About 1,000 years ago now, I lived in idyllic Garmisch, Germany. Have any of you ever been there? That I landed in this place was sheer luck. I was traveling with a friend. We were adamant that we would avoid Germany. We imagined dark, post-WWII, sterile grey everything would await anyone who ventured there. No, that wasn’t for us. We were bound for the beaches of Greece and easy work waiting tables, earning money under the table, since we weren’t citizens.
But in Brussels, Belgium, our plans jumped our current track and veered toward Germany. We ran into some fellow Americans at the train station. We were planning our route, which would involve more buses than trains, in an effort to pinch our meagre pennies. These travelers told us that we really needed to head to this place called Garmisch.
It's gorgeous they said.
What? Germany…gorgeous? They must have a different idea of beauty than us, right? I mean, everything we thought about the country had to be right. History paints a bleak picture. We know what this country is like.
Yeah, well, it’s nestled in the German Alps, near the border of Austria. Trust us, they said, and just go see for yourself. You won’t be disappointed, they said.
Oh, and as Americans you can work there legally, and they’ll provide you with housing for dirt cheap.
During this entire conversation, my friend and I shot one another side-eyed glances, suspicious of the information we were receiving.
But the whole working legally and not having to worry about getting booted out of yet another country (we got kicked out of England on our arrival) thing made us give them the benefit of the doubt and change our plans.
We caught the next bus to Munich, visiting the beautiful Marienplatz to see the Glockenspiel play at noon at the town hall building and eating and drinking in a bier hall. We also made the trek out to Dachau, taking a tour that brought us to tears and reinforced our initial perceptions of Germany (though, let me say this: I truly admired the Germans for turning these concentration camps into an opportunity to educate. They didn’t try to sweep this part of their history under the carpet. And the metal art piece with the words “Never again” written in multiple languages at the base of the structure spoke volumes).
It's a short train ride from Munich to Garmisch. By the time we boarded that train, we were no more hopeful that the Americans in Brussels were steering us in the right direction than when we’d boarded the bus to Munich.
We began to change our minds when the topography changed somewhere around Ohlstadt. There really are mountains in Germany!
We debarked into another world. One we couldn’t have imagined from our Midwestern American perspective. We had to go beyond what we’d heard, dig a little deeper, to find the beauty beneath the surface, the heart behind the façade.
Even after arriving in the magical valley, we stepped carefully into life there, taking the time to get to know it, to trust. It took some time to let our guards down, to release suspicion.
But when we did, we found a beautiful community. I made lifelong friends who remain as dear to me as they were 25 years ago.
Yet, after a time there, I grew comfortable with my surroundings, with my perspective. Before long, I would realize that life in this little valley, though beautiful, only showed me one view, one perspective. In order to see things from a different view, I had to change my perspective. And the easiest way was to simply go up. I could hike up any trail and see the world in a whole new way.
I was reminded again recently of how we sometimes need to put a little effort into changing our perspectives.
The world shrinks a bit during the winter here in the PNW. Roads going up either close altogether or require the right kind of vehicle and some chutzpah to travel. The days are short. The clouds often hang low.
I love the slowed-down pace of it, the time for introspection and leisurely walks midday at sea level. And now, I can enjoy the views of Whidbey Island and the boat traffic on the Sound without leaving home.
I’m comfortable. Peaceful.
Yet, a few weeks ago, I realized that in my cozy space, I was only seeing this area from a pretty narrow perspective, even for wintertime. So, instead of simply enjoying the views of Whidbey Island from my front porch, I decided to hop on the ferry and take a trip to Whidbey Island.
It’s amazing how much changing your perspective can open up your world, can free you of mental and heart trappings, of the things we tell ourselves about our world.
I saw my little island and this side of the Puget Sound through someone else’s eyes. I changed the direction I faced and broadened my world, shed some light on what it’s like to live a life that isn’t exactly the same as the one I live. In this case, there might not be as much of a difference as experiencing an entirely new culture or standing in the shoes of someone whose life doesn’t even remotely resemble your own.
But it’s worth it to stretch ourselves. To change our perspectives. To recognize what it’s like to first stand in the place where you live, then shift your stance…a little, or a lot…to face a new direction. Whether shifting your perspective is about getting outside of your comfort zone to try something new, shaking off the doldrums of winter or routine, or trying to understand those whose lives or opinions are starkly different from your own, you grow from the experience.
While we might not always see that much of ourselves in another, we can maybe understand that there is still a thread that weaves through us all. We won’t always see it, we can’t always get to that place of understanding, but in the trying, I think we gain more empathy for others (and ourselves), we find more common ground than if we hold onto the perspectives we’ve grown comfortable with. And perhaps, we create bridges (or a ferry line) that crosses from one island to another.
Peace and love,
Desserae
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Love this...beautifully written and as always the photos are exceptional!
Lovely writing and pictures, Desserae. I'm glad you enjoyed your visit to my home island!