I feel like I left this
blog rather abruptly, amid the general chaos of moving to a new continent, and
wanted to tell you all about my recent return to the homeland as a sort of
postscript to my adventures in Euroland.
Having to leave (flee?)
Brussels in the middle of September, I made the decision to go directly to
Washington DC to live in my cousin Brendon's empty house, rather than going
home and seeing my family. I thought that I should get a leg up on the job
search and scouting DC, and to be honest I wanted to endure the
repatriotization process alone. When coming back to your country of origin,
most people experience a sort of reverse-culture shock when reacclimating to
the way of life that you left behind. Moving to a new city in a new part of the
country really isn't the same as a total repatriotization, but I assumed that
it would be a difficult time, and it was.
I hated DC even before I
landed, as we flew over northern Maryland and I beheld the miles and miles of
identical houses arranged symmetrically around megachurches. After we landed and
I stood in the immigration line at Dulles Airport, I cringed a bit at hearing
the Southern US accent for the first time in years. Maybe it was odd to be able
to even understand other people in public situations, but DC was the first
place that I have ever moved to that I wasn't excited to be at in the
beginning. Finding a grocery store, choosing a detergent, learning the TV
channels and meeting the neighbors had all been exciting in a foreign country,
but in the US it was dull and trite.
The first month before I
found my job felt like an eternity at the time. Living alone, isolated from my
European friends by 6 time zones, and not having a reliable social network in
DC (despite having some friends located around the city) made for too much time
to think. Isolation begat depression, and with the shortening days of the winter
season my mood soured further.
Eventually, after a
month, I began work as a webmaster for an NGO in DC. I was good at my job, and
able to exercise some skills I hadn’t used in awhile. I joined a gym to help
pass the time. Being able to shore up my financial situation after such a long
time without working helped to reduce the sense of hopelessness and
powerlessness that seemed to ricochet around my mind, and the physical
exhaustion from exercise seemed to contain the restlessness that I suppose has
always plagued me. But in the end I was only able to keep my life from getting
worse, it seemed.
So I suppose I was long
due for a vacation, having made some inroads in DC but beginning to feel that I
was running on fumes. I had many people to see; people whose love and support
had helped me through my time in Belgium. So I put on my travelin' suit and
packed a suitcase, and finally in the middle of December, three months after I
left Belgium, I finally headed out West.
My first stop was in
Colorado. I landed in Denver, and was greeted by my cousin Jacob, who drove me
to his parents' house in Lafayette, a suburb an hour North. There was snow on
the ground, and the mountain air was cold. I stayed with my Aunt Terry, Uncle Tim,
and their daughter Moriah, eating dinners prepared from the vegetables
carefully cultivated in their garden over the summer months. Moriah and Jacob
and I headed out to the nightlife in Boulder on several occasions that week,
taking in the student population exhilarated from finishing their final exams. Driving
out to Boulder during the daytime I was able to see Gracum, my grandmother, and
her sister and her husband, Aunt Sue and Uncle Mike, who still perpetually
drive each other crazy. Those three form some kind of perpetual motion machine,
for which science should be grateful. Oh, the tales that will come from that
kitchen, with the coffee pot always brewing. For entertainment, Mike wanted to
see the new James Bond movie “Skyfall,” which Moriah and I accompanied him to. Later
in the week, Mike, Jacob and I headed out to the hills of Colorado to exercise
our second amendment rights and fire some bullets into Coke cans.
Near the end of my stay
in Colorado, Jacob drove me down to Denver to visit my Grandma Thelma. She's 92
and just out of the hospital from a broken hip. She's still as sharp as ever. When
I arrived, she was in the communal hall of her assisted living residence,
singing Christmas carols with the other residents. It took her just a second to
recognize me. "I didn't think I'd see you again," she smiled at me. I
nodded, both of us agreeing to enjoy the time we have with each other rather
than guess which time will be the last.
The second city on my
itinerary was Boise. Upon leaving the gate at the airport I was lovingly
greeted by my Mom and Dad, and received the first smartass comment of the trip
when my sister Lara commented how much she liked my "little Frenchie
suit." Smartassery be damned;. she will understand European style one day,
I suppose. I soon got to see my little niece Lidia, with my sister Erin and her
husband Nick in tow. She's a good natured child, generally agreeable but
willing to lay down the law when she needs to. My kind of kid.
This was the first
Christmas that I’ve been to with the family in many years, so I tried to make
the most of it. We decorated the tree with family friends Steve and Pettra, and
had a nice jam session on the guitars while we were doing so. Christmas dinner
was a medium sized affair by Boise standards, with my family (minus Erin and
her brood), my Uncle Mark, Aunt Teresa, and cousin Patrick, as well as my mom's
sister Kate, her husband Joe, and their kids Andrew, Jordan and John. A good
time was had by all, as they say.
The next week was one
with little planned, so I went to snowy and mountainous region of Sun Valley
with Kate and Joe and their family. I had business to attend to. Sun Valley is
my spiritual home, in part because of the small mountain that divides Elkhorn
village (where we stay) with the town of Ketchum. The Mountain and I have had
many conversations over the years, yet the last time I had spoken with it 4 or
5 years ago the Mountain told me things I didn't necessarily want to hear, and
said that it couldn't help me until these things were resolved (I can't tell
you exactly what the mountain said because we have an agreement). So I was a
little apprehensive about meeting the Mountain again, having made significant
progress in my life during the intervening years but still falling short of the
goals that had been set out for me. I climbed the Mountain before breakfast on
the last day I was in Sun Valley (I’m not an early riser, breakfast in Sun
Valley is at noon), in my boots in the snow, testing my new knee. I thought I
knew what the Mountain was going to say before I got there, but, like many
interactions we have with people, I was prepared for the worst and was somewhat
blindsided when the Mountain greeted me warmly upon my arrival. I apologized
for returning prematurely, and the Mountain explained to me that I had somewhat
misinterpreted what it had said before, and that things were not as dire as I
seemed to make them out to be. And I lingered for a bit and allowed my synapses
to absorb the new wisdom imparted, and I walked back down smiling and shouting
because I had come home and I was loved.
The final days in Boise
came to an end as I helped Joe and Andrew make a batch of their
soon-to-be-famous stout ale. And by 'helped' I mean that I stood there and
drank coffee and talked about beer for 2 hours while they worked. After pouring
through the remnants of my meager possessions, still in Erin and Nick's storage
locker, I took what I could carry and headed to the airport for my flight to Portland.
Portland was just as I
remembered it: rainy and awesome. Heather picked me up from the airport and we
headed to Southeast, where I used to live. Actually, Heather lives right across
the street from where I used to live, so we got something to eat at a new cafe
on the block, and we headed out for New Years Eve. I don't really remember much
about that particularly, but the next morning was pretty great as we cooked
breakfast and had Irish coffee and tried to reconstruct where all of our money
went. That day I headed out to see my Uncle Bert and Aunt Patty in Southwest
Portland, where my cousin Lauren also was. Andrew and his girlfriend Mara were
there (having driven from Boise), and we all had nachos (a tradition for New
Years Day for this family) and played with their dog Bodie.
The next day I went back
to Heather's and went with her to pick up her daughter Hazel. I didn't realize
how much kids grow at that age, and she is becoming quite the helper. She helps
her mom brew beer and chop vegetables, and now has some of her homework
entirely in Japanese.
The following day was
band day, with the reunion rehearsal for Camaro Island, held in Aaron's new
practice space. It was in a former storage warehouse that had been partitioned
into rooms roughly 10' by 15'. The sound insulation is usually imperfect at
these rehearsal studios, since there's not much that a 100 Watt amp can't cut
through, and sure enough the metal band next door was blazing away at full
volume. But we went to work, and soon our own jams were reverberating through
the walls, as we played old songs, new songs, and songs we just like. I lost
track, but I think it was after the 8 minute extended jam on the Stones' burner
"Sympathy for the Devil" that the metal band had ceased, due to
either having day jobs the next day or unable to compete with the sheer volume
of awesome coming through their wall. We cashed a fifth of Maker's Mark and
close to a case of beer, and I had some pretty nasty contusions on my hand the
next day. It was a good night.
Later in the week, I
visited my old coworkers at my old programming job. They were happy to see me,
but they were fewer in numbers. The company had been bought out at the exact
time that I left, and the new corporate regime was difficult. Some employees
had been laid off and others were being overworked. Many worked from home now.
It's hard enough to program database software in a little grey cube in an
office with grey walls during the Portland winter, but watching your coworkers
gradually fall away like petals from a flower makes the whole thing worse. I
wish you luck, guys.
That night I went to the
Chinese restaurant (where I used to work) with my friend Sarah. I recognized
the girl behind the counter (actually, I had trained her) but she did not
recognize me. We got our table and the waitress (actually, the owner's wife)
came over. "Wait…..You're the cashier?" she asked. Success! "Go
to the back, see Wing." She led me through the kitchen to the back of the
restaurant to the same little office. Wing came out, bleary eyed, then saw me
and smiled.
"You visit?" he
asked. I nodded. "Ha. Get soup. Good soup for you!" and motioned to
the prize, the employee soup, full of pork and vegetables, and sometimes fish
heads and tofu and whatever else they had. I ladled two bowls and took them
back to Sarah. We got the Mandarin eggplant (so good, you'll punch a cop) and
some chicken fried rice. We ate our meal, and as I was leaving I stopped back
in to see Wing. "This your wife?" he asked pointing to Sarah.
"No," I
responded. "A friend."
"Your
girlfriend?" he asked.
"No."
"No wife? Here, take
her," he said, pointing at the girl at the front desk. "We get you a
wife."
Wing apparently already
thought I was gay, so I gave him a hug and set off with Sarah. ("Next
time, call before you come over. I'll make you a special meal," were his
parting words.) We smoked cigars in Old Town, then headed back to a club to
watch a transgendered karaoke contest with some of Sarah’s friends. These kinds
of things happen quite a bit with Sarah.
The last night in
Portland I spent at my favorite bar, Baileys. This was the location of about
90% of my planning and preparations for life in Brussels. The bar had new taps,
furniture, and a big TV with the beer listings. I met my friend Rob, and John
from my band came out too, and we talked for a bit. Eventually, my Uncle Bert,
cousin Dan, and his wife Liz showed up, fresh from picking Liz up from the
airport. We talked awhile, and headed home.
The next day I flew back
nonstop to DC. I got there in the evening after an uneventful flight, wearing
my "Frenchie suit," and, not having shaved for 10 days, I suppose I
looked the part. I was lugging my two suitcases up the hill to Brendon's house
when a man with a cart walked by. "Welcome home, brother!" he laughed
at me. I thanked him, a bit confused. "And happy New Year!" he
shouted as he walked away. I wished the same to him.
So, maybe I've been too
hard on DC. Maybe I've set unrealistic expectations for DC that can't be lived
up to. Maybe I've tried subconsciously to sabotage my time here. I don't
believe in New Year's resolutions (I will not base my self-improvement on the
tyranny of the Gregorian calendar), but I've made a decision to be more
positive about my time in DC. Like all of the places I have lived, my time in
DC will be very fleeting, and I will need to make the most of the people who
are here, because in the end people are all that you have. At least, aside from
my Frenchie suit and this laptop, and a guitar or two, you are all that I have
in the world.
Maybe in the end
Bruges was here the entire time? I used to think of myself as being so self-sufficient
and independent, and now that thought is laughable to me as I sit on my cousin Bernadette's couch (where I'm now living). I look back on all of
the support that has been given to me over the years and think it's ridiculous
that I could have accomplished anything on my own. I think most people have heard the
parable about the two sets of footprints in the sand, and when the person asks
God why there was only one set of prints during the hard parts of the journey
God says "it's because I carried you." And I liken my own journey in
life to this, except that there are dozens of footprints in the sand and one
big smear mark, and that is what it looks like when the people who love you
drag you along as you're doing your best impression at failing at life.
And I thank all of you.
Love,
Paul
Photos (aka Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms)
(Apologies that I wasn't able to get photos of everybody)
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| Drivin' Into Denver. |
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| Moriah, and Jacob (holding my beer). |
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| Thinning out Colorado's dangerously overpopulated aluminum can population. |
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| Me and Lidia |
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| The family takes a walk. |
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| Making beer with Uncle Joe and Drew. |
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| Giving back to the land. |
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| The town of Ketchum, as seen from the Mountain. |
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| Me, just standing there. |
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| Lauren and Bodie. |
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| Heather makes breakfast. |
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| Smoking cigars with Sarah, in the depths of Old Town. |
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| New beer taps at Bailey's! |















