I’m talking about my bullshit excuses.
And I’ve got hundreds of them.
How many have you got?
I spent the last weekend moping around in my pyjamas. There were tears. There were also some very angry runs, especially up the hill back home. I hated that hill.
I’ve been feeling sorry for myself because I feel lonely. I went to a wedding last Friday. My first German one. There were probably 400 people there, I’ve never been to such a big wedding. I sat there, on this long wooden bench looking around at everyone drinking beer and having a good time and I felt the most alone I have felt in a long time. I couldn’t understand a word of what people were saying to me, and over the loud music, my pieced together basic German wasn’t enough and I was met with bemused expressions. So I did what I always do when I feel alone, I withdrew and closed up.
Back home that night, Kristin and I had a big fight. Over stupid shit. You know the type of fight. It had nothing to do with what we were arguing about and everything to do with stuff we weren’t saying. I was angry. Angry that we’d made the decision to live in Germany, to finally live a life we had been planning for so many years, and that now I was here, I felt lonely. Something I hadn’t even considered for a second as we sold our place in London – and literally packed up our life and everything we knew – in to a van driven by a very lovely man named Pietro.
And so I moped. All day Saturday. All day Sunday. It looked like this:
Woe is me. I’m so lonely. Germans are rude and unhelpful. I can’t understand anything anyone says and I never will. How am I supposed to make friends here and just go to a fucking shop and order some fucking bread properly and don’t even get me started on explaining to the lady at the swimming pool that yes I did put a euro in the locker and no it still won’t close properly. I’ll never understand anything and even when I do try and speak German, people don’t get what I am saying and maybe I should just go back to the UK and live with my Dad. Kristin and Franz can stay here and I’ll send them money or something each month. I hate Germany and I am now going to Google things and find forums written by people who also hate Germany and that will make me feel better. I should never have moved here. Kristin is so happy and I am not and this is just awful and Germany is shit.
I mean, really. Just writing it down makes me cringe. And yet all weekend, that stuff felt REAL. Because it was real, in those moments. And whenever anyone tried to comfort me or suggest something that might help, I had excuse after excuse after excuse as to why their suggestion wouldn’t work.
Why? Because I secretly enjoyed the moping.
It gave me a reason to not have to take responsibility for myself. For my own shit.
And we all do it.
I see it over and over again.
Excuses, left, right and centre.
Complaints that something shouldn’t be the way it is.
Blaming others for things not working out for us in life, for our own underperformance.
Whining about things not being fair, how it’s so much easier for others.
They’re just excuses. And you love them as much as I do.
Come on, admit it.
(And then do something about it).
I just signed up for a learn German course. It’s two times a week until November. Starts next Tuesday. I’m scared and excited and worried about fucking up and getting it all wrong. But I know that this is normal. That this is life. I have to learn German. I want to learn German. And this is how I’ll make it happen.
I’ve shown you mine, now you show me yours.
Email me and let me know what excuse you’re hiding behind. I’ll challenge it (in a nice way).
Let’s do this.