fear of failure/desire to avoid failure

disconnect 019/237

[30 March 2025]

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On my way back from the doctor, who had just deemed me unfit for work, I noticed a poster for the exhibition Stadtbad RELOADED – Ambilight. A minute earlier, I had sent an email quitting the job I had started only a month ago. I was exhausted, overly tired, dizzy, unable to focus—just existing felt like an effort.

I had seen ads for this exhibition at the beginning of the year. The Instagrammy vibe made me skeptical. It looked like the kind of mainstream event that would be overcrowded and underwhelming, so I didn’t go, even though something about it appealed to me.

But now, I craved an experience of being pulled into another world. I decided to go. Even if it was crowded, even if the art was disappointing, I liked the idea of walking through an abandoned pool. And I was curious: What if I approached it as an experiment—one that confronted my fear of failure/my desire to avoid failure?

Could I find a way to disconnect even in a high-sensory environment, amidst a large crowd?

The idea excited me. After all, always needing to escape people in order to recharge can be limiting. What if I found a way to make that unnecessary?

I got off the S-Bahn at Ostkreuz. It was a beautiful, sunny but cold Sunday, and the station was crowded. I was early—my ticket was for 2:30 PM (time-slot tickets already suggest it might get packed, don’t they?)—and I was hungry, so instead of changing to the U-Bahn, I decided to walk the few kilometers to Lichtenberg and find a place to eat along the way.

As I left the station, the streets grew quieter. The sun on my face, empty sidewalks, unfamiliar streets. I was drawn towards a simple yellow sign with red letters: Pizza.

A short flight of stairs led to an odd little place. A man, maybe in his forties, stood behind the counter. He greeted me, asked what kind of pizza I wanted, and whether I had cash—no cards accepted.

One wall silver, one wall gold, ornamented wallpaper, brown-and-gold upholstery lining a large U-shaped bench that wrapped around three walls. Green tube lights framing the window, half above, half below sidewalk level. Heineken coasters and bottles of Sriracha on the tables. A dark wooden cuckoo clock on the wall. Schlager music, interrupted by Rin’s Was du Liebe nennst.

It was just me and the man behind the counter (the owner?), who, after preparing my pizza, sat down and ate a plate of pasta himself. The shared solitude felt good. The pizza Margherita was simple, crisp, cheesy, paired with a perfectly chilled Sprite from a glass bottle.

Then, a man walked in and ordered pasta. A woman followed and ordered a small beer. The place was filling up. I took it as my cue to leave, walking further through Lichtenberg, towards the Stadtbad.

Would I find the same calm there? Or had this little refuge prepared me for overstimulation? (I thought of my experience at the pinball arcade last year and how I had managed to immerse myself in my own world, despite the sensory overload.)

I entered the Stadtbad and instinctively turned right. I didn’t know (yet) that there were two pools—one on the left (crowded, overstimulating) and one on the right (calm, empty). The audience was not what I had expected. No artsy, young Berlin IG crowd. Instead, mostly older tourists, the kind of people you’d find in your average German small city.

I climbed a spiral staircase, reaching a gallery overlooking the empty pool. LED lights pulsed on the floor, synchronized to Hans Zimmer ambient downtempo music (chill step, according to an info screen). A mannequin stood in the rear third of the pool.

A single chair sat in an alcove, a few meters from the railing. I sat down on the chair.

A man—sixty-something, grey hair, black rain jacket, slightly boot-cut jeans, black Adidas sneakers with red stripes (from Deichmann, I guessed), black messenger bag—stood in front of me. He switched between looking at the pool and a GoPro he had attached to the railing.

When one song ended, he clapped. Just a few times, irregularly. Did he applaud? Or was he testing the (admittedly impressive) reverb?

The space had a church-like atmosphere. People moved slowly, spoke quietly, as if afraid to disturb the sacred calm. I closed my eyes, listened to the music. After a minute, I opened them again and felt detached. I was part of my environment and not part of it at all. The people around me seemed like background actors.

Most of them stayed for two, maybe three minutes. A quick video, a few photos, then they moved on. I sat there for fifteen. Then, I left to see the other pool.

The second hall was filled with small digital frames—150 in total—displaying 3D video loops. On the walls, in changing rooms, showers, on pedestals on the wooden floor that covered the empty pool.

I looked at about half of them before sitting down again, this time in a corner, observing. Most visitors seemed focused on seeing everything rather than experiencing the space. Except for a few: a handful of people were lying on bean bags in the center of the pool, one man seemingly asleep, a dad hat covering half his face.

I softened my gaze. Stopped trying to see everything. Let my attention drift to whatever naturally drew me in.

By exposing myself to overstimulation and becoming aware of how it affects me, I can learn how to navigate it rather than escape it.

It’s so much fun to observe the exhibition sitting in the corner instead of walking between all those people looking at the hundred small frames.

It reminds me of how I’ve enjoyed sitting alone at parties, just watching—at peace with simply being there, without feeling the need to participate or guilty for not doing so.

Before leaving, I returned to the first pool one last time. Again (or still?), barely anyone was there. Again (or still?), the same old man stood in the exact same spot, still filming the pool.

I left. It was 4:23 PM. I felt relaxed.

Have you ever hesitated to do something because you were afraid of failing? How did it turn out? Did you fail? Did you succeed? Did it even matter? What did you learn?

Enjoy your day or night!

glg Soda Paapi

PS: Last week, I created a trailer for 40 NiT—the one I’ll send to project spaces where I want to present it. Before I share it with them, I want to share it with you: