Week fourteen opened in a way I didn’t expect. Not with chaos, not with pressure, but with something unfamiliar. Quiet, but powerful. I found myself standing in front of a church in Los Angeles, and from the outside, nothing about it looked like what I grew up with. No old stone walls, no stained glass, no heavy silence. Instead, it was a converted grocery store. Bright lights, strong air conditioning, LED screens glowing like a stage.
And the moment I stepped inside, I felt it.
Energy.
People weren’t sitting quietly, waiting for something to happen. They were already there. Present. Alive. Hands raised, voices loud, like they were connected to something bigger than themselves. And I just stood there for a second, taking it in. Because this wasn’t religion as I knew it. This was something else. Something more immediate, more emotional, more… raw.
The pastor spoke with certainty, with conviction. Not asking questions, but delivering truth as something already defined. And whether you agreed or not, you couldn’t deny the intensity in the room. It pulled you in. It made you feel. And somewhere in between observing and participating, I realized that belief here isn’t quiet. It’s lived. Expressed. Carried into the room like a force.
After the service, conversations started naturally. No distance, no hesitation. I met people, introduced myself, “Phil from Germany,” and suddenly I wasn’t an outsider anymore. Just another person in the room. And before I knew it, I was invited along.
Next thing I know, we’re sitting together in Culver City. A table full of food, hours passing without anyone checking the time. Stories unfolding. One of them tells me his father worked as a stuntman at Warner Brothers. Just like that. Casual. Normal. And again, I’m reminded where I am. In this city, proximity to stories like that is just part of life.
There’s a rhythm here.
You step into moments, and they expand.
Then came something quieter again. A goodbye. I stood in this beautiful house, looking at the pool, the light reflecting off the water, knowing it was the last time I’d be there. These small, almost invisible endings that don’t need big words. You just feel them.
And then, movement again.
Another day, another shift. This time toward San Francisco. I woke up early, worked out, packed my things, cleaned everything carefully. That strange habit of leaving a place like you were never there. Like you’re erasing your own presence, even though you know it mattered.
And then, just like that, I was gone.
Los Angeles behind me, at least for now.
On the way, everything slowed down again. A simple goodbye, a few words, nothing dramatic. But those are the moments that stay. Not the big speeches, but the quiet acknowledgments.
At the station, something small happened. A tiny dog ran up to me, completely out of nowhere. Tail wagging, full trust, like it already knew me. And for a second, everything softened. These little, random connections that don’t mean anything on paper, but somehow mean everything in the moment.
The journey continued along the coast. Santa Barbara passing by like a postcard. The ocean, the light, the sense that you’re moving through something bigger than yourself. Not rushing. Just flowing.
And somewhere along the way, I found myself in a strange little moment again. Standing near a scene, talking to someone, a policeman showing up, asking questions. Nothing serious, just one of those slightly absurd situations life throws at you when you’re in motion. Moments that don’t fully make sense, but become part of the story anyway.
And that’s what this week felt like.
A transition.
Not one big event, not one defining moment. But a series of shifts. Faith, connection, departure, movement. Pieces that don’t seem connected at first, but together form something meaningful.
Because that’s what this journey is.
Not a straight line.
But a constant unfolding.
You step into something new, you leave something behind, and somewhere in between, you become someone else without even noticing it happening.
This is Schnitzel Goes to Hollywood.
And the road keeps going.
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