On Tuesday I was meant to fly back to England - the short visit with my best friend all too soon had come to an end. It had been six days of non-stop adventure, full to brimming with the unexpected change and steadfast sameness that people and places constantly are to each other. As usual the trip had been a kaleidoscopic picture of moving colour and sound as we and our many friends did whatever we needed to do to make the time and space catch up with each other and fan the flames of our diverse friendships.
In a gathering around the kitchen table on Monday, our Munich friend asked excitedly if we'd heard of Munich's brand new English-speaking newspaper. "Although it has been online for some time", she told us, "This week the very first paper-copy was printed. Knowing I was a writer, she suggested I come to Munich and write for them. Immediately the kitchen was filled with the hum of endless possibility that the human imagination is so great at. Knowing I am a writer 'mit kein Deutsch', her sharp business mind was already introducing me to the idea of meetings with Munich's active German English Association. She knew if I moved to Munich I would need help with relocation. While I was still in the process of taking all the information in, a voice behind us suddenly called out: "Hey Melody, what did our dear friend say yesterday about having to keep our eyes and ears open for opportunity? This is it!" And it was. Whatever the future held, this was the moment I knew that tomorrow the plane to England would be taking off without me. Munich was calling!
As I rested my arms onto the metal rim of the window frame of the train on the way to Munich, allowing the wind to blow through my hair, I was full of the knowledge that this was truly a new beginning. Everything in my life I had done and been before this moment, had brought me to this new place. I was in awe of the constant 'process of becoming' which makes being human so uniquely special.
The last time I was in Munich for a length of time was when my Munich friend was in hospital and I had the privilege of taking care of her home in her absence. Home for her included three teenage sons and a dog. I was going to be staying with them again, but two years on, so much had changed. Their dog had died and now they had a new dog, and the eldest boy had recently left home to start a new life as the young man he had become. It would all be so different. And yet, as the front door opened and I was met by the youngest boy, it was easy to see that, at the heart of this family nothing had changed at all except these people too, just like me, had become more of what they already were. It would be simply a process of sensing each other anew and learning how to give and take the space we were about to start sharing - starting with the rescue-dog who didn't like strangers.