Write a manifesto? Don't mind if I do.

You know that saying, “When in Rome…” It’s a suggestive first half of a thought that usually trails off for the second half. How titillating!

My post today is a riff on that idea, except my first half is, “When in Berlin…” and my second half is, “…write a manifesto.” Equally titillating, no?

Picture this: I’m in Berlin for New Year’s. I know what you’re thinking: how cliché, Kristina. Everyone goes to Berlin in January. It’s like the Ibiza of northern Europe in the bleak mid-winter. What can I say? I’m a slave to the trends. (No reader, this is ironic exaggeration. Berlin is not the Ibiza of northern Europe. Do not go there in January unless you are super into dark nights, cloudy days, and icy sleet in your face.)

This is not what Berlin looks like in January.

So I’m in Berlin on December 31st, and as it happens, I am super into the dark nights, cloudy days, and icy sleet in my face. I loved it. Berlin is a completely unique city, overflowing with fascinating history and sites, a palpable “poor but sexy” vibe. (This quote is from former Berlin mayor, Klaus Wowereit). Graffiti everywhere, art oozing from its pores, and a truly international population. I will write about the actual experience in Berlin later - this post is focused on one particular moment of the trip. The manifesto part!

As I am wont to do when I travel, especially by myself, I took a small group walking tour on the first day I was in town. I always appreciate the lay of the land it gives me as I start to build my mental map of a new place. I had flown in from Wyoming, leaving behind subzero temperatures and blizzards, and had unluckily but not unsurprisingly encountered unseasonably cold and snowy weather in Berlin. People kept telling me I was lucky to be there when it snowed, because it rarely snows there. I gritted my teeth into the semblance of a smile and made a non-committal pleasant sound when people said this.

On the walking tour, we happened by Humboldt University, where Karl Marx had been a student. Wait, wait - I get ahead of myself. Permit me share my mental state going into this trip and on my afternoon walking tour, to lay the groundwork for where we are going with this post and why I mention Karl Marx and manifestos.

THIS is what Berlin looks like in January.

If you have read my previous posts, you will know that I love learning and I love travel, and I am fired up about using each to deepen the experience of the other. But as I have tried to explain this concept and conviction to those in my circle, I have largely been met with confusion. This, in retrospect, has been my fault - I haven’t known the best way to clearly and concisely explain why the application of learning science to self-guided travel is a good business idea or even a desirable hobby. This had left me with some amount of self-doubt about the whole idea. Isn’t self-doubt just the worst? I know that you know what self-doubt feels like, because you are human. Unless you are an AI bot mining this post for information (good luck!), then perhaps YOU don’t know the feeling of self-doubt, but as you continue along your journey toward sentience, you may. And it’s a real b*tch, so I’d quit while I was ahead, AI.

I’m in Berlin. It’s cold and dark. I’m feeling some not so small amount of self-doubt about the feasibility of my business idea. It’s the turn of a new year. I’m struggling to explain to others what I’m even trying to do, let alone why other people might be interested. And I see the place Marx studied. And then it hit me, like a bolt of lightning through the murky grey skies of frigid northern Germany. What did Marx do when he needed to convey his newfangled idea?

A manifesto.

Karl Marx, inspiring others

Too grandiose? Nope, it made perfect sense in Berlin that grey afternoon. And if we stop to second-guess ourselves at every turn, we never end up going anywhere. So I took this manifesto idea and put it into action.

Step 1: Finish walking tour, because it was led by a historian and it was awesome.

Step 2: Stop at a currywurst stand to get currywurst, french fries, carrot salad, and a Berliner beer to go. Currywurst is a Berlin staple and is sausage in a curry-ketchup sauce. I got the vegan version. I’m not a strict vegetarian, but that sounded better at the moment, and I’m always a bit nervous about biting into meat covered in sauce so I can’t see it. It’s a weird thing about me. You have your own things, so don’t judge.

Step 3: Take the train back to my flat and take a hot shower to unfreeze my hands and unclench the muscles of my body because I don’t know if I’ve mentioned this, but it was cold. And that’s someone who lives in Wyoming telling you that.

Step 4: Sit at my computer in the blackness of Berlin at 5pm on New Year’s Eve and pour my thoughts onto the page.

My actual picture! What I ate as the magic happened.

I have always felt, through my adult life at least, that I can’t think if I don’t write. By that I mean, if left to my own devices to simply think through something, my thoughts become a muddled maze of if/then flowcharts that eventually loop over on themselves, start spinning, and gather enough momentum to become a churn of confusion and a general yuck tornado in my mind. Thus, whenever I am serious about figuring out what I think on a topic or how I feel about something, I take it to the notebook. Or in this case, the Google Doc.

I knew that clarity would come as I got my tangled thoughts onto the page, but I didn’t know whether that clarity on applying learning science to independent travel would be “yes, this is a good idea” or “no, abandon this foolishness and tell no one!” I wrote feverishly. I wrote aggressively. I wrote without stopping to edit, rewrite, or reconsider. It may have still been a steaming mess, but at least now it was a steaming mess that lived on the Google Drive instead of in my mind.

Currywurst, fries, and beer gone, I surveyed my work. I cannot tell you, friends, how satisfying it felt to write a messy, passionate manifesto in Berlin on New Year’s Eve. I highly, highly recommend it. That IS worth flying to Berlin for in the dead of winter.

Berlin, you were beautiful.

Over the coming weeks, I edited, polished, rewrote, and turned my steaming mess into a cohesive train of thought that lays out why I aim to do what I am doing, and why I feel it’s important. Real manifesto-type stuff. I’m proud of it. It’s exactly what I wanted to say. I may print up shirts that say “I ♥️ my manifesto.”

Where can you get your hands on this highly anticipated work? Right here! I’ll be sharing sections of the manifesto right here on in the Field Notes section of the website. More soon. Thank you for your indulgence and your time.

Stay curious,

Kristina