Stopover at Schliersee: A Lesson in Being Welcome

Since my last blog post, so much has happened on my journey of gathering the elements that make up MY sense of ‘home’.

And faster than expected, I’m on the move again.

How did this come about?

Through the increasingly loud voice of my body.

My last accommodation in the countryside, which had been so paradisiacal in summer, gradually transformed into a cold trap for my vulnerable system as autumn approached.

After a week’s vacation in an insulated and easily heated room, everything changed.

Suddenly, all the things that had previously required a tolerable degree of adaptation weighed infinitely heavy. I had a persistent sore throat and was constantly on the brink of sinusitis. Despite three blankets and as many layers of nightwear as possible, I could often only sleep from midnight until four in the morning, then throwing myself into motion well before sunrise. I counted the nights, dragged myself through the days… and actively searched for a solution.

I researched temporary apartments in Stuttgart, arranged viewing appointments, and set off just four days later with my Deutschland-Ticket. Simply arriving in the familiar area that connects me with my sister as well as her friends and mine was immensely comforting.

The intensive viewing weekend quickly showed, however, that this wasn’t the solution—at least not at this time. My body was quickly on the verge of illness again, and no rental contract materialized either.

But then, from a conversation with a friend, a truly fantastic turn of fate emerged—the following month, her house in the South of France would be empty for a month, and they would have to take the semi-wild cat with them to the city. If I could house-sit and cat-sit, however, everyone would be served. This was the solution! Especially since this opportunity would elegantly follow my first long-planned house-sit with friends at Schliersee.

So I broke camp, moved all my belongings into professional storage within five days, and set off after a friendly but firm farewell to the former green paradise, with a fully packed Georgia!

Georgia is my wonderfully reliable car, which I had hardly driven due to lack of occasion, which is why I was still anxious. However, the relative seclusion and fantastic rural peace of the green paradise had caused a switch to flip—suddenly driving was no longer a leisure activity, and I even temporarily began to enjoy it.

Although I still had respect for unknown and especially “longer” routes—with previous maximum drives of three hours, this limit was quickly reached for me—I still ventured into the adventure—and indeed, miraculously, arrived safely without major emotional turmoil. 

In my dear friends’ house, who were departing on a long-planned trip, two four-legged housemates awaited me, whom I had already come to know and love from previous visits and classes: Kitti, the most delicate black kitten in the world, so light that I always want to put her in my handbag, and the deeply relaxed golden dog lady Gina.

At first, it was strange to inhabit my dear friends’ huge house without them, but thanks to the little animals, I wasn’t alone—quite the contrary.

Especially since a rhythm of walks soon established itself, where Gina took me out of the house three times a day for at least half an hour—not entirely easy to coordinate with my online teaching, but I managed.

She helped me, with her patient waiting and impeccable obedience, to cope with the new task—calling her to the roadside when a car comes, possibly putting her on a leash if someone might otherwise be afraid, picking up her droppings, and of course rewarding her obedience with treats.

Actually, I was supposed to be the guardian and caretaker who thought she was setting the tone, but honestly, she was coaching me. 🙂

The only highly negotiable question was how many treats she should get. And since walks also mean treats, I was nudged very often, as described above, even early in the morning.

Through Gina, I unfailingly got out into the magnificent nature, which was simply invigorating even in rain and gray skies. And soon I no longer felt strange when my conversations now also extended to my four-legged friends.

Gradually, my body released the shock of the brief but intense cold experience that had stirred up old traumas. The muscles cramped to the last fiber visibly loosened with each walk. My eyes no longer expected fleeting shadows in every corner and crevice, and being able to use hot water and heating at any time of day or night was a blessing.

I could sleep again and looked forward to my day’s work with joy.

Nevertheless, the autumn gray and darkness gradually weighed on my spirits. So I was almost as deliriously happy as Kitti and Gina about my friends’ return, even though the three of us had become a great team!

I am very grateful for this further step on my path, following the signals of my body. Strictly speaking, it had already made itself quite clear during the sale and departure from my parents’ house and had timed the process.

Admitting to oneself what truly benefits body, mind, and soul and what doesn’t, and yielding to it when possible, is an immense gift—perhaps the greatest I have ever given myself.

During this further step, I gained a wonderful insight: namely, what it feels like to be welcome in a house where I can take and use everything I want. Where people trust me so much to care for their four-legged family members that no control is necessary—especially since the question is really who is taking care of whom. What it’s like when everyone feels well cared for and simply enjoys their time in the place where they are.

This was an immense gift after years of feeling like a servant in familiar territory.

Here are my questions for you, dear reader:

Where do you feel completely welcome?

Who trusts you so much that they entrust their loved ones to you?

And—to return to the beginning of this account:

Do you give your body and its signals enough space?