These days I’ve been imagining myself, living a different life.

That other life is missing conflict. There is no interesting story to tell about it and all the problems I’ve been coming up with either resolve themselves quickly or make life even better. But I’m jumping ahead.

In that dream I am riding a motorcycle, this seems to me like an incredible thing to do, riding along the coast of southern Spain, heading towards Barcelona. It’s not hot in that dream, because I ride so fast that the wind is cooling me and that wind air is cold, be it coming from the ocean.

I hit another one of these huge potholes and noticed right away that the bike was making a bit of a different sound. At this stretch of the Spanish coast, the roads were covered by potholes in all different shapes, a group of small ones, long thin ones, and holes so big I thought the road had ended.

When you have been riding your motorcycle for a couple of months straight you are tuned into it's sound like your firstborns cry. I could tell when it was time for a rest in the shade, I heard when I needed to add oil, when the tires lost air, and when the gas ran low, but this sound was different.
I slowed down a bit and shifted my focus from the beautiful hills and ocean down the road, swerving to avoid another one of those huge potholes.

Instead of the sound settling others started in and the rhythmic humming I've gotten so used to turned into an off-beat rattling like an alcoholic drummer at the end of an open tab gig.
I stopped in the shade of a tree, ate a sandwich, and drank small sips of my water. With this heat, you have to be careful not to drink too much at a time or I would run out before I could reach the next town. I was hoping everything would just go back to normal after the break, maybe it was just the heat.

It was just me alone on this ride, trying to escape my life back home for a while. Pushing the worries as far back in my mind as possible. I was making good time and if I could keep this speed up there would be even a few free days before I started the new job. Thinking about that made me excited, never before did I have that much responsibility. It would be a huge challenge, but I was confident I could manage. 

Can you tell how boring that is? Wait come back! I hope you are still reading this, I know I would have probably put down the pages by now. So well, if I lost you there I don’t blame you. But if you’re still here, let’s talk about that boring dream for a bit.
I think first we need to clear something up: I don’t know how to ride a motorcycle.
So why would I know what it feels like, how can I describe something I never knew. Sure I was sitting on the back of a motorcycle a few times, but there is no comparison. No comparison between thirty minutes and thirty days.
That is, what I’m suspecting, what makes it a dream. In a dream you can do anything, and the way you do it is not from your own experience, but from what others have told you.
That’s really all we have when we try to figure out what we should do next. We can only imagine what something would feel like, and then try to guess from that if we would like it. But what a sad task that is. Almost an embarrassing way to achieve the meaning of life, that of “being happy”. For a moment, let us agree on the meaning of life to not get stuck in the train of thought here, but focus on that first topic. How can one ever imagine if something would make them happy when they have never tried it. We rely on what others have told us and try to relive that. Even if we could relive what others tell us with perfect accuracy, they could tell us what it feels like with such perfect accuracy. We would still not be able to imagine if it would make us happy, for we don’t even know if the thing that made us happy yesterday will make us happy today. We can only hope for the best.

But let’s go back to that story and see how it continues. Remember, the motorcycle has just broken down. And Action!

From up here, I could see down the shoreline which was sprinkled with trees on one side of the road and on the other side steep cliffs that the waves crashed against. Maybe three kilometers further I spotted a small town with fisher boats in front of it. A collection of flat-roofed white buildings reflected the sunlight into my eyes, it couldn't have been more than a hundred. In between them trees and small roads. 

I got back up pushed my bike into the road and stepped on the Kickstarter, but it wouldn't start. I opened up my little bag and diged through the tools. Spread them out on the floor and started the whole trial and error process. It's probably just a quick fix I'm thinking, going through the checklist I have developed over time. 
Spark, compression, air, fuel ... I flip through my notebook, where I hastily scribbled down symptoms and fixes from past breakdowns or words of advice I picked up from other bikers. But this seems to be a totally new issue. The old manual that the previous owner gave me is barely legible, the pages all have a beige tint to them where they are not smeared with oil fingerprints.
As I flipped through the pages, I noticed I wasn't even reading anymore but just looking at letters, the sun was going down and I wouldn't be fixing this piece of junk bike tonight.

I put back together the stuff I've taken apart, drank the last sip of my water, and saddle the tools back on the bike. My stomach hurt and I figured I was hungry, but I ate all the food when I was trying to fix the bike. If I could fall asleep quickly maybe the hunger would fade, but I don't really want to camp here. The only light still in the landscape is the small town up ahead.

"I guess I just have to push the last bit", I said to myself. 
Both hands on the handlebar I dug my feet into the ground to get the beast rolling. Luckily it was going downhill and there were stretches of road where I was even able to sit on the bike and roll forward. The heat had finally faded and a cool gust of salty air was hitting me from the ocean. Still, my shirt was sticking to my chest and the sweat was running down my face, forcing me to blink it out of my eyes.

My eyes closed for a moment and I almost lost my balance forcing me to slow down even more. I tried to distract myself by studying every detail of the town ahead. It's many small white-coated buildings. The streets reach up the hill like vines climbing a tree. Balconies filled with plants, like a personal oasis. By then all the boats were back in the harbor, swinging back and forth with the waves. 

Me again. So we have some nice observations here, I think it is totally possible to see those images in front of one’s eyes. And if you have made it through the first part, you will have made it through this part. So let’s not break here for too long but just continue.

I took the road by the waterfront, passing a few houses. From not too far away I could hear people laughing and music playing. And I felt a sudden boost of energy each time the sound got louder. The locals were sitting outside of a cafe around small tables the sun hitting them from the side casting their shadows long on the street.

I parked my bike next to them and they looked over, welcomed me, and asked me to join their table. I accepted with pleasure and collapsed on the chair.

"¿Quieres una cerveza mi amigo?"
    "Sí, por favor", I answered with a raspy voice barely recognizing it as my own.

I had rested my elbows on my knees, my head between my hands, and just stared at my dusty shoes. I couldn't say another word. The cafe's owner, who I later find out is called Jose, brought me a beer. I drank in big sips and the cold calmed me. They asked what was wrong with my bike and I explained my situation. They nod and hum their empathy for me. That evening they asked me tons of questions about my journey, where I came from, what towns I passed, and where I planned on going next. I was too tired to tell exciting stories, but they keep on poking me with questions.

"If you like you can sleep inside the Cafe, it's not comfortable but protected from the weather." Offered Jose and I accepted. He told me about a mechanic they have in the town and scribbled directions on how to get there on a piece of paper. Inside the cafe there was a slim upholstered bench I curled up my sweater as a pillow and used my motorcycle jacket as a blanket. They were still out there talking and laughing, but the sound quickly faded and mixed with the sound of waves and wind as I fell into a deep sleep.

That night in my dreams I was in the middle of an artificially light office wearing the same as I was now, staining the blue-dotted carpet with my dirty shoes. Everyone, including my new boss, was watching me as I failed to repair my bike. Every time I think I fixed one part, something else broke, and the carpet started to fill up with all kinds of greasy tools. There were screws everywhere, so many that I didn't remember where I had unscrewed them from, or where I should put them back in.

I woke up stressed to the soft murmur of the ocean and the gentle rustling of the wind in the blinds. The sun was casting yellow rays through the blinds into the cafe, reflecting off of the tiled floor and metal furniture. I stretched, feeling the stiffness in my muscles from the night on the bench. I gathered my things and stepped out of the cafe, breathing in deep the cool morning air. I watched the fisherman carrying nets and boxes to their boats in a silent dance so routine there was no need to exchange words.

Aha! Did you notice that? There was the first bit of something interesting here.

A dream in a dream.

I like the idea of looking back at one current life, from a dream. You should try it yourself sometime. Well, not right now, of course, we’re in the middle of something here. And I promise you the magic is still about to happen, even if I can’t tell you yet what it is. Not because I don’t want to tell you, I would love to of course. Would save us both a bunch of time.
But unfortunately to the rushed people among us, things take time. Thoughts and emotions need to develop. And the summary will never teach you the same as the whole thing. On another note, maybe the bigger reason why I can’t tell you now already is much simpler. I don’t know yet. I guess we will have to figure it out together.

Maybe it’s a good idea if we just skim the next part together and I will tell you what I picked up on. I’m supposed to take a plane back to Berlin tomorrow morning, still need to pack my back and also want to go to a little Pizza Party later. My friends have invited me this evening to have a pizza on their rooftop. What a beautiful way to end my stay in Barcelona, am I right? While I still have some time, it’s only 19:20 right now. I really don’t want to be late. So let’s read this next part a bit faster.

I pushed my bike through the narrow streets of the town, the cobblestones clicking under the wheels. Everywhere doors and windows were open, inviting in the morning breeze. I paused at an open gate, peering in to see a craftsman meticulously working on a piece of wood. His hands moved with a practiced ease, shaping the wood. He looked up and nodded at me in acknowledgment of shared labor.

Pushing the motorcycle higher up the mountain, I found the mechanic's shop. 
"Buenos días," the mechanic said, wiping her hands on a rag. 
    "Jose already told me about your bike. I'm Maria, your only hope in this town." 
I had to laugh, "Yeah. I already tried everything. It just won't start. Really appreciate the help."

I looked around for a place to park my bike, but the shop was a mess. In the darkness, I could see at least two motors hanging on chains from the roof, three cars all of them with open hoods and tools spread on the floor next to them, the walls were covered with even more tools, cables, and technical drawings. 

"Just leave it out front, it's better to work with sunlight anyways," she said pointing at an empty space in the courtyard.
"When was the last time you cleaned this thing? Ten years ago?" she smiled, shaking her head. 

"I've been on the road for more than two months now," looking at the bike I had to agree with her, it was a mess. Covered in dried mud it looked more like a farmer's cart than a bike, me pushing it didn't help.

We spent the better part of the day tinkering with the bike, checking every part I had already inspected the night before. She was thorough, her hands moving fast and without any waste of effort. But despite our combined efforts, we couldn't figure out the problem. The bike remained stubbornly silent, refusing to start.

"Let’s take a break. Sometimes the best solutions come when you're not thinking about the problem," she said and went inside. I sat down at a small table in front of the shop and she brought out two cold beers, the condensation dripping down the bottles in the heat. We sat in comfortable silence for a moment, the cool beer a welcome relief. 

"So, where are you headed next?" she asked.

    "I'm on my way home," I said "heading north to Barcelona. Need to make it there until the end of the month."

"That gives us maybe two - three days to get this thing running again?"

    "Two days would be good, otherwise it will be a drive with little sleep."

"I'm sure together we can figure it out."

    "I sure hope so."

She chuckled, taking a sip of her beer. I didn't think it was very funny, she didn't seem to realize how serious the situation was that I found myself in.
"Back to work?" I asked, but she didn't even look at me. 
    "No that's it, we won't be able to figure it out today. Better to look at it fresh tomorrow."
I complained, but there was no way of convincing her. So I obliged and sunk deeper into the chair. Halfway into the beer, a certain calmness came over me. My eyes wandered across the shoreline, the beaches, the palm trees, the tiny white houses with their balconies full of plants, across the slim streets. The only thing that was interrupting the view was a single church with a modest tower sticking out between the houses. 
"If my bike wouldn't have broken, I would have driven through this place without a single thought," I told Maria. 
    "We are easy to miss, but when you spend some time here like I did you will notice there are so many small beautiful things about this place." her words trailed off lost in thought. 
"I see that now. This was a beautiful day."
    "Still is," Maria said, "how about I walk you back down to the Cafe and we have a big dinner?"
"That sounds terrific!"

I’ll summarize for us real quick, so the bike is still broken. Maria the mechanic couldn’t find the solution either. Dream-me tried to rush things, but she convinced me to take a break.
Now to dinner.

As we walked back, the aroma of freshly cooked food wafted through the air, making my stomach rumble. Jose greeted us with a smile as we entered the cafe. "Back again, I see," he said, putting two glasses on the counter. "What can I get for you two?"
We ordered tapas, and Jose joined us at the table once the orders were in. Jose talked about the town, its history, and the people who lived there. He mentioned his son, who was supposed to take over the cafe but had moved to a bigger city, leaving Jose to run the place alone.

"He doesn't care for the small-town life anymore," Jose said with a sigh. "Always wanted more than what we had here."

Maria nodded sympathetically. "It's a common story. They leave for University and never come back, they can’t deal with the quiet."

"Maybe he'll come back someday," I suggested. "Sometimes it takes leaving to appreciate what you had."

Jose smiled sadly. "Maybe. But for now, I'm here, and the cafe needs tending to."

After dinner, Maria stood up and stretched. "It was delicious as always Jose," she said. "I see you back at the shop in the morning?" she added, turning to me.

"Definitely," I replied. "Thanks for your help today."

Maria said good night and made her way back up the mountain.

Jose started clearing the tables, and I offered to help. "Nah, you're a guest," he said. But I insisted, and together we cleaned up the cafe. The clinking of plates and cutlery filled the quiet space as we worked side by side.

As we finished up, Jose locked the front door and turned off the lights. "You know, if you ever get tired of the open road, you could take over this place., " he said, "I can always use some help around here."

I laughed. "I'll keep that in mind, Jose. But for now, I'm needed in the city."

We said our goodnights, and on the bench, I curled up for another night of sleep. The sounds of the town slowly faded, replaced by the rhythmic lullaby of the ocean waves and the gentle rustling of leaves. I drifted off to a calm sleep.

Now we are starting to understand what this dream is about. It’s not about motorcycles really, is it? Why did I even mention this in the beginning then? I guess I needed a reason to be forced to stay in a small town. That’s what the dream is really about. Leaving everything behind and living “the quiet life”. I feel like I’m rambling now, have I lost you already. I notice even I’m starting to lose interest now.
So let’s try to think about something interesting here. I always think I have to save the world. I need to make a huge impact. I see things that are going wrong and put pressure on myself to fix them. That might be why my dream is being forced to stay in a tiny town. There all the problems are also smaller. Or at least it seems like it’s easier to forget about the big problems. Turn off the radio and just listen to the waves.

Here’s the same problem as in the beginning: I never spent more than a week in a small town. I’ve been a big city boy since day one. Just spending an hour at the beach would kill me of boredom exactly one minute before I would get sunburned on my feet.
So why do I dream about such a life?

The next morning, I woke up to the familiar sounds of the town coming to life. The sun streamed through the windows of the cafe, casting a warm glow over the interior. I gathered my things, eager to get back to the mechanic's shop and hopefully make some progress on my bike.

Maria and I spent the morning meticulously going through every component, double-checking everything we had inspected the day before. Finally, she paused and looked at me with a determined expression.

"I think I know what the problem is," she said. "It's the carburetor. See, it's worn out. We need to order a replacement."
I felt a mix of relief and frustration. "Great, let's do it," I replied.
Maria picked up her phone and started making calls. She dialed several suppliers, explaining the situation and the part we needed. After a series of calls, she hung up and turned to me with a sigh.
"It's going to take a while," she said. The closest supplier can't get it for at least a month."
    "A month?"
"Yeah that's what they said," she shrugged her shoulders.
    "But I don't have that much time, I need to get out of here as soon as possible!"
"I don't know what to tell you, there is nothing we can do."
    "How about a bus? I could come back in a month and pick the bike up"
"They closed down the bus stop a while ago," she said. "The next stop is at least an hour's drive from here. I would drive you but -", she gestures to the cars and hanging motors, "they all don't work either."
    "So I'm stuck here for one month?" I still couldn't believe it.
"Seems like that," she nodded. "Hey, there are much worse places to get stuck in."
    "But I have a new job starting next month, they need me in Barcelona. I have to call my boss!"
I pull out my phone, but there is no reception. I asked Maria if I could use hers, but when the call did go through nobody picked up. I hang up, thinking it's better to tell my boss in a conversation than leave a voicemail. I would just call again the next day. 
I sat down on the floor next to the phone, leaning my head against the wall. Maria stood next to me, "so, want me to order that carburetor?" I had to think for a moment, "All alright. I guess I'll have to make the best of it."
She tells me to grab two beers from the fridge and sit down outside. She tells me to grab two beers from the fridge and sit down outside. 

I walked back to the cafe, the sun warming my face as I pushed open the door. Jose looked up from behind the counter and greeted me with a warm smile.

"How did it go?" He said, "Did you fix the bike?"

I shook my head. "Jose, I was wondering if you could use some help around here. In exchange, I could stay and eat here? I don't have much money, but I can work hard."

Jose raised an eyebrow, considering the offer. "You know, I could use an extra pair of hands. We could even build a little bed in the back. What do you think?"
I nodded eagerly. "Sounds perfect."

Yada, yada, yada, just more exposition honestly. There is no emotion at play here.

And so, my new life began. I spent my days helping Jose at the cafe, learning the ins and outs of running a small business. I swept the floors, washed the dishes, and even helped prepare some of the local dishes. The cafe became a second home, and I grew closer to Jose and the regulars who frequented the place.

Some days, I joined the local fishermen on their boats. We would set out early in the morning, the sun just beginning to peek over the horizon. The salty air and the rhythmic rocking of the boat were soothing, and I found a sense of peace in the simple act of fishing. We would bring back a fresh catch, some of which we served at the cafe and the rest we would enjoy together in the kitchen at night, sharing stories and laughter.

On other days, I would visit Maria at her shop. I helped her with various tasks, learning more about motorcycle mechanics in the process. We would often end the day with a cold beer, sitting outside her shop and watching the town come to life. 

As the days turned into weeks, I found myself growing more attached to the town and its people. The initial frustration of the bike breakdown faded, replaced by a sense of gratitude for the unexpected journey.

One evening, as I sat in the cafe with Jose, watching the sunset over the ocean, he turned to me and said, "You know, I think you've found a home here. You don't have to leave when your bike is fixed."

I smiled, feeling a warmth in my chest. "Maybe I won't," I replied.

The month passed quickly, filled with new experiences and friendships. One afternoon, Maria called me to the shop with exciting news. "The carburetor arrived today," she said, holding up the package. "We can get your bike up and running."

We spent the afternoon installing the new carburetor, and after a few test runs, the bike purred to life, ready to roll.

That evening, Jose threw a big farewell dinner at the cafe. The place was buzzing with energy as everyone gathered to celebrate. The fishermen, Maria, and many of the town's regulars filled the tables, their faces lit up with smiles. Jose had prepared a feast, and the aroma of delicious food filled the air.

We ate, laughed, and shared stories late into the night. The cafe was filled with music, singing, and dancing. I found myself in the middle of it all, surrounded by my new friends. Maria taught me a few local dances, and we laughed as I tried to keep up. The fishermen regaled us with tales of their adventures at sea. I looked around the cafe and I knew I would carry these memories with me wherever I went.

The next morning, I packed my belongings, taking one last look around the cafe. Jose was already up, "ready to hit the road?" he asked. I nodded, "Yes, it's time to go."

We embraced in a big hug, and I felt a deep connection to this man who had become a mentor and a friend. "Thank you, Jose," I said. "For everything."

He patted my back. "You're welcome anytime, my friend. The town will miss you."

I pushed my bike out of the cafe and onto the road, the cool morning air refreshing. As I rode out of town, I looked back one last time, taking in the sight of the white-coated buildings, the harbor, and the people who had become so dear to me.

A few kilometers outside of the town, I stopped and looked back at the town. I turned the bike around and headed back towards the town. I had forgotten, what I was looking for on that journey. 

The travel forced him to stop his travels spend his time in the small village and learned to enjoy life there. When allowed to travel again, he instead decides to stay.
Ugghhh, such a Klischee.

That is the problem with dreams. There is no conflict. No hardship, no struggles, no problem. When we fantasize about a different life, our ability to worry somehow evaporates. We have no clue what could ever go wrong in that imagined life. And that is what I have learned from this story, that while it is all just fantasy, I am really, actually, pretty bad at fantasy. And that has consequences.

If all my fantasies about the future, my ideas of how things could be. A lack of conflict will never be achievable. And while they do contain achievable parts, such as learning how to ride a motorcycle, taking it on a trip along the Spanish coastline, and spending a month in a small Spanish town. The actual fantasy is not about those achievable parts, it is about everything else. It’s about nonexisting problems, or if problems exist how they resolve themselves.

With my head in the clouds, I can’t watch where I’m going. The fog starts to be so dense that I might stray off the path into the wilderness without even noticing.

I wanted to write a story about feeling good, and here it is.

The big problem: IT’S BORING!!!!

So, when you take one thing with you it’s this. Next time you are daydreaming and fantasizing about how life could be, do this super quick and simple reality check:

IS MY FANTASY BORING?

And I promise you, the answer is simple and clear: yes.

That’s why I have always disagreed with the concept of heaven. What are you even supposed to spend your time with in heaven, if (a) you’re there forever there is no reason to do anything today, you could always do it later and (b) if you can get anything you want, why even try?
And not to dive too deep into religion here, I simply think heaven would be pretty fucking boring. In the same way, all my fantasies are boring because if there is no struggle, no pain, no conflict anything that isn’t a struggle loses its meaning.

Because walking down the hill is only fun when you walked up the hill before.

So let us toast for all the very real struggles, and stop fantasizing about a boring life.

Barcelona, 30th of May 2025