I've arrived. I've been in Vermont for just about two days. It doesn't feel good. It doesn't feel bad. I just kind of feel like I'm waiting for something to happen. I'm waiting for something to click. I'm waiting to fall into place.
I arrived home to a brand new niece and two very tired brand new parents. It's not that they weren't happy about seeing me, it's just that they are filled with the sleep deprived wonder and excitement of having a 6 day old infant. And so my normal position at center stage was already filled. No one wanted me to regal them with stories of adventure and daring in Nepal. No one asked about what happened with Masum when I met him in Kathmandu. Not only that, but they don't even seem to need any help.
I think this is supposed to be my home, but I just kind of feel like an extra person hanging around in someone else's house. It doesn't feel like my space. I don't feel free to do whatever, whenever. I want to give their new family space, but I also want to be a part of it. But I'm not.
It's kind of the same with my friends. I guess three years is a long time to be gone. They've all changed and moved on, and so have I. But I haven't moved on in Burlington. I feel stuck in the past here and I don't quite understand the circles that people are moving in now, or what happened to the posse I used to roll with. I want to be a part of what's happening here, but I'm not.
Not only that, but when I look around me, I feel somewhat disgusted by what I see. There is so much stuff, so much food, so many resources. Last night at this party I went to, we turned off the lights for an hour because it was some kind of international turn off your lights day or something. Okay, that's good. Let's all be aware about energy conservation. But everyone thought it was so romantic and interesting and like they were doing something important, and I'm just sitting there thinking about what over-privileged jerks we are. As though one hour on day is going to make a difference. Why not do it every day? For more than an hour?
I hate to admit this, but right now I feel a lot of contempt for America. I resent the comfort, the excess, the ease with which dollars slip out of your hand and into a store or restaurant, and then somehow back into your hand. I resent all of the procreation that's going on-- there are so many babies filling up a world that it already too full. And I think that the procreation is mostly out of vanity. Our vain and selfish desire to see ourselves in someone else. And maybe even our most basic struggle against loneliness. This whole lifestyle baffles me. But maybe only because it eludes me. Maybe what I'm feeling is not contempt, but jealousy.
Right now, I feel like I could show up to any corner of the globe and be faced with the same problem: Wherever I am, I'm going to have to start over. Wherever I am, I'm going to have to find a way to make myself belong again. I wonder if the "where" is even important at all? I guess I have to figure how to relate to this corner of the world again. And that means I have to shrug off all this contempt and stop being so damn judgemental of the way Americans live their lives.
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6 comments:
I think that kind of awareness is a really important thing to bring back to this country.
It just might take you awhile to figure out how you can use it in productive ways.
I think what jo(e) said is good....and I think your last paragrapsh is right, too.
I'm looking forward your stories. Call me when you get chance.
So what happened with Masum when you met him in Kathmandu?
I participated in EarthHour, and I do understand your objection that one hour is not enough... but that doesn't make it a bad thing altogether. Plus, it was a worldwide event that originated in Australia, and not exclusively an American folly.
Welcome "home." I hope it gets a little easier after the culture shocks wears off a bit.
Sigh. Re-entry into this crazy overindulged consumer world must be very odd. I find myself thinking many of the same things that you think, and I haven't even had to be out of the country to notice it. I find it sad that so few people don't recognize it - that we all just wander through our lives completely oblivious to the privilege that we enjoy and the depravity of so many in the rest of the world.
Transition sucks. It is just hard to move to a new place, and maybe even harder to move back to an old place. Hang in there.
WW, I certainly wasn't offended by what you wrote, and I hope my earlier comment didn't come across as too snarky.
Once upon a time, I moved out to a remote area of a lake state to work outdoors. I lived in a trailer in a town so small I couldn't buy a pillow when I realized I had forgotten one, and had to wait until the weekend and drive 35 miles. I saw more bald eagles and leeches than I did humans. I only lived there 5 months, but when I returned to my smallish northeast city, I was dazed by the rush of people, the traffic lights, the constant madness of capitalism. Is my shock at returning home after a measly 5 months in a rural part of my own country anything like what you are going through? Absolutely, definitely NOT. There is no comparison. But I am not without sympathy.
Part of the problem is people like me, wishing for you that it will get easier, when of course EASY is the last thing YOU want. Easy is not your style :) Maybe I better just offer you a hug, and leave it at that before I put my foot in my mouth again.
You're right, easy is not my style.
But your foot was never in your mouth!
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