Your web-browser is very outdated, and as such, this website may not display properly. Please consider upgrading to a modern, faster and more secure browser. Click here to do so.
This morning I headed out to the city centre, to the largest, most beautiful Starbucks I think I’ve ever seen, spent a couple of hours drinking coffee, doing some background research on some of the people through whose writings I’ll start sifting on Wednesday, listening in (or trying to) on conversations, and contributing, in my own way, to the hum or buzz or pulse or what have you that make good coffee shop visits what they are. And as I was leaving I realized that I was in a deliriously good mood. And as I waited for my tram to come take me back to the academic outskirts of town, I thought about why that was. And this is what I came up with:
I spent those two hours doing something that make me, for whatever reason, happy. Today it felt like I was drinking my own identity along with that latté (oh, I’m fancy, huh?). Like I was returning from the past six or seven weeks, which for fun and wonderful, and which I don’t mean to diminish in any way, and back to who I am. Which is not to say that I acted in a way that was untrue to myself in Marburg, but more that I didn’t take the time, I don’t think, to consider ways in which I could be truer to myself. And today, without realizing it, that’s what I did. To mine own self was I true.
Maybe the prince of Denmark should have just spent more time in Bremen.