The weather had been behaving strangely for weeks, and everybody seemed to have a different opinion about it. One application promised sunshine, another storms, another wind. Even Fruitloop laughed about it because she remembered I’d been checking the forecast almost obsessively before the flea market. We only finished preparing the car at nine in the evening the Wednesday before because we still didn’t know if we would even go. The boxes stood in the hallway for days already, clothes folded carefully, small things wrapped in newspaper, everything waiting for a decision nobody could really make.

In the end we woke up at five in the morning anyway.

That early hour always feels strange to me. The house still dark, the air cold enough that your hands stay stiff for a while, the sound of the coffee machine much louder than normal. My husband loaded the last things into the car while I stood there holding my warm cup with both hands. I remember thinking maybe the weather would surprise us and become beautiful after all.

It was actually fine until around eleven.

Then suddenly hail.

Not even a little bit. Real hail. Loud on the roof of the car, bouncing everywhere, people running with plastic sheets and blankets trying to save their things. But my husband had prepared everything very well. We had protection ready for the clothes and boxes, so we covered everything quickly and sat inside the car waiting for it to pass. The windows fogged a little from our breathing. Afterward the weather kept changing every few minutes — a little sun, then wind, then rain again. One of those days where you never fully relax because you keep watching the sky.

Still, for the weather we had, I was satisfied. I sold enough. Maybe not extraordinary, but enough that I came home feeling it had been worth waking up at five.

And yes, I got my sausage.

That part made me happy because normally this flea market is extremely popular and the queue for food is endless. But because the weather scared people away, I waited less than five minutes. No champagne this year though. Only warm coffee and cappuccino because honestly it was too cold for anything festive. Maybe next year.

Although there probably will not be another flea market before next year anyway. I only do one every year. The places are limited, and people react immediately when invitations open. It becomes almost competitive.

Now suddenly the weather is going in the opposite direction. Twenty-four degrees, then twenty-nine, and next week they already announce thirty-five. It feels like we no longer have a real spring. You move directly from autumn into summer without any gentle middle.

Fruitloop said it was similar there too, except they had rain first and now cooler weather again. Meanwhile my calendar is becoming fuller because Pentecost is coming, and in the city next to our village they have one of the most famous celebrations in the region. Every year the streets fill with music groups playing outside, people eating at long tables, teenagers everywhere around the carousels, tourists arriving from Germany, and families walking slowly through town in traditional costumes. The whole place smells like grilled food and beer and warm pavement after sunset.

I already have plans almost every evening.

On Friday I’ll go to a restaurant with my sister-in-law. After that we considered going to a party with a DJ, but I’m not completely convinced because my daughters will probably be there too, and I can already imagine their faces if they see me dancing somewhere. Fruitloop joked we should pretend not to know each other if that happens. Honestly, maybe that is the best solution.

Saturday evening we’ll go again for a rock group, Sunday there are guests for lunch, and afterward we return to the celebration in the evening. It’s only about ten kilometers away, but still too far to walk. Luckily we know some places where parking is possible because otherwise it becomes impossible during the festival.

I was already tired just describing the weekend.

At the same time, I like routines. Fruitloop started talking about breaking routines through playfulness, making ordinary things feel lighter somehow, but I realized while we spoke that I am somebody who likes structure very much. I like knowing what comes next. Breakfast, work, lunch, dinner. There’s comfort in repetition.

Fruitloop started talking about breaking routines through playfulness, making ordinary things feel lighter somehow, but I realized while we spoke that I am somebody who likes structure very much.

But when you have teenagers, routine is mostly an illusion anyway.

My youngest daughter is preparing for her Baccalaureate exams now. They stopped classes for a few days so the students can prepare oral exams, and naturally I thought maybe she could help a little at home. But according to her, she has absolutely no time. This after arriving home at one in the morning and spending half the next day in bed scrolling on her phone.

Sometimes I look at her and feel exhausted before we even start talking.

She wants a summer job at a bakery because the hours are from six in the morning until eleven, leaving the whole afternoon free. Honestly, I had to laugh a little because she loves staying awake late at night. She has no idea yet what waking up before sunrise every day actually feels like.

Still, I understand her logic. Fruitloop said she was smart for choosing that schedule, and perhaps she is.

Since getting her car she drives everywhere constantly. I pay the insurance, she pays for fuel. Every second weekend she works at a local restaurant, but now she wants to leave because the boss is unfriendly. The funny thing is that outside the house she’s always smiling, always laughing with friends, always charming. Then at home I ask one small thing and suddenly I become the problem.

My husband keeps telling me to let her solve her own issues. He says if I stay quiet, eventually she will learn. But I worry too much. I know that already.

In September she will move into her own apartment in a neighbouring town.

Even saying that aloud still feels strange.

Part of me thinks it will be good for her. She may become more mature living alone. She’s confident in ways I never was at her age. I saw that already in Egypt when the shops only opened in the evenings. I hated walking through those streets because the sellers were so aggressive, always trying to force you to buy something. I never felt comfortable there. But she walked into shops alone without fear and bought whatever she wanted.

I admire that confidence even when it terrifies me.

At home, though, I prefer knowing where she is. There are areas that are not very safe, and once she leaves, the house will suddenly become quieter. Too quiet maybe.

Luckily my older daughter still comes home almost every weekend. Never the opposite. She actually likes being home. Especially now because my husband is preparing the pool for summer. The girls have a very strong complicity together. The older one often tells the younger one to be kinder with us. She’s become an example somehow — fashion, manners, little things. The younger copies her constantly even when pretending she does not.

Their music is another story completely.

I still love music from the eighties, and sometimes the younger one likes it too, but usually the car becomes filled with loud rap or R&B shaking the windows while we argue about the volume. It’s impossible to win.

Fruitloop asked me if there was something silly from childhood I would still do today. I admitted I actually used a jumping rope two years ago for training, but a hula hoop? Absolutely not. I cannot imagine doing that while my husband or daughters watch me. Some dignity must remain.

Though apparently not too much dignity, because in August we already decided to attend a “Charlie 2000” party with music from the nineties and early 2000s. So perhaps I am becoming playful after all.

But only a little.

Mostly my days stay predictable. I eat almost the same breakfast and lunch every day. During the week I eat at exactly the same times. If I run in the morning, I eat half a banana before leaving and the other half when I come back. Yesterday I ran eight kilometers, and tonight I might do a smaller run again if I still have energy after work.

Lately in the evenings I sit alone watching Younger You on Netflix because my husband is often not home. It’s become another routine without me noticing.

Fruitloop asked if small changes could alter how a day feels. Brushing teeth with the opposite hand, wearing funny socks, changing breakfast locations. I had to laugh because being left-handed already confused enough people when I was young. My father tried repeatedly to force me to write with my right hand. It never worked. Even now if I try brushing my teeth with the other hand, I have to focus so hard that it feels ridiculous.

Maybe that’s the point.

Still, I’m not changing my breakfast routine. I already lose enough time every morning.

And honestly, comfort matters more now than style anyway. Years ago I wore dresses much more often. Now I wear jeans and sneakers because I want to feel comfortable. My daughters and I have the same clothing size, so technically we can exchange clothes, but they never want mine. And I certainly will not wear their tiny crop tops. Some things are simply not meant for my age.

By the end of our conversation I was already thinking again about work waiting for me. So many emails. Too many unfinished things. I’m still covering another person’s work until next Tuesday, and I can feel the pressure in my shoulders all day long.

Outside it was only nineteen degrees according to my computer, though it felt colder. The mornings are still around three or four degrees, which feels unfair considering next week promises extreme heat again.

Life feels full lately. Loud music, teenagers, weather warnings, unfinished emails, bakery dreams, village festivals, and mothers worrying quietly while pretending everything is fine.

Maybe routines are not as fixed as I imagine after all.

Monday morning, the 18th of May, The Mayor called me Mr. Brand, and I said, yes, here I am. I was ready for hedgehog. In our garden, we have five hedgehogs now, and somehow they had become the important people of the house. The Mayor said they had questions for me, because hedgehogs want to understand humans. I thought, okay, this will be funny. But also, I tell you, it was not so easy. Hedgehog logic is small, but very sharp.

Our hedgehogs are happy. They have a nice house now, because we used wood boxes from the apple gardener. I made holes with the saw, from the back and from the front, so the hedgehogs can go inside. But we have a problem in our town. We have these big black birds, crows, and also a magpie, nesting in a tree on our street. They come into the garden and eat the hedgehog food. So now we put the food out only late in the evening, but still the birds are clever. They fly in, look around, and think, aha, restaurant is open.

So we bought proper little doors, swing doors, for the food boxes. The first evening my wife was lying in the garden, watching and watching. The first hedgehog came. One round, two rounds, three rounds around the box. He could smell the food, but he did not understand where it was. Then he found the little door and pushed inside. After that the others learned it too. Now it is fine to watch because the new food box has a window, and we can look inside while the hedgehogs are eating.

At the weekend we had a friend visiting. We went to a restaurant, and afterwards, around 11 p.m., the hedgehogs were already there. Four grown-up people standing and watching hedgehogs eating. That is our nightlife now. The Mayor said we could make it a tourist attraction: visit Ralf’s hedgehogs when they eat. I said, yes, a new restaurant: Zum Hungrigen Igel — The Hungry Hedgehog.

The Mayor said the five hedgehogs had sat down and made questions for humans. The first thing they wanted to know was why humans build such big houses but then sit mostly in one small kitchen. I had to say, no, we are not normal people. We do not sit in the kitchen. In our kitchen there is only my place. We eat in the winter garden, the conservatory. Our kitchen has no sitting place. But I dream of a new kitchen, with a cooking island in the middle of the room. That would be nice.

The hedgehog house is much simpler. It has a small floor and a door where rats cannot go inside. Then comes a kind of labyrinth. Only hedgehogs understand it. They go inside, eat in the big room, and there are bowls. In one bowl is dry food, meal worms, and soldier beetle larvae. Maybe three hedgehogs can eat in one room, but they do not sleep there. They sleep outside, in their own houses, somewhere in the garden. Hedgehog logic is easy: one room for food, one garden for life.

But we humans need more rooms. One room where I can talk with The Mayor and with the company. One room for sleeping. One kitchen. One bathroom for showering and brushing teeth. One big room to meet friends. A hedgehog would probably say, why? But for humans, this is normal.

Then the hedgehogs asked why I drink hot brown water every morning before I can speak nicely. That is easy. When you are sleepy, you drink hot brown water and then you are happy. You are not sleepy anymore. You are crazy, and you can make action. Coffee is brown water for humans. But not for hedgehogs. The Mayor asked if maybe we could give the hedgehogs a bowl of this brown water when they are awake at 11 p.m. I said no, no, they are already awake twenty-four hours. That is not good for small hedgehogs. Hedgehogs get water. Not milk. Never milk. Only water.

Then came the question about cutting the grass. Why do humans cut the grass exactly when the hedgehogs have made it comfortable? I had to think about the mower, the robotic lawn mower. We do not let it drive at night because then you cannot see where it goes, and that is dangerous for the animals. Our neighbour is a little bit different. When everybody says the earth is dry and there is no water in the garden, he puts the sprinkler on and makes his garden green like a golf place. But our garden is not a golf place. We do everything for the animals.

We have a Totholzhecke, a dead wood hedge. We cut the grass only every three weeks. We leave little places with clover and flowers so the bees have something to do. Near the terrace, where the hedgehogs eat, chives come up through the stones. Schnittlauch. We do not cut them because they start blossoming, and then the big bumblebees come. They push themselves into the flowers. I like that. I said to my wife, if a friend comes and does not like the garden like this, then it is his problem, not our problem. We do everything for the animals. We have birds, we have hedgehogs, we do something for nature.

The Mayor said the hedgehogs noticed that we say the garden is quiet, while they are having a very busy night. I thought, yes, but maybe they say, look, Ralf and his wife are sleeping, so we don’t wake them up. They are kind hedgehogs. They go through the garden, they eat, they look, but they keep the night soft. No loud party. Only small feet and noses in the dark.

The Mayor said the hedgehogs noticed that we say the garden is quiet, while they are having a very busy night.

There is one hedgehog who is a bit crazy. He must look under everything. Under the table, under the plate, under the things near our sleeping room window. Sometimes you hear klam-badam, klam-bam, klam-bam. Then I know somebody is investigating again. Maybe it is his hobby. Maybe he is the engineer among the hedgehogs.

Then the hedgehogs wanted to know why humans wear shoes outside, but hedgehogs have to walk barefoot with excellent spikes. I said, because hedgehogs are a little bit dirty. In the front they are eating, in the back they put their business outside. One hedgehog even made his business in the plate. But this is how they are. Garbage in, garbage out. They do not think, oh, I must be neat now. They have a small brain, and in that moment they are not thinking about good manners. If there is a little poo near the plate, maybe humans think it is a thank-you note. But no. It is only hedgehog life.

The Mayor asked about little lights in the garden. Why do humans put lights outside and then act surprised when hedgehogs inspect them? I said, I do not like lights in the garden. My wife has some LED lights, but for me they are too bright for the hedgehogs. Hedgehogs have small eyes. The lights are too high and too brightful. So when she switches them on, I go outside and switch them off. She has four little dog-foot lamps, solar battery, nice ones, but still I do not like lights in the garden. The Mayor laughed and said this is maybe reality TV for the hedgehogs: watching husband and wife debate about lights.

Then came the leaves. Why do humans collect leaves in bags when leaves are clearly perfect blankets? Again I had to say, we are not normal. We leave the leaves in the garden, because under the leaves are small animals, and other animals can eat them. One time my wife wanted to use the rake, and I said, okay, this is the first time, but the next layer stays on the ground. The next leaves remain. No wonder the hedgehogs like our garden. It is hedgehog-friendly.

Then they asked why we wash food before eating it, but then burn sausages on fire and call it barbecue. That made me smile because this is easy. Food can be dirty, so we wash it. But sausage is better when it is brown, or maybe a little bit black. It smells better. The feeling to eat it is better. A sausage from the fire, with a little bit of colour, this is not dirty. This is barbecue. That is culture.

The hedgehogs also wanted to know why humans talk to plants, cars, grills, and coffee machines, but then pretend animals are the strange ones. I said, I do not talk to coffee machines. I talk to hedgehogs. We have another feeding station in front of our house near the front door, because hedgehogs from our neighbour cross the street and come into our garden. There is a box where the birds cannot go inside. Sometimes when we come home late, a little hedgehog is sitting in there, and we say, oh, no problem, we go inside. We are the Brands here, but you can finish your dinner. The hedgehog waits, we go inside, and then everything is okay. Sometimes these are better conversations than with humans. But I am not crazy. Normally.

The hedgehogs asked why humans open the door, look into the dark garden, and whisper, “Is somebody there?” Of course somebody is there. I know this. We whisper because if we talk loud, they go away. If we are quiet, they wait. When we go back inside and it is dark again, they return to the food house. This is respect. You do not shout in a restaurant when the guests are nervous.

Then came the morning question. Why do humans hurry in the morning and then say they want a peaceful life? I said, I can tell the hedgehogs that I am not hurry in the morning. My wife is hurry. She works today at six o’clock, and then she drives to work and is there at 5:45. I say, why so crazy? You need maybe a quarter hour to drive to work. If you go five minutes later out of the house, it is not a problem. But this is her way. The Mayor asked how I explain this to a hedgehog, and I said I have a special phone to them. A little hedgehog iPhone. I ring them and say, I have no problem. My wife has a problem. The Mayor said maybe hedgehogs have an H-phone. Yes, exactly. Hedgehog technology.

Then they asked why I have so many tools when a hedgehog only needs a nose, four feet, and patience. I said, I have so many tools because the hedgehogs want new houses. They are lazy. They found somebody stupid enough to build houses, cut holes, make food stations, prepare the Totholzhecke, and look after them. But maybe they are not stupid. Maybe they are very intelligent. They found us. They found the restaurant. They found the sleeping places. Only with the eating and the business outside, nobody is perfect.

The hedgehogs wanted to understand holidays. Why do humans drive far away when adventure is already under the hedge? I said we cannot look at hedgehogs every day only. We need a change of wallpaper. Also, we go on holiday when the hedgehogs are sleeping, from October to April. For smaller holidays we have a nice neighbour who gives the hedgehogs food. So we do not forget them. We just go away when they are in their winter time, and then the neighbour keeps the Hungry Hedgehog Restaurant open.

Then came rain. Why do humans think rain is bad weather, when rain means worms are coming upstairs? First, I said, we do not like worms. And we do not like rain because the grass is wet, and the little hedgehogs get cold feet. We humans have umbrellas for rainy days, but not the hedgehogs. Then I thought, maybe I must buy small umbrellas for them. Hedgehog cocktail umbrellas. Maybe from Alibaba in China. A marketing opportunity. Not too small, maybe bigger than cocktail size.

The hedgehogs asked why we call the garden a mess when it is full of interesting smells, tunnels, leaves, and secret roads. I said, it is not a mess. I have no problem with the garden. My wife has accepted it too — maybe with a little grumbling, but accepted. The garden is alive. It is not a showroom. It is a place where somebody is always doing something, even if we cannot see it.

Then they asked why humans put food in bowls for cats and dogs and then complain when everybody comes to the restaurant. I said, difficult. I do not like cats. But I like dogs. Humans put food in bowls because they do not want food on the ground in the house. Animals come with their feet inside, and it is better to have bowls. For us humans, it is also nice to go to a restaurant sometimes. Not every day, but one or two days in the week. You see friends there, you have fun, and it is good for the inner peace. You eat somewhere else, and your soul says, ah, good.

Then the hedgehogs asked why humans say good night and then keep staring into bright little boxes. At first I did not understand. Bright little boxes? Then The Mayor explained it must mean the television, or the phone. I said yes, because we need the bright little boxes for sleeping. When we go to bed and say good night, we do not sleep immediately. We look into the little bright boxes, and we hear and watch something. That is also not logical, but many human things are not logical.

Then came the rules. Why do humans make rules for everything — shoes here, cups there, tools in the right drawer — and then lose the car keys? I said, not normally. I do not lose my car key. It is always on the right side of my trousers, in the small pocket, the little pocket where maybe in old times a clock on a chain was. That is where my key goes. My wife does not lose her key either. She comes inside and puts it on the, the key hanger. When she goes outside, she takes it from the key hanger. Easy. A good system is important.

Then the hedgehogs asked why humans become soft and quiet when they see a small animal, even if they were grumpy five minutes before. This I understood very well. Little animals ground me and my wife. Not in a bad way, but calm. They bring everything quiet inside. They are so nice and sweet. I look at them and think, what does this little animal think? Then I come down and ask myself, why should I be grumpy? Where is the reason? You see a hedgehog, small nose, small feet, eating in the night, and the world is nice and good again. There is no reason to be grumpy.

The last question was maybe the biggest one. Why do humans need stories to remember that the world is alive? I said, we do not need stories, because the world is nice and good already. When we see our hedgehogs, we know it. Not all people, but many people are happy to see them, to make food for them, to give them something to drink when it is dry. Hedgehogs are on the red list, endangered animals, and that means we must look after them. For me this is normal. This is how you know the world is alive. You do not need a big theory. You only need to stand in the garden at night and see a little hedgehog pushing through the swing door to eat dinner.

The Mayor said that I had answered the Hedgehog Quiz very well. I said it was very difficult. But I understood what he was doing. He wanted to make the thinking playful. Instead of asking me serious questions about nature, humans, gardens, animals, and responsibility, he let the hedgehogs ask. That was clever. It pushed me, but in a good way.

And maybe that is the best way. Sometimes a small animal can ask a better question than a big person. Sometimes a hedgehog with a nose, four feet, and patience understands more than we do. And sometimes, when four grown-up people stand in the dark at 11 p.m. watching hedgehogs eat through a little window, you know: yes, the world is alive, and also a little bit funny.

I knew before we started that this would be difficult.

Some topics are easy for me. When we speak about customers, meetings, football, discipline, trust, preparation, I can find my way. These are things from my daily life. I know them. I live them. I can explain them with stories.

But playful thinking? That was not my comfort zone.

For me, play is not the first word I use when I think about myself. I am a useful person. I like things that have a reason. I like preparation. I like responsibility. I like doing things properly. I do not play video games. I do not play games on my smartphone. When I have free time, I am often happy when I can relax. I am a Kopfmensch, a head person. I think a lot.

So when The Mayor came with these questions, I felt very quickly: this will be a hard hour.

But he did something clever. He did not ask me, “Alexander, are you playful?” That question would have been finished in ten seconds. I would have said, “No, not really.” Instead, he made the questions come from the voice of my two-year-old son.

That changed something.

When a child asks, the question becomes softer. It is still serious, but not heavy. And maybe this is already the first lesson. Sometimes the angle changes the answer.

The first question was simple: “Papa, when you drive to a customer, do you ever play a little game in your head to make the long drive easier?”

My first answer was no.

I do not play games in my head when I drive. I listen to the radio, to podcasts, or I call colleagues. Sometimes I call old colleagues from Homel Hercules. For me, long-distance driving is not boring. I know many people would say it is dead time, but for me it is not. I can listen. I can think. I can speak with people. I can be alone in a good way.

At first, I thought: no game.

But then The Mayor continued, and I noticed something.

Before every meeting, I have a plan. When I am driving, I think about the appointments of the day. I think about the customer. I think about the contact person. I ask myself what the best way is to get the right information. First, I want to understand the person. Then I want to understand the company. Then I want to understand if they are interested in working stronger together, and what is most important for them.

Maybe this is my game.

Not a game like children play. Not something without purpose. But a tactic. A plan. Like football before the match starts.

In football, you do not just run. You need to understand the opponent. You need to know your position. You need to see where the space is. You need to react. And in sales, it is not so different. Before I go into a meeting, I try to create my tactic. I want to reach my goal, but I also want to understand the other person honestly.

When my son asks, “Papa, is your work sometimes like football, where you need a tactic before the game starts?” I can say yes. That is true.

And when someone says no to me, I do not think the match is finished.

If a customer says no and I say, “Okay, that’s fine, you don’t need help,” and then I go to the next one, I think I do a bad job. When my contact person says no, the match is still open. Maybe it is only the first half.

Then my job is to understand why he says no. I do not stop before I know the real reason. Sometimes the first no is only protection. Sometimes the customer has no time. Sometimes he has too many suppliers. Sometimes he does not yet trust me. Sometimes he does not yet see the problem clearly himself.

If I stop too early, I learn nothing.

This is also why preparation is important for me. The Mayor asked if preparing my notes before a meeting is like packing my football bag before training. I said: a little bit.

In football, I have my standard things in the bag. In work, I also have my standard toolbox. I prepare a presentation for the customer, and the topics are mostly the same, but I change the fine things, the details. It is important whether I already know the customer or whether it is a new customer. With a new customer, the most important thing is to understand the company and to understand him. I ask different questions. With a good existing customer, I look at my notes from the last meeting.

I prepare a presentation for the customer, and the topics are mostly the same, but I change the fine things, the details.

Sometimes the notes are not only business notes.

I have one customer who is a football trainer for kids. He is very happy when he speaks about this. He talks a lot. So I write it down in my laptop. Not because I want to manipulate him, but because it is part of who he is. When I meet him again, I can follow the conversation. I can ask him about it. I can show him that I listened.

For me, this is not fake interest. It has to be real. This is very important. If stories and jokes are not real, the other person can feel it. Then there is danger. They may feel I am not honest. They may feel I am not to be trusted. And trust is everything.

This is maybe where work can be serious and still fun.

My goal in every meeting is that the customer and I have a good feeling together. Maybe we have a little fun. Maybe a lot of fun. When the customer has a good mood with me in the conversation, I have a better chance that he thinks, “This is an interesting person. I want to speak more with him.”

But there is a line.

If a customer is in a bad mood, I need a lot of sensitivity. I can try one or two times to make the situation lighter. But when I feel there is nothing to do, then I stop. If I push the customer too far, it can be a problem. He may feel that I do not respect his mood. He may think I am only a clown. That is the last thing I want.

Playfulness without respect is not good. It becomes noise. It becomes too much.

There are also days that are simply difficult. Sometimes I have only one real meeting in a day, and then I visit small EDE or Northwest distributors. This is a big challenge for me because in the last one and a half years I have had almost no success in these meetings. I try to challenge myself to get the first positive conversation, to get my foot in the door.

A few weeks ago, I had a good conversation with a customer like this. We talked for twenty or twenty-five minutes. The mood was good. But he said he had so many chemical suppliers already that it was not interesting for him. I think 80 percent of these conversations end like this.

That is frustrating.

And honestly, I do not yet find the right way. My colleagues cannot really help me, because I think they are on the same level with this. Not successful. Still, it is only the first half. I have to keep learning.

This is where my work becomes like being a detective. Or maybe like a lawyer. I once watched a series for two months called Lincoln Lawyer, and I liked that idea. In my job, I have to find the problem at the customer. When I know the problem, I can use the right tools. If I do not find the problem, I can only guess what the problem could be.

And guessing is not the best way to be successful.

The Mayor then changed the direction. He asked what helps me become Papa again when I come home tired, and not only work-Alexander.

That question was easier, because I know this moment.

The good thing in my job is that most times I have a long drive home. On this drive, I have time to relax and recharge my battery. That helps me to be on point when I arrive at home, open the door, and meet my son.

But even there, play is not always simple.

When I come home and my son wants to build his train, most times I sit with him on the floor — and then I get tired. For me, it is better when we go outside. He rides his bike, and I walk or run behind him. Now we have the perfect time for it. In winter it is not so easy, but now we can go into the garden, ride the bike, move, breathe.

Outside is better than inside.

Football is also my way of playing. And my way of thinking better. Both.

On the one hand, I can speak with my friends and my trainer and get a free head. On the other hand, I have a game where I can run and be active. I can forget the stress. Training three times a week is fun and discipline together. Sometimes I am very motivated to go to training or to the match. Sometimes I am not so motivated, but I go because of discipline and because of the team. At the moment, I think fun is more in focus, but discipline is always there.

Maybe this is why I understand play better when it has commitment inside it.

A game is not only fun. A good game has rules. A team. Responsibility. You show up.

When something goes wrong at work, I do not always laugh about it. I still have situations in my head where I lost a big deal or a big customer. These things stay with me for years. But I think you have to learn from these stories, from these problems, and do it better next time.

I try to remember one sentence: when you have a problem, and you know that in one year it will no longer be a problem, then maybe it is not such an important problem.

This is not easy. In the moment, the problem can feel very big. But the sentence helps a little.

The question that stayed with me most was about children asking questions.

My last boss once told me a very funny story about his kids and the job as a salesman. When children are small, adults say, “Don’t ask so many questions.” But when you are an adult and you are a salesman, your job is to ask as many questions as you can.

Not only the funny questions. Sometimes you have to ask the hard questions to get the real information from your customer.

I compare this with my son. He can ask ten times if he can eat chocolate, and ten times I say, “No, don’t eat chocolate now.” And maybe later, when he is older, I will tell him: you have to be interested in the person in front of you. You have to ask questions. You have to understand the situation.

So maybe children already know something that adults forget.

They ask. They try again. They are curious. They do not stop after the first no.

At the end, The Mayor asked if, when my son plays and learns things, I also play a little when I work so I can learn things.

And I think yes.

For example, I work with AI now. I see it a little bit like a game. I try to find new ways to work better, with better performance. Finding out new ways is, for me, like a game.

That surprised me.

Because at the beginning I thought: no, I do not play. I am not that person. I am useful. I am serious. I am responsible.

But maybe playful thinking does not mean wasting time. Maybe it means staying open. Trying a new way. Asking one more question. Seeing the meeting like a match that is still open. Turning a long drive into preparation. Turning a problem into a story. Turning work into something with energy, not only pressure.

This hour was very hard for me. The questions were difficult. The English was difficult. The psychology behind it was difficult. Everything in this hour felt difficult.

But I survived it.

And maybe I became one percent better.

Maybe that is enough. Maybe playful thinking starts there — not with laughing all the time, not with becoming someone else, but with finding a little more movement inside serious things.

A little more space.

A little more curiosity.

A little more possibility that the match is not finished yet.

I grew up in Cleebourg, a small village in Alsace. Maybe there were 700 people. For some people, this is very small. For me, it was home.

But when I was already five, six, seven years old, I had something in my head. I wanted to see the world.

At school, my favourite subjects were history and geography. I liked to learn about old times, about villages, about the Renaissance, about industry, about the 1800s, the 1900s, and the twentieth century. In geography, we learned about France, Europe, and the different continents. I had a very good teacher. A good teacher can motivate you. I think this is important.

I still think I have my old history book from school.

When I was young, I already had this dream: go to the army and explore the world.

The Mayor asked me when I first wanted to leave Cleebourg. I said it was very early. I liked my village, but I wanted adventure. I wanted to see other countries. I wanted to be outside. I wanted to do something with a team, in many different situations.

I left school at seventeen. For one year, I worked near Wissembourg, in a factory that made exhaust pipes for cars and trucks. It was on the road going to Lauterbourg, before the forest. In those years, maybe 150 or 200 people worked there. There were three teams.

I worked on a machine.

It was not bad work, but it was not for me. I had regular hours and money, but I felt like I was in a prison. I did not like being inside a building all day. I wanted to be outside. I wanted movement. I wanted freedom.

So when I was seventeen, I went to the mayor’s office. I said I wanted to go to the army at eighteen. Normally, military service was later, at twenty, but I wanted to ask to go earlier.

The secretary gave me papers. I filled them in.

There was one problem. Because I was not eighteen yet, I needed permission from my parents. My mother was not a problem. But my father did not want to sign. He did not sign.

So I waited.

When I became eighteen, it was my decision.

I went for my three days of selection. They asked me if I wanted to go to the army. I said yes. They looked at me and asked if I was sporty. I was not. Before the army, the only sport I did was in public school. But they said okay.

Later, I received a letter. I was on holiday with my friends in the Vosges. I called home, and my mother said, “Your letter from the army is here. You go next month.”

I came home, and the letter was on the table in the living room. I opened it. I had to go to Pamiers, near the Pyrenees. I left by train on 5 August 1985. On 6 August, I arrived at the barracks.

The Mayor smiled when I told him this date, because he also started a new life in August 1985. He went from Germany to London to work in a hotel. I went from Cleebourg to the army. Same month, different roads.

My father was not very enthusiastic, especially because I wanted to go to a parachute regiment. My mother was okay. My sister was about fifteen. For me, it was my choice. In the village, it was normal that many young men went to the army. Some of my friends went before me because they were older. Others went later.

At the beginning, the money was not much. I think it was about 405 francs. Later, after my parachute jumps, it was more. Maybe 1,500 francs. But we had food, clothes, and a bed, so it was pocket money.

Pamiers was very different from Alsace. Here in Alsace, we have hills and villages. There, you have the Pyrenees, big mountains, and you are not so far from the Atlantic or from Andorra. For an eighteen-year-old, it felt like freedom.

But the first two months were very hard.

I arrived in August. It was very hot. The first sport test was on Friday morning. We had to run for twelve minutes. I was not ready. After twelve minutes, I was exhausted. I felt dizzy. Someone spoke to me and asked if I was okay. I was not good.

But I told myself: now, I can only do better.

The next two months were drill, sport, marching, and training in the mountains. It was hard, but I do not regret it. For me, it was a very good school for life.

The Mayor asked me what made me continue. I think it was perseverance. Maybe stubbornness too. In the army, you must use your arms, but also your brain.

I also had a problem with height. When I was a child, I had vertigo. My grandfather smiled every day when I went up a ladder, because I was afraid. And later, I wanted to become a paratrooper. The Mayor asked me if I was crazy.

Maybe a little.

But I wanted to do it.

In my group, only a few people left. Some were not allowed to jump. Some had injuries. Some could not continue mentally. It was a selection. The sergeants were hard, sometimes brutal, but there was also a method. The first two months were not only training. They were also selection.

In my group, only a few people left. Some were not allowed to jump. Some had injuries. Some could not continue mentally. It was a selection. The sergeants were hard, sometimes brutal, but there was also a method. The fir

But there was also camaraderie.

When one guy had a problem, the others helped him. If he could not carry his bag, someone carried it. If he fell, the others picked him up. Everybody could have a problem one day. So everybody helped.

After two months of instruction, I went into a command company. I wanted to go into a fighting company, but first I spent eight months in a service company. Then, in June 1986, I went into the first company, a fighting company.

Around that time, the regiment said it was going to Lebanon and they needed volunteers. I volunteered. I signed to stay longer than the normal one year.

From June to December 1986, I was in Lebanon.

Lebanon was not peaceful. I was part of the United Nations force in South Lebanon. We had the blue helmet. We were not there to attack. We could defend ourselves, but we were neutral.

A normal day was work, patrols, going to other companies, going to headquarters, checking points, controlling vehicles, and looking for weapons, ammunition, or explosives. Sometimes we controlled people and vehicles with big loads.

I was in Naqoura, near the headquarters. One evening, I saw two Israeli ships. Some minutes later, I saw combat helicopters. Then, after a little time, I saw fire coming from the sky and an attack. That was real combat.

The Mayor said most people see this on television while eating their dinner. For them, it is abstract. But when you are there, it is different.

For me, at that age, it was exciting. I was young. I saw the world differently from today. In the army, we trained for combat from morning to evening, so when something happened, it was almost normal. But most of the time in the army, you are waiting. You train, you prepare, you wait for days, weeks, months. Then one special moment comes.

This is army life. You wait, but you must stay mentally ready and physically ready.

In Lebanon, I also learned that the military reality, the political reality, and the media reality are not the same. We were in South Lebanon, but many orders did not come from Paris. They came from New York. That is very far from the ground.

I came home from Lebanon on 18 December 1986.

Before I left, an officer from another regiment came and said he was looking for people for a new section. I listened to his speech. I thought, okay, why not? I went back to my old regiment on 31 January 1987, and in March I moved to the new regiment, near Toulouse.

In 1987 and 1988, I also went to Berlin for training. This was before the Wall came down. We crossed Checkpoint Charlie in uniform and went to the Russian side, to East Berlin. We went to Alexanderplatz.

I had a lot of East German marks, maybe 800 Ostmark. I went with my friends. We wanted to buy things, maybe vodka, maybe other things. But restaurants were not easy. I remember we found red wine.

We were twenty years old, and sometimes people came to speak with us. One man came with his wife and said he had a daughter of twenty years old. Our officers warned us: be careful. If you have a friendship with a woman there, it can become a diplomatic problem.

I spoke German, so I understood very well what they meant.

Those were interesting times.

In October 1989, I went to French Guiana. This was different again. French Guiana is France, but it is also South America. It is French territory, but you are next to Brazil and Suriname. You have French infrastructure, French shops, French newspapers, and also the jungle, heat, humidity, insects, and the Maroni River.

At that time, there was a problem in Suriname, a civil war. We were near the border, around Saint-Laurent, Apatou, and the Maroni area. We checked the border. We brought chiefs to discussions with the government of Suriname. We helped with refugee camps.

This was another side of the military. It was not like Lebanon. It was more peacekeeping and control, but not with the United Nations. It was the French army.

A normal day could be patrols, checking the river area, cleaning the camp, helping around the refugee camp, and bringing people to the city so they could do shopping or take care of practical things.

Sometimes we went into the forest. We hunted. We caught butterflies. We lived outside.

It sounds maybe like a holiday, but it was hot and humid. There were many insects. Small wounds could become infected very fast. You had to be careful.

After Guiana, I later went to Kuwait during Desert Storm.

In Kuwait, we arrived during the war period. First, we slept in the French embassy. After that, we slept in the English tower. Kuwait was divided into different sectors: American, French, British, and others.

Our job was demining. We cleared mines on the beach and in other areas. For some people, when they hear “mine clearing,” they think only danger. Of course, it was dangerous. But when you are trained, you do the job. It was not routine exactly, but it was very interesting work.

I was there from February to May.

I remember the oil terminals and the petrol fires. The oil was burning. When you went into the cloud, it became dark. At three o’clock in the afternoon, it could look like night. The smell was strong. The sky was black.

But I have good memories of Kuwait because it was an interesting job. It was real work, and we knew why we were there.

There was also Djibouti and Ethiopia.

One time, we were on a ship. After three days, in the evening, we had an assembly. The captain told us we were not going back to France. We had to go to Djibouti because there was a problem in Ethiopia.

We arrived in Djibouti. The first evening, we slept in a hangar. The next morning, we waited. We thought maybe we could go to town, find a bar, drink a beer, and relax. After a few hours, they told us we were going to the airport.

We took a small plane and landed in the desert, in the north. Then we took buses.

In Ethiopia, there was a civil war, and the army had left many weapons and ammunition behind. Our job was to collect everything, from small pistols to tanks. There was ammunition everywhere. We took it for destruction.

You cannot keep this ammunition. It is too dangerous. It can be old. It can be Russian, Chinese, Jordanian, or from somewhere else. You cannot trust it. So you destroy it.

At one point, we had maybe 120 tons of ammunition together, ready for destruction.

Later, in 2007, I also went to Ivory Coast as a reservist. That was another experience. When you are older, you see things differently from when you are eighteen or twenty. You still do the work, but your eyes are different.

In Africa, I learned a lot about people.

People adapt to circumstances. Sometimes, this is good. Sometimes, it is terrible.

I saw boys of maybe twelve years old with weapons. For them, it was normal. But for me, it is not normal. A child should be a child, not a soldier.

I also learned that when you are European in Africa, people think you have money. Sometimes there are two prices: one price for local people and one price for white people. This is part of reality too.

The Mayor asked me what I learned from all these countries and all these experiences.

I think I learned that people are different, but also the same. Everywhere, people want to live. They want food, safety, family, friendship. But circumstances change people. War changes people. Poverty changes people. Fear changes people.

I saw Lebanon, French Guiana, Kuwait, Djibouti, Ethiopia, Ivory Coast. I met soldiers, civilians, refugees, children, officers, local people, and people in very difficult situations. These experiences stay in you.

But Cleebourg stayed in me too.

When I came back home, it was not difficult to come back, because this is my home. I like home. But I also like going out. This has not changed. Even today, I like to go away for work or for missions. Last month, I was one month in Bavaria. I was comfortable there. Maybe one day I go to Ukraine. Maybe South America. I do not know. I am open.

The Mayor asked me about war today, especially Ukraine, drones, missiles, and technology. Today, war has changed. There are drones, missiles, 3D printing, small mines, and new systems every day. Drones are low cost. Technology is very important.

But I think one thing does not change. The last combat is always infantry. In the end, soldiers are still there on the ground.

I follow the war in Ukraine. I see pictures of what Ukraine uses and what Russia uses. I see the trend. But I do not see a good side.

Since 1989, many countries in Europe believed Russia was finished as a problem. Germany, France, and others reduced their armies. We closed units. We reduced soldiers. Today, we have a problem. We do not have the same forces as before. There are fewer volunteers. It is the same in France.

Since 1945, we hoped the big war was finished. But today, maybe that time is finished.

I do not say this with pleasure. I say it because I saw some things. I saw how peace and war can live near each other. I saw how people wait, prepare, and then suddenly everything changes.

I came from a small village of 700 people. I began with history and geography books in school. I wanted to see the world. The army gave me that road.

It was not always easy. It was not always beautiful. But it shaped me.

I learned discipline. I learned perseverance. I learned camaraderie. I learned that sometimes you are afraid, but you continue. I learned that freedom is important. I learned that home is important too.

I left Cleebourg to see the world.

But Cleebourg was always the place I came back to.