Episode 2: A Week That Felt Like a Lifetime — From Berlin to Dortmund and Back
This week didn’t ask for permission. It didn’t ease in. It grabbed me in Berlin and pulled me straight into Dortmund, a city no one really dreams about, but sometimes life doesn’t care about your dreams. Sometimes it just moves you. And you either follow, or you get dragged.
The reason was the Mindatorium tour. A name that had been floating around in my orbit for a while, something between vision, movement, and experiment. I arrived in Dortmund without expectations, which is usually when things start to shift. The city itself didn’t try to impress. No cinematic skyline, no romantic energy. But that wasn’t the point. The point was what was happening inside it.
The first moment already felt slightly absurd. Sitting in a car with someone I had just met, asking myself how I ended up there. Lars. Filmmaker. Bremen. Another creative mind navigating the same strange terrain. Conversations that start casually but carry an undercurrent, like both of you know there’s more beneath the surface. We drove to the hotel, where everything was about to unfold.
Inside, it felt like stepping into a different frequency. A gathering of people who all believed they were building something bigger than themselves. Ideas everywhere. Conversations layered on top of each other. Energy that oscillated between inspiration and illusion. And suddenly I was in the middle of it, not observing, but part of it.
That’s when something clicked again. Personal development. Self-improvement. Not as a buzzword, but as a necessity. Because when you’re surrounded by people chasing something, you’re forced to look at yourself differently. You start measuring. Not against them, but against your own potential.
And then I saw them. My former students. A whole group of them. People I had once taught, guided, challenged. I never expected to see so many of them in one place again. It felt surreal. Like walking into a room filled with ghosts, except they weren’t ghosts. They were alive. Moving. Building their own paths. And somehow, their presence reflected something back at me.
Who I was back then. Who I thought I would become. And who I actually am now.
That realization doesn’t hit softly. It lingers. It forces you to confront timelines that didn’t go as planned. But it also shows you that nothing is linear. That everyone is still in motion, including you.
Dortmund wasn’t just about work though. Life has a way of layering things. Out of nowhere, I ran into Steven. An old friend. A prodigy in his own way. Seeing him again was like colliding with a previous version of myself. Not metaphorically, but almost physically. Same energy, different time.
He took me to the gym. No discussion. Just action. And suddenly I was back in a space that strips everything down to honesty. No excuses. No pretending. Just movement and resistance. He watched me train, and within seconds, he saw it. The shortcuts. The lack of precision. The small lies you tell yourself when no one is looking.
Over time, you get sloppy. Everyone does. You rush reps, you skip tension, you think you’re still doing it right. But you’re not. And he knew that. He slowed everything down. Forced me to feel the movement again. Especially the eccentric phase. The lowering. The part most people ignore, because it’s uncomfortable. But that’s where growth actually happens.
It wasn’t just training. It was a reminder. That real progress is hidden in the parts you want to skip.
After that, the night shifted completely. We went from discipline to chaos. An all-you-can-eat Chinese buffet. Plates stacking up like we were teenagers again. Challenging each other to go one more round. One more plate. One more piece of sushi. That kind of reckless joy that doesn’t ask if it makes sense.
Then billiards. Hours of it. The green table glowing under neon lights, the sound of balls colliding echoing through a bar that felt slightly disconnected from time. Conversations drifting between focus and nonsense. It felt endless in the best way.
But mornings always come.
I woke up restless. Sweaty. Irritated. That strange state where your mind is already running before your body has caught up. So I left. Grabbed my bag and went to Starbucks. Not because it’s special, but because it’s neutral. Space. Noise that doesn’t suffocate. Wi-Fi that actually works.
I started listening to “Never Split the Difference.” Negotiation, psychology, control. It pulled me in immediately. There’s something about learning in those moments, when your mind is slightly off balance, that makes everything hit deeper.
Then Philip found me. And Marcel. Suddenly it wasn’t just me anymore. Three people, sitting there, locked into the same focus. Editing. Cutting. Adjusting frames like surgeons. Every decision carrying weight, because we all knew this project mattered.
Time disappeared. Completely.
And then Tuesday arrived with a different kind of energy. A meeting in Duisburg with the director of the Walker Stocker convention. A restaurant that felt too good for its location. Conversations that started simple and stretched into something bigger. The kind of talks that make you pause internally and think, this might matter later.
That same night, we pushed until three in the morning to finalize a cut for a client. They needed it by Monday. It was Thursday. That kind of pressure doesn’t leave space for doubt. You just execute.
Three hours later, we were back on the move. Six in the morning. No real sleep. Just momentum. I went to see my old coach. Someone who had once broken me down completely. Not out of cruelty, but to rebuild me stronger. He challenged parts of me that no one else even touched.
Now I was back in front of him. Different, but also the same.
He gave me a statement for a long-term project I’m building. And hearing him speak, knowing those words came from real experience, from his own struggles, his own scars, it carried weight. Not the kind you show off. The kind you carry quietly.
We didn’t stop. There was no pause. Straight to the next shoot. A location that required speed, improvisation, instinct. A submarine scene. No perfect setup. No controlled environment. Just raw execution. And that’s exactly why it worked. Because it felt alive.
And then, just like that, back to Berlin.
When I look at this week, it doesn’t feel like a week. It feels like multiple timelines compressed into one. Encounters with the past. Moments in the present. Small glimpses into the future. Everything overlapping.
Sometimes it feels like every version of who you’ve ever been decides to show up at the same time. Testing you. Questioning you. Measuring you.
And I walked through it.
Because that’s the real point of all this. I didn’t go to Dortmund just for a project. I went there to measure myself against my own history. To see if the person I am today can still stand next to the person I used to be.
And the answer is not simple. It never is.
But I’m still moving.
And that’s enough for now.
This is Schnitzel Goes to Hollywood. See you next week.
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