Homesickness: A Cure

Ms. Evelyn, a wonderful and wise woman, once told me about a traditional ritual in the Navajo culture. A Navajo man would wake up before dawn and run east, towards the rising sun. The early morning light, faintly grey with a tinge of pink, would begin to seep from the horizon endless in front of him, and once the sun had risen, he would stop. He would take a small amount of corn meal from a pouch on his side and mix it in with the red soil at his feet. Then, taking the mixture between his fingers, he would slowly lift his hand up from the ground, to the left, and to the right. His prayer was simple: From where I stand, there is blessing. From where I stand, everything is beautiful.

He wasn't asking for it to be made beautiful. He was stating a reality that already existed and recognizing a fundamental truth about his life, about the place he had run to.

For the past couple of weeks, I have been reaching for reassurance in places that are either behind me or beyond me, but I have yet to reach down and touch the soil at my feet. I have yet to offer that simple prayer and recognize the beauty that envelops me every day. What is the "cure" to homesickness? An honest recognition and acceptance of the fact that I am not home. And an equally honest recognition that, for now, that is perfectly okay.

I am not in Florida, and I am not in Galesburg. This is not India. This is Santiago, and it can't be anything more or less than that. This city is here, and I am within it. The question that remains is, will I choose to see the beauty in this place to which I ran?

Instead of focusing on what I left behind or what may come my way in the future, I want to focus on the people and the experiences that make up my reality now. So these are some things that form the ground beneath my feet here in Santiago. These are the beautiful truths of my reality here:

• I have a job that pushes me as a teacher and gives me valuable experience. I do not have a classroom, a school day that ends at 3:00, or any novels to teach. But I am learning how to teach English in a way that I had never known before. I am creating lessons that are designed with only one student in mind, and I have a freedom to be more flexible than I have ever been in the past. Not to mention that I can put buzzwords like "differentiation" and "TEFL experience" on my resume and really, really mean it.

• I earn a salary that puts a roof over my head and food on the table. Sure, I still haven't had the luxury of buying myself Grade A meat, but the cereal sitting on my shelf is 100% mine. I am surviving, and I can afford to do that on my own. As a recent grad, I can learn to be proud of that, and I recognize how lucky I am.

• I teach students of all shapes and sizes that I truly care about. My students range from a preschooler in a Bumblebee costume to a father of four with a coffee machine in his office. And my lessons vary just as much. They may not call me "Mr. Rogers" (challenge: say "Rogers" in Spanish), but they are my students. And the opportunity to see them grow, get frustrated, and get back up is everything that I could want as a teacher.

• I live a busy, bustling city life. I'm not from a small town, but I've lived in one for the past five years. Santiago is not a small town by any stretch of the imagination. It is sprawling and full of museums, parks, bars, people, and experiences I haven't even begun to tap into. Sure, rush hour isn't the most enjoyable time of my day, and sometimes, when yet another rapper gets onto my bus, I might long for a little house on the prairie. But there is definitely an ever-constant energy that keeps this city alive, and for at least a small amount of time, I get to keep time with the rhythm.

• I know kind, good-hearted people.  I may not know anyone as fully as the people that are still in the States, but relationships like that never happen over night. And I can't pretend like I haven't had a few conversations that have gone on for hours longer than expected. I can't pretend like people haven't shown me a kindness and a goodness that has so far proven universal. The beautiful thing about being surrounded by thousands of people is that the whole range of human experience is continuously finding expression. I would be blind to not see the good in that. And my roommates are pretty fantastic.... So if I need to find people that I am guaranteed to like, all I have to do is open my door.

• I can see a long road ahead. In 24 hours, I will be at the ripe age of 23. That means that I have been able to drive a car by myself for seven years. I could not vote when Obama first came into office (thanks, Obama). I have only been legally allowed to drink in a bar for two years. And last but not least, it hasn't been a full year yet since I graduated college. I want to make sure I don't sell myself short: I am a child. Borderline newborn. Even if the next three years are tragic mistakes, I would walk away as a 26-year-old man with a better head on my shoulders. I took a risk by coming here, but in the grand scheme of things, there is little that could mess me up in the long run. This is my time in life to be free of any commitments, to be poor, to be crazy, and finally, to be in Santiago, for better or worse. If I want stability, I can have it later. For today, I wander.

I am so lucky to have two homes back in the States that I deeply and truly miss. But I am building a third home in this city, one figurative brick at a time. No one promised me that it would be easy, and if they did, I probably wouldn't have tried. But today, when I look outside my window and see my new neighborhood, when I hear my roommate on the phone next door, and when I smell the familiar scent of instant coffee, it is starting to feel like I have found a place where I belong.

From where I stand

                    there is blessing

                              and everything is beautiful

Homesickness: A Confession

Recently, I've been finding myself wanting to escape where I am.

I've stayed up late into night, combing through endless Internet searches about other jobs in other countries, masters programs, and a volunteer opportunities abroad. The clock on my phone reminds me that I should sleep, but even as my body relaxes, my mind continues twisting, turning, and mulling over ideas as undefined and intangible as the darkness outside my window. Throughout the past two weeks, I have critically questioned myself, my decision, and my place here in Chile. Of course doubt is natural, but this doubt has planted its roots firmly and festered. The question isn't just why I am doubting, but why I can't move beyond it.

I believe that it's because the idea of the indefinite scares me. When I went to college, I knew that I would graduate in four years, and when I lived in India, I counted on returning at the end of the semester. I signed my contract with Galesburg High School with no doubt that Ms. Frau would one day reclaim her name above the classroom door. But when I came to Chile, all I knew was that I was going to travel for some amount of time in some amount of places that weren't the U.S. Being here in Santiago is not a means to an end or the end in and of itself. It simply is. I'm simply here.

I never have had to say that I've felt homesick before. Not like this. After all, I had always bought my plane tickets round trip. Every Wednesday night as I boil yet another bag of pasta, I imagine the family dinner that I have missed yet again, and I know that I will miss many more to come. Two days ago, I sent out a text telling people it would be my birthday on Saturday. If I didn't, no one would have known, and that would have been depressing. There is only one thing worse than being surrounded by a roomful of people singing "Happy Birthday": blowing out the candles on a cake you bought yourself. Pity party of one, please.

Without a return date, being gone seems a lot more permanent.

I made a conscious choice to cross a boundary, and now I'm struggling because I can't find any lines showing me where I should be, where I should go from here. Although writing this post feels more like a confession than an update, it is a natural part of my experience here, and I feel like it's a necessary post to write. Welcome to living in a place that isn't home.

Think you may be suffering from homesickness also? Symptoms include, but are not limited to:

• Frantically searching for escape routes and/or back-up plans that will further confirm the fact that you, without a doubt, made the wrong decision.
• Perpetual cravings for comfort foods, not the least of which includes real coffee and fried pickles (not recommended at the same time, but I respect all life choices). An alternative side effect may be the occasional pang for Indian spices when, once again, your egg sandwich seems a little lack luster.
• Chronic convictions that this is not where you will end up, nor is it the best step to get you there. Where is your classroom full of sassy teenagers? Why aren't you teaching poetry, literature, grammar, or "real" English?
• Frequent social indulgences on Skype, Facetime, and Facebook. Your past life is at your fingertips, and there's nothing like #fbstalking to keep you up to date.
• Keeping the door to your room closed, even though you know 8:30 is wayyy too early to go to sleep. Sure you can turn off the lights, but once your roommates know you have a Netflix account, you lose the ability to fool anyone.

I was reluctant to write this post. After all, it's hard to be a world traveller whose heart is a hemisphere away. I'm supposed to write about the adventures I've had since bravely taking on the world. I'm supposed to write all about the new and exciting people I've met and how much fun we're having every single day. Spoiler alert: living abroad is still living a life, and that includes boredom and loneliness.

But homesickness is part of the experience of traveling, and to say anything otherwise would seem disingenuous. I am lucky to have family and friends who are worth missing, and one day, I will be happy to see them again. I didn't leave Galesburg or Florida because I was unhappy. I left because the world is a big place, and I can't see it all from a classroom in a small town.

These past couple of weeks, I have felt trapped in a past choice for the foreseeable future. It wasn't even a bad choice: simply something that I was locked into and left me with little sense of agency. It's time for me to reclaim a sense of control. It's time for me to find my cure.

Homesickness: A Cure (Yes, this blog just became self referential)