Whether a routine feels safe or stifling depends on how and why you craft the routine, the purpose you ascribe to it. I’ve heard stories of acolytes in the Silicon Valley priesthood who eat the same breakfast every day and whose wardrobe is an array of identical shirts so they can preserve intellectual computing power for more important work, like extracting data and selling people items and services they don’t actually need. Maybe with such disruptive ambitions to focus on, it’s easier to find freedom in repetition.
After over a year of centering our exercise and social time around walking the same routes, I don’t blame anyone for being fed up with the repetitive scenery. Many people didn’t craft this routine willingly, nor is it easy to hang on to a sense of purpose as the months wear on. There has been exasperation and impatience where there wasn’t before. “I went through the park on my run yesterday because I just can’t with the canal,” a friend said recently. Another told me about her day: “I went for a nice walk by the stupid canal.” I think I could navigate the paths around the canal in my sleep. One friend and I don’t even discuss our route anymore; we make the same loop every time, over and over again, oat flat whites in hand from the same coffee shop.
Since I moved to Berlin, I’ve heard people trumpeting about how “green” the city is - allegedly, the greenest in Europe, although I couldn’t find any facts on this. What I did learn is that Berliners have access to 2,500 public parks, comprising a third of the surface area of the city.1 Some of the parks are Prussian legacies, like the Tiergarten and Hasenheide; others were developed during the city’s massive expansion and metropolisation in the early 20th century. Then there are the remnants of post-WWII destruction and decay: sites left beautifully empty because of a lack of resources, or turned into playgrounds, letting urbanity breathe better.
I’ve been lucky enough to live immediately adjacent to green spaces like the Jungfernheide, St. Thomas Friedhof, Tempelhofer Feld, and now the Landwehrkanal and many smaller oases. Based on the data, it sounds like most of us in Berlin have similarly easy access.
As spring settles in with painful slowness, I’m trying to pause and observe how the natural rhythm along the canal changes. Maybe attentiveness and awareness are bleeding over from other activities; I find it fascinating to slow down and watch the bird- and animal life. My knowledge deepens of things that I wouldn’t otherwise seek out, like the diet of seagulls. I watched one tearing into a dead fish the other day and realised that I hadn’t thought of seagulls as carnivorous (pescatarian?).
Swans sail by and it becomes clear that their floating isn’t as effortless as it seems. They stroke powerfully underwater with a webbed foot, much like the stand-up paddleboarders do with their oars. An extremely tiny insect crawls along my arm, making its way arduously up and over each hair.
As spring settles in with painful slowness, I’m trying to pause and observe how the natural rhythm along the canal changes.
Fish-watching takes the most patience. They don’t fully surface, but if you sit still and listen, you can hear them briefly break through to nip at a bug. I wait long enough to see the tips of dorsal fins peek above the water, surrounded by air bubbles and subtle ripples from their movements.
My favourites this week are the mandarin ducks. One landed on the water in front of me and bobbed in place while he chirped and peeped so quietly, it seemed like I was the only one to hear it. Each time he squeaked, his eye would blink closed and it gave him an expression like a smile. It reminded me of the happy face emoji with the hearts swirling around it. I know it’s inaccurate to anthropomorphise animals and attribute emotions or characteristics to them, not to mention the problematics of perceiving certain animals as “cute” and what this means for human intervention in species preservation, but still: a blinking, peeping mandarin duck is so cute it will make your heart hurt.
The access to green space that I and other Berliners enjoy may have felt like insufficient compensation for all of the other ways in which our movements and activities have been restricted over the past months. But as outdoor cinemas and beer gardens and more open up today (!), I’m finding safety in my routine and the slowness of life along the canal.
Unsolicited Recommendations
Lisa O’Neill singing “The Galway Shawl.” Heart-stopping.
Easy, Joe Swanberg’s anthology series on Netflix, which I’m watching and loving for the second time.
Questions to Ask the trees on your street.
I relate to this so much! I literally couldn't bear to look at the parks, streets and canalside paths that I'd previously fallen in love with. It truly felt like a falling out of love, no matter how much mindfulness and slowness I brought to it (and I really did mindfulness the shit out of it). Heartbreaking. But only temporary, I'm sure. At least I hope so. Enjoy the openings-up - of nature and of culture <3