came out of the faucet.
There was electricity, but the supply wasn't always stable.
Interruptions were part of the process.
Specifically, this means:
Fetch water. Wash clothes by hand.
Washing outdoors.
Build a fire. Haul wood.
The entire program.
Not optional. Just a normal part of everyday life.
Later, fortunately, we were able to wash our clothes in a washing machine and take a bath every now and then.
We were on the road for a total of 6 years.
At 3 different locations.
Starting over again and again.
Set up. Take down.
Move on and let go.
I hadn't had my own car for a long time.
In the early days, a bicycle.
But we were able to borrow a car from time to time.
The nearest store wasn't just around the corner.
That means: You think carefully about when you're going to drive.
Or rather, what you really need.
Not out of ideology. But because there's no other way.
Care, Daily Life, Responsibility.
Under conditions that can't be sugarcoated.
That's how I modified the cars step by step.
With little money and a lot of improvisation.
And the expectation that it will work in the end.
At the same time: Work on the farm. New people.
And that's exactly when the topics you can't avoid came up:
I've often given too much and gotten too little in return.
I let things go on even though I realized
they weren't right anymore.
I had to learn to set boundaries.
Don't avoid conflicts.
Result
And yet, or perhaps precisely because of that,
It was the first time in a long while that I felt like myself again.
It was my salvation!
I remember these simple things:
Open the car door in the morning.
Cold air. Silence. Standing outside barefoot.
Light a fire. Put water on to boil. No button.
It's not something to be taken for granted.
You'll quickly realize what's really needed.
And What You Don't.
At the same time, it wasn't easy.
The seasons are the seasons
If something doesn't work, then it just doesn't work.
And that's exactly what sets you apart.
I became calmer. More clear-headed.
And more honest about what I do and what I don't do.
Insights & Principles
That period was not a withdrawal.
It was just the beginning.
And she was much more level-headed than many people imagine.
I've come to realize that less isn't automatically better.
And neither is more.
Both can go completely wrong.
I've often found that things don't work out, even though the idea is good.
Not because someone is incompetent, but because they aren't looking closely enough.
What's actually there? What's missing?
And where is the situation being sugarcoated?
I've experienced that myself, too.
I gave too much. I waited too long.
Not clearly decided. Until it tips.
And that's exactly what's happening everywhere.
In projects. In spaces. Between people.
Not suddenly, but gradually.
Until nothing works right anymore.
What struck me time and again in all these places:
The way a place is built is never random.
It is a reflection of the people who live there.
About the decisions that were made.
And often, too, by the things that weren't looked at.
If everything is always available,
when water just flows, electricity is just there,
once roads have been built and are never questioned again,
then it becomes a matter of course,
where you stop really looking.
Life in a trailer is different, because nothing can be taken for granted.
If something didn't work, I have to take a look.
Not sometime in the future, but right now.
And that's exactly what caused something to happen:
I didn't just see connections,
but also understood in terms of their relationships.
How much water do I really need each day?
What does “care” mean?
How much energy do I need to expend?
What grows when and where?
All the way to growing our own. And so on...
The connection to the surrounding area became more concrete.
More direct. More honest. That's basically nothing new.
Many ancient teachings speak of this.
This is clear in Zen as well:
The space you live in is a reflection of your state of being.
And at the same time, it reshapes you.
For me, that was one of the most important insights I've ever had.
And it forms the foundation of my work today.
That's exactly my approach today: not to start everything from scratch.
And don't try to “fix” anything quickly either.
Instead, we first need to understand where the problem lies and why.
And turn that into something that really works and lasts.
Today
“Naturwandel” came about precisely because of this.
Not from an idea, but from experience.
I don't just work with what's available.
And not just with new materials, either.
I see what's available, recognize the potential, and identify what's missing.
And bring the two together.
So that the result is something that not only looks good,
but it works. And it holds up.
If you realize that your project has reached a point where,
where more clarity is needed,
that's exactly where my work begins.
Feel free to get in touch with me.
Often, a clear perspective from the outside is all it takes,
to get things moving again.
ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL
It was what it was. No more, no less.
A once-in-a-lifetime experience!
But after letting go of that chapter, there was always one question that remains very much alive within me:
I wonder what would come of it today if I were to take on a project like that again?