During the week I stayed in Ulm, I lived without time. 

There were no clocks in the apartment I stayed in. I covered the clocks in the upper left/right corners of my phone/laptop and changed the color of the clock widget to the same color as my phone background so it disappeared. I neither set alarms nor used timers when meditating or working. 

After two days, I turned off my phone as well [or rather: turned it on plane mode because the notes app is one of my most used tools].

For the first time, I lived timelessly for three days when I stayed alone at my mom’s house last year. It was when I first experienced the mind altering effects of living without time:

I was flowing through the days without any distractions, no time pressure, not thinking about anything but what I would like to do next, without any obligations whatsoever on my mind.

And just like that, while enjoying the simple beauty of the remote countryside somewhere in northwestern Germany, I found my ‘why’ – my purpose for making art.

Given the ubiquity of time in our society, my trip to Ulm was a rare chance to live without it.

On the first day, I was overwhelmed. There was way more to discover in Ulm than I had expected. The city has multiple levels and layers and offers lots of different perspectives. Small alleys which you may mistake for dead ends if you don't look closely lead to unexpected views. Buildings are not aligned straight. Still, when you look at the bigger picture from one of the numerous scenic, everything is harmonious.

I felt I wouldn’t have enough time to explore ‘everything‘. An inner conflict arose: I wanted to enjoy timelessness and not rush through the days as much as I wanted to get the most out of the time I had available. It took another day until this conflict passed through and left my mind. From then on, I simply did exactly what I felt like in every single moment instead of thinking about what I wanted to for the remainder of the day or week.

On the morning of Saturday, September 6, I woke up probably around the same time as every other day of the week without knowing what time it was and went on a last walk before taking the train to leave Ulm. The air was crisp, clear, and chilly. The tip of the Ulmer Münster covered in mist. 
I buried my hands in the pockets of my silk bomber jacket that I wore on top of a hoodie on top of a sweatshirt on top of a t-shirt. Yellow leaves, sticking out between green ones like white hair on the head of someone who started to grow old, made the change of seasons undeniable.

When I went on early morning walks the previous days, I saw people on their way to work, or some already working. On that Saturday morning, the city slept. At least the humans. I met numerous ducks, and marveled at the heron which I had seen a few times already the last days along the Blau. It stood calmly in the middle of the small river. Suddenly, it dipped its head under water, and reappeared within a blink of an eye with a small fish in its beak.

It had gotten foggy. It was the first morning walk that week on which I hadn't taken my camera. I wanted to have a last walk just for myself. I was sad for a moment that I couldn’t capture the scenery. However, some moments, I guess, are meant to be enjoyed just by ourselves and kept in our memories.

As I walked downstream along the Danube, the fog, gentle and vast a few moments ago, turned into a white wall that approached me. Don’t go this way, the fog whispered in my ear. I climbed the stairs to the Rosengarten, changed direction, and continued my walk — side by side with this mysterious companion, against the stream.

I let my gaze wander between the Danube and Neu-Ulm behind it to my left, and the pittoresque half-timbered houses of Ulm’s historic city center to my right. The sky ahead light blue, washy clouds in different shades of soft white-grey and beige-orange behind me, giving a hint that the sun is somewhere up there.

I heard the fog whispering again, from afar: Clarity awaits you when you stop following the stream and begin moving in your own direction. I stopped, turned around, and admired the hazy scenery of willows on the lush green Donauwiesen, the perfectly curved grey bikelane, the modern buildings of Neu-Ulm contrasting the old ones of Ulm behind me. Thank you for your guidance, fog.

glg Soda Paapi

-----------------------

A week without time in the city I was born in.
[an ambient documentary]

During the week I stayed in Ulm, I lived without time. 

There were no clocks in the apartment I stayed in. I covered the clocks in the upper left/right corners of my phone/laptop and changed the color of the clock widget to the same color as my phone background so it disappeared. I neither set alarms nor used timers when meditating or working. 

After two days, I turned off my phone as well [or rather: turned it on plane mode because the notes app is one of my most used tools].

For the first time, I lived timelessly for three days when I stayed alone at my mom’s house last year. It was when I first experienced the mind altering effects of living without time:

I was flowing through the days without any distractions, no time pressure, not thinking about anything but what I would like to do next, without any obligations whatsoever on my mind.

And just like that, while enjoying the simple beauty of the remote countryside somewhere in northwestern Germany, I found my ‘why’ – my purpose for making art.

Given the ubiquity of time in our society, my trip to Ulm was a rare chance to live without it.

On the first day, I was overwhelmed. There was way more to discover in Ulm than I had expected. The city has multiple levels and layers and offers lots of different perspectives. Small alleys which you may mistake for dead ends if you don't look closely lead to unexpected views. Buildings are not aligned straight. Still, when you look at the bigger picture from one of the numerous scenic, everything is harmonious.

I felt I wouldn’t have enough time to explore ‘everything‘. An inner conflict arose: I wanted to enjoy timelessness and not rush through the days as much as I wanted to get the most out of the time I had available. It took another day until this conflict passed through and left my mind. From then on, I simply did exactly what I felt like in every single moment instead of thinking about what I wanted to for the remainder of the day or week.

On the morning of Saturday, September 6, I woke up probably around the same time as every other day of the week without knowing what time it was and went on a last walk before taking the train to leave Ulm. The air was crisp, clear, and chilly. The tip of the Ulmer Münster covered in mist. 
I buried my hands in the pockets of my silk bomber jacket that I wore on top of a hoodie on top of a sweatshirt on top of a t-shirt. Yellow leaves, sticking out between green ones like white hair on the head of someone who started to grow old, made the change of seasons undeniable.

When I went on early morning walks the previous days, I saw people on their way to work, or some already working. On that Saturday morning, the city slept. At least the humans. I met numerous ducks, and marveled at the heron which I had seen a few times already the last days along the Blau. It stood calmly in the middle of the small river. Suddenly, it dipped its head under water, and reappeared within a blink of an eye with a small fish in its beak.

It had gotten foggy. It was the first morning walk that week on which I hadn't taken my camera. I wanted to have a last walk just for myself. I was sad for a moment that I couldn’t capture the scenery. However, some moments, I guess, are meant to be enjoyed just by ourselves and kept in our memories.

As I walked downstream along the Danube, the fog, gentle and vast a few moments ago, turned into a white wall that approached me. Don’t go this way, the fog whispered in my ear. I climbed the stairs to the Rosengarten, changed direction, and continued my walk — side by side with this mysterious companion, against the stream.

I let my gaze wander between the Danube and Neu-Ulm behind it to my left, and the pittoresque half-timbered houses of Ulm’s historic city center to my right. The sky ahead light blue, washy clouds in different shades of soft white-grey and beige-orange behind me, giving a hint that the sun is somewhere up there.

I heard the fog whispering again, from afar: Clarity awaits you when you stop following the stream and begin moving in your own direction. I stopped, turned around, and admired the hazy scenery of willows on the lush green Donauwiesen, the perfectly curved grey bikelane, the modern buildings of Neu-Ulm contrasting the old ones of Ulm behind me. Thank you for your guidance, fog.

glg Soda Paapi

-----------------------

A week without time in the city I was born in.
[an ambient documentary]