The last few weeks weren’t just different from what I expected — they were completely different. Different even from “unexpected”. I don’t want to start talking about fate, but let’s call it a turnaround — the kind politicians love. A 360-degree one.
And I’m not done. Not just 360 — more like 360 plus X, and repeated several times in a row.
It felt like a carousel. With a loop. The kind where you lose all sense of space and time halfway through and just accept that you’re no longer in charge.
When this carousel finally came to a stop, the calendar said 20/12/2025. And a decision had been made:
The Marrakesh countdown now reads 371 days.
The long-planned drive to Morocco is postponed by a year. Unfortunately.
Not because I didn’t finish. Not because the Porsche developed some dramatic surprise. No. It’s my parents’ health issues — right now they simply don’t allow me to go on such a long, far trip.
Annoying. Disappointing. But family — and responsibility — comes first.
So what does that mean for me?
What’s the plan for the next weeks and months?
One thing is certain: there will be no boredom. As certain as “amen” in church. I’ve got work for the next decades. So much has piled up that I may be forced to postpone my own death for one simple reason:
No time.
No time to pop my clogs.
Luckily I’ve prepared for this very responsibly. For years I’ve been buying and driving classic cars — and only rarely letting them go. Because with every single vehicle I have a plan. One for this, one for that. And so the years passed.
And today the “garage” is bursting at the seams. Space is currently a rare commodity.
Cars. Tractors. Motorbikes.
And a boat.
A year ago none of this was a problem. Back then I still had halls, garages, carports and a workshop. Space for days. So much space I never had to think about storage at all — which, in hindsight, is exactly what makes it dangerous. Especially for a classic-car hoarder like me.
You can always buy something and keep it, because you’ve got a plan. Or you think you’ve got one. That’s how it was last year, when Germany was still my home.
That’s a different story. Maybe for another time.
Now I live in Poland. Here I have a workshop, a small hall, two large tents — and everything is full. Overfull.
So the next step is going to be called: reduction.
Selling. Bit by bit. Classic car for classic car.
It will hurt. I already know that.
Because I’m attached to this premium scrap by an invisible thread — a thread made of stories, lived past, and emotions. And with many of these things that thread has become so long it’s now tangled into a thick knot.
It’s time to rethink everything, reorganise, and set priorities.
My better half has been talking about this for a long time.
“Sell this.”
“Why do you even need that?”
“You’re too old for this or that.”
And the line that finally sends me up the wall:
“You’re getting older. You don’t need that anymore.”
“At your age you should start slowing down.”
Sorry — what?
What does that mean exactly? Should I buy an urn in advance and wait for day X?
Absolutely not.
That isn’t me. And it never will be.
I still have far too many ideas for my life — ideas I want to do, and will do. I can’t just get rid of everything. That would be like giving myself up. Selling myself off.
Reduction and focus — yes.
New plans (or old ones) — yes.
Giving up, peace and quiet, standstill — never.
A trial lie-down in the coffin? Not for a long time yet.
So the decision is this:
Project Marrakesh is postponed to December 2026.
Until then the Porsche will be driven, tested, and further optimised.
And there’s a new project:
Project “Erbse” —
I’m turning my panel van into a camper.
And what does Ölvis say about all of this?
If you listen to Ölvis — really listen — he says nothing.
He just hangs there. Stuck. Unshakable. And that’s exactly his answer.
Ölvis isn’t surprised by 371 days. He knows count-downs. He knows numbers come and go. For him a day isn’t a day — it’s just another vibration in the windscreen. Whether it’s 28 or 371, it’s all background noise.
As for the chaos: finally honest.
Chaos is his natural habitat. Ölvis doesn’t need order, priorities, strategies. He lives on movement, improvisation, this constant “we’ll see”. As long as the Porsche drives, everything is fine in his world.
Sometimes, when the engine is off and the garage goes quiet, he almost looks like he’s hanging slightly crooked. Not out of resignation — more like calm confidence. As if he’s saying:
“You’re overthinking it. I stick. Always.”
371 days? No problem.
Chaos? Part of the deal.
Ölvis stays.
Fixed to the glass.
And as long as he’s hanging there, nothing is over.
Because Ölvis says:
“If you hang long enough, you become… hanging.
And sooner or later, you become dependent.”
Comments
Post a Comment