For Nicole and me both? Double that. Jobless and with Lou right around the corner, every franc mattered. 

The outdoors have always been more than recreation. They’ve been an outlet, a way to process, a release valve.  Not having that same kind of immediate access in Bern was harder than I expected.  I felt like I was missing one of the main things I’d come here for.  

Also, the residential areas make me feel like a mouse in a maze when I step outside for a walk, so clean and tidy i feel i can’t even fart without someone giving me a shameful look. Most buildings have small businesses on the ground floor and are so square and boring, i mistake the rest of the building for offices, but look a little closer and you will see someone hanging out their window and realize its a sad apartment complex.  The streets are so narrow, cars are often parked up on the curb, inching onto the already narrow sidewalks and I can’t count how many times I’ve heard someone trailing just a few paces behind, their steps literally echoing off the corridor-like neighborhoods.  It wore on me, felt like wearing an outfit two sizes too small.  Not because the people are rude or the city is unkind, but because wherever i went, there someone was.  

I missed, like hell, those wide residential neighborhoods back in the States, especially in Portland. Wide streets that allowed for two-way traffic, cars parked on both sides, and sidewalks buffered by strips of grass and trees. Streets lined with single-family homes, each one a little different, yards spilling out toward the sidewalk. You could view someone’s house and yard without being a pervert, without breathing down their neck, then continue on your way, walking without inhaling someone else’s exhale.  

For someone used to the spaciousness of America, it started to feel claustrophobic, like the buildings were closing in on me.  At first, I thought it was just culture shock, perhaps a yearning for what was familiar. But over time, that shock didn’t subside, it compounded. The tightness of the streets and the constant presence of people started to press in.  I started craving space in the way someone might crave sunlight after a long winter.

And yet, none of it is wrong.  And i hope that i haven't painted a blurry picture of Bern and if i have, it’s because I failed to shine the light where it really belongs: on my own inability to catch my thoughts before I was already caught in their undertow.

And all the while, beneath everything, there’s been this persistent weight, not emotionally, but physically, rooted in how long my body has felt out of sync.  Physical movement had become a major part of my identity, a steady outlet as I entered the unavoidable complexities of adulthood.  It was a kind of armor, something that announced who I was before I even spoke: the runner, the gym rat, the yogi, the calisthenics guy, the rock climber, the skier.  And in each of these identities, I caught glimpses of something that felt true.  There were moments when I thought: this is it.  But I never found the balance and so over the years, I used and abused it.  Running into pain, sidestepping instead of reflecting, adjusting, slightly altering my approach until those deviations too, ran into their own walls.  It was less about the exercise itself and more about giving my mind something repetitive to hold onto, a distraction from deeper insecurities and questions I didn’t always want to face.  I did it with everything: running, resistance training, yoga.  And eventually, the road simply ran out.  I reached a point where there were no more adjustments to make.  What was left was what I had been avoiding all along: rest and reflection.

When I arrived at this new chapter in Switzerland, instead of putting energy into integrating, I fell back into old patterns.  I found a gym, explored the trails, set new goals, clean, tangible, measurable and familiar.  But once again, I pursued the without balance, pushed too hard and the same patterns resurfaced: insomnia, central nervous system fatigue, my body quietly crying out, pulling against itself, muscles, tendons, fascia, tightened out of sequence, creating tension that radiated into headaches and left me feeling both pulled apart and compressed at the same time, even while simply sitting on the couch.

So I stopped.  I let it all go.  And in doing so, I found myself completely unmoored for the first time.  Without the comfort of movement to occupy my mind, I was left to fully face my new environment, fatherhood, and this chapter of life without the familiar rhythm of physical fitness to help me dance through it.         

And the cherry on top?  I couldn’t even confide in Nicole anymore.  I had worn her out, barking and gnawing at her heels like an annoying little chihuahua, full of potential ideas, schemes, what-ifs.  With her belly growing visibly each week, the approaching birth of our child became her all-consuming focus.  She was deep in the now, her body shifting daily, her energy turned inward, preparing for what was to come.