Precious

There I sat in Los Angeles, in an American coffee chain next to a homeless man who was scratching and shaking himself. I tried to keep my distance - I didn't want to catch any fleas or lice! The ice in his water cup seemed to melt quickly. Large drops of water trickled down the cup and formed an ever-growing puddle on the black table top. What was I actually doing here? America, the dream of emigrating. Not for me. Although this country did have its appeal. The vastness, the nature, the indigenous people. But where were they? The Natives. I'm terribly romantic and often live in the books of the past. Reality is different.

I wanted to attend a school for media people here. I had gone through a long application process, and once again had wonderful encounters in my life. Not only had I been given the money for the flight as a gift, but I had also found the perfect accommodation for myself. Half a year before I made the decision to go to Hollywood, I met a man in Germany who had a boat in Los Angeles, from where I could set off. I was allowed to stay on the ship. Excellent. What's more, I slept there under the flags of the nations. That had always been my dream.

I enjoyed the days on the boat. Falling asleep gently rocking. Watching the wonderful sunsets from the deck of the ship. Getting to know new people. Two days after my arrival, my new friend's brother and his wife arrived. Both artists. I love artists! My real father was one. A musician, painter, sculptor. The thinking of this species excites me. Artists have different thoughts. My counterpart wrote operas. But not with notes, but with sounds. For years he had recorded sounds in various tunnels, in order to then artfully combine them. The result was a musical feast for the ears. Wow. Fantastic.

The camera people who came on board a short time later to film the work, after all, I was on board a sailing training ship, also inspired me enormously. Media work, yes, that was what I wanted to do. Aircraft that looked like small flying saucers brought cameras high above the boat. They gave a great panoramic view of the work. What you can do with technology. I was thrilled and accompanied the head of the camera team to lunch. Questions bubbled out of me, which she gladly answered. I dreamed of films, reports, being a voice - of Hollywood. And of art. Soon my school would start, if I had the money together by then.

My scratching neighbor that day knew nothing of all this, nor was he probably aware of my thoughts. But I was. And I was ashamed. What in the world made me better than him? My shower this morning? My sleep on a boat in Los Angeles? My plane ticket home? On the contrary. I couldn't use it anymore. I hadn't gotten the money together and had to leave the States again without having achieved anything. My return flight was booked for much later - unchangeable. Now I had the trouble ... my head was itching.

I had no choice but to book a new flight to Germany, but it had to be cheap. My head ached. My neighbor moved closer, I tried to get further away, which proved difficult in the small café. Could he feel my thoughts? His hair stood up to the sky like huge antennas and the smell made me breathe through my mouth. What a story was probably behind this man? I couldn't imagine that he wanted to live like this. How did I want to live? Where had my dreaming taken me? To Hollywood? No! To the question of whether I was worth more than this man who was slurping his water dirty and lousy? Which, by the way, was free there ...

I imagined a woman holding her child in her arms. Who lavished the little being with her love and made sure that it felt safe. Maybe he never had such a mother, no father who took him to sports or fishing. Or had he failed in school, had he slipped into drugs ... or, or, or ... My mother had given me away, I only met my father at the age of 35. Drugs and alcohol were not foreign to me. No, I was by no means better than this person. Even if I hadn't experienced all this, I wouldn't be better or worse than this person. Nobody is better or worse. Nobody. Only life runs differently. Everyone has their story. Period.

At that moment I found a flight to Germany. Via Reykjavik. There I had to wait 24 hours for the onward flight. So I booked a hotel room. Finally. I could leave this place, away from these fleas. Five seconds later, I realized with horror that I had booked the wrong date for the hotel. No, I couldn't rebook. What was I going to do? One of my deepest fears crawled up inside me, like the fleas on my neighbor did. I had been told that I came from the gutter. Would I end up there again, like him?! Now I could already see my fellow park bench user in front of me. Not a meter away. His gnarled hands seemed to beckon me to him. No, I just wanted to get away.

My computer made a ringtone. I stared at the screen and saw a small emoji that was excitedly jumping up and down and waving at me. Who was it from? I couldn't believe my eyes. From a woman I had met a year earlier in Canada, at a seminar for executives. We had never exchanged a word. Now she sent me an electronic greeting. I could hardly suppress my joy: She lived in Iceland. The only Icelander I knew until then. I wrote back to her, asked for advice. My hope for accommodation rose. No park bench. She promised to help me.

Two days later I sat at the airport in Los Angeles and pondered my thoughts. My bench neighbor walked through my thoughts. I never learned his story. Too bad. At the moment when I had the opportunity to talk to him, I was too busy with myself. With my fear of life. With my story. No, life is not always beautiful, not always romantic, not always good, not always fair. But it is our life. Our story. For me, a very important question was answered on this trip, maybe I had to take it for this reason.

Every person is precious. Not worse or better. He has his very own way. Life is full of color. The point of view makes the difference. We can recognize the wonderful in all the facets of brokenness if we only look closely. For me, this meeting with the homeless man was one of my most wonderful experiences. I am grateful that I was able to recognize how precious we humans are.

When I arrived in Reykjavik, my new friend picked me up. On this day I got to know more Icelanders, ate the best fish of my life, saw a part of this wonderful island, slept with a person I had never seen before and was safely taken to the airport by him in the middle of the night. I was fine! But what about my neighbor?