Back in the U.S.S.A.
I know – doesn’t make sense…and I’m not even in the US anymore (but rather on a Eurostar train to Paris) – but going home, albeit briefly was yet another check on the whole experience thus far. My apartment felt familiar but weird – it was about a day before I felt normal again, and then I jetted off to Philly to spend a day with the folks. So not much downtime to settle in at home, which is weird because there were little things that one plans to do around the house, just normal day to day stuff (like hook up the VCR through the TiVo which isn’t quite working right) that I knew I wouldn’t have a chance to do. It felt like something was about to end, but it wasn’t – my life there just goes on hiatus for weeks at a time.
I arrived Wednesday and drove straight down to the Cape for our client conference for two days. It was kind of good to see work friends, but mostly it was just more business schmoozing – not at all relaxing, catching up with friends kind of time. I think I literally had five minutes to sit on the porch at Chatham Bars and look out at the ocean while waiting for Olivia to head down to yet another cocktail party. It was already dark, anyway, but illustrative of how little time I’ve had to sit, breathe, absorb, and
contemplate all the change and to establish exactly where I am.
And perhaps its for the best that I’m all go go go, since I did get to contemplate for a bit on Saturday, with frustrating results. I spent the day alone, slept in, and then caught up on the back episodes of Gilmore Girls (Luke and Lorelai finally got it on – squee!), then decided to head out to spend some quality time with the Snaab and peep some leaves. First, I was going to get some food – so I headed to Mr. Crepe in Davis. My favorite little brunchy café spot.
Mr. Crepe is closed. Forever. Stripped to the bare brick walls with nothing but a hanging sign saying “order here” with a picture of the yummy crepes I was no longer to have.
So, not able to think of anywhere else suitable, I hit the Dunkin’ Donuts (it is uniquely Boston, at least) and then the open road. I cruised through Lexington and Concord, winding along the back roads, admiring the leaves, and thinking…
A large part of me very much wants to settle down, slow down. Have a place with a yard where I plan on staying for more than a year or two – decorate it how I want, get a bigger kitchen, place for the Snaab, and a hammock, etc. Really invest, not just monetarily, but personally. Make it mine. Go kayaking on the weekend or for little hikes, learn to cook really well and have the time to actually do it – abandon the Lean Cuisine lifestyle. Get involved in the community, take a job with less stress and less hours – my friend Meg just did this in Maryland. Went from demanding 60 hour week to a nice 9-5 job at a library, with nice people, slow pace (but not deathly) and interesting topics, etc. She gets home in 10 minutes, cooks a meal, and takes the dog out on nice long hikes. And is done by 8 pm when she can read, chill with her hubby, watch tv, etc. I usually don’t get home until then – tired and with no time or energy for much except zoning out for a bit in front of the TV and eating a hastily made sandwich.
But then there’s the other part of me – the part that said Yes to this lifestyle – who knew it too good an opportunity, an adventure, to pass up. To live abroad – to travel and see new things and meet new people. To experience a different country and culture in a way that you just cannot do without living in it. And, yes, the career aspect as well was, well, flattering. I didn’t feel the need for a super-sized career and responsibility launch – at least within my current field. If anything, I was contemplating grad school, or the aforementioned quiet library job. But this was like a gift too nice to refuse, even if you weren’t sure you wanted it.
So, here I am, with my inner demons (there must be a softer term than that) wanting both a quiet life spent swinging in my hammock behind a nice bungalow in Arlington or some such, and yet excitedly planning a weekend scooting round on a Vespa in Tuscany. Can you be excited and dismayed at the same time? Frustrated really is the best term.
Being home did help clarify that – I love autumn in New England. I really feel that this time and place is the seasonal-geographic manifestation of who I am. I enjoy spending time with my friends – I think I was the only one pleasantly amused at the backbiting and bitching about Friday night’s dinner scheduling. I like the life I’ve built.
And this, over here…well, it’s just so much WORK. And I still feel as though I’m living on the surface of the city and Europe as a whole. Just an observer. Nothing has been simple – I’m constantly researching, hauling too much crap to and from airports, taxis, and subways, getting lost or trying to find a store that is lost, making do, and cobbling ad hoc solutions to stupid problems like a clogged drain or inadequate internet cable. I’m tired.
This International Woman of Mystery bit is getting old. I feel like a very bad juggler – the balls are still in the air, but with no style and a haphazard kind of sheer luck manner. I accidentally threw away my plane ticket last night and had to beg to be let on the plane without having to pay $700. My “office” still involves me sitting on the floor with a computer on my lap. I can’t get my DVDs to play in color – I think I may need a newer TV, but they are wicked expensive and I can’t figure out how to get it to and fro (taxi, perhaps?). I still am lacking a sofa. And freezer.
And I electrocuted myself this morning - my thumb still smarts. Agh. The taxi I took to my meeting today dropped me at the wrong end of the street, so I had to walk about 1/3 mile in the rain dragging my suitcase and computer/briefcase (heavy, both) wearing my winter coat because it’s all I have right now, and trying to hold the umbrella, which was very poor at keeping the rain off of my shirt (on which the middle button keeps popping open for good measure). Couldn’t catch a cab on the way out, so walked to the Tube, which went well, except for when my briefcase tipped over and my cell phone fell onto the escalator. Now I’m going to Paris, where I don’t speak the language, which, while most speak English, is just one more thing to deal with. Then I’ve got a conference call with a client set up for 10 pm Paris time. Because there is still plenty of work to do, as well. And not enough time. Not that I know quite what I’m doing anyway – I’ve got a clue, but certainly not the answers.
