It's been a rough week. Since deciding to leave Prague I've been looking at job possibilities around the world, trying to figure out what's coming next. Last week, I set up an interview with a company that provides English teachers for private schools in Istanbul. The day of the interview I left school early because I had a massive headache, my entire body ached, I was chilled, and a little lightheaded. Not exactly the best condition for an interview. But it went ok, and I was invited to make a video outlining my background, why I wanted to teach in Turkey, and my classroom management strategies. So I did, and I sent it off Thursday morning, asking that they get back to me by Friday afternoon. Because here's the thing: the start date for the next intake of teachers? 21 October. Less than two weeks away.
I didn't even have to wait a day. Thursday afternoon there was an email in my inbox congratulating me on being accepted for a placement in Istanbul. I was, however, unsure that I was going to take it. First of all, 10 days is a very short amount of time to prepare to go to a brand new country to start a brand new job about which I knew very little. Also, I need time to organize myself mentally for any massive life change such as this would be, and I didn't know that 10 days would be sufficient. Secondly, I didn't want to jump into this job just because I was in a time crunch and needed somewhere to go. If I really wanted to go to Turkey and commit myself to this, then great, but if I was only excited about it because it meant having a job...well, not so much. Finally, my mental health has not been at its peak recently. I've been stressed out, first about my visa, and then about what I was going to do after leaving Prague, I took a hit with Papa dying, and I've been sick pretty much constantly since starting work. I didn't think my decision-making capabilities were at their best. So while I was excited about the possibility of Istanbul, I was unwilling to launch myself into Turkey quite yet.
I had also recently come to the conclusion that going home would not be the disappointment I had thought it would be. In the few days leading up to the Istanbul offer, I was really craving home, and not just because I was sick. Going home would allow me to rethink my priorities, center my thoughts and surround myself with a loving, familiar environment after what has been a very difficult six weeks. So, following the receipt of the job offer, my choices were: go to Istanbul for 8 1/2 months or go home.
Such was the draw of both possibilities that I spent days agonizing over my decision. I'd vacillate wildly between them, one moment thinking that Istanbul would be perfect and going home seemed like I was giving up on this life that I had wanted for so long. The next moment, I would think I was crazy for even considering moving to Turkey with 10 days notice, no housing, incredibly limited knowledge of the culture and no knowledge of the language. At one point, I got so far as telling my family I was going to go to Turkey, which was followed not even an hour later by a breakdown precipitated by the labyrinthine workings of the Czech postal system (don't ask), and I was no longer sure.
To make a long story short (too late!), I spent the entire weekend trying to decide which direction I was going to go, literally and figuratively. I talked to Mike, my friend from TEFL who is currently in Istanbul on the same program I had applied to. Hearing from him was super helpful, and I never could have reached any sort of decision without his input, so thanks Mike! I talked to my family. I talked to some friends, near and far. And I was still miles away from anything making sense.
Then, Monday morning I woke up, and things had kind of fallen into place in my brain. I spent the day reflecting, and decided I felt good about my inclination. So after getting home from work, I Skyped with my mom and told her what I had decided: I'm going home. I'm going home to sleep in my own bed, to explore streets I could walk down with my eyes shut, to remind myself there will always be a home for me somewhere. Home can be anywhere, and I hope to experience many different versions in many different settings. Minneapolis will always be home. I'm ready for home.
One of my biggest concerns about going home is feeling like I've somehow failed myself. Feeling like I let myself down by not being capable enough to make Prague work, and not brave enough to venture to Istanbul. Feeling like the adventure I've wanted for so long is ending, without any concrete plans to keep it on track. I can't turn those feelings off. But I can try to put a different face on them. I wrote in my last post that I was ready for the next step, whatever it was. And this is it. I've come to the conclusion that in order to move forward, I need to first move back. Trying to push myself into a new environment at this point would probably not be very healthy. I feel like this goes along with my horses out of the gate metaphor: going to Istanbul now could easily burn me out and send me back frustrated and fed up. In order to maintain my dream of living abroad, I need to take things a little more slowly and make decisions deliberately, not because I feel desperate and need someplace to go.
And I haven't failed. I did what I came to Prague to do. I got my TEFL certificate, a document which will allow me to travel basically anywhere in the world anytime I want. I made a life for myself in a foreign country, regardless of how long it lasted. I made wonderful friends who I look forward to visiting all over the world. I learned mountains about myself, and I grew in innumerable ways. I haven't failed.
As excited as I am to be back in Minneapolis and live a life I understand, I don't want it to last forever. Growth happens when you don't understand things, when you have to work for them to make sense. My going home now doesn't mean I won't ever leave again. I will. My time there will be a respite, a sabbatical before I add more stamps to my passport; it will give me a chance to be intentional about the next part of my life. I'll be able to explore different kinds of options and think outside the box. And when the time does come for me to leave again I'll have a better idea of the challenges I'll face moving abroad and will be better equipped to deal with them.
I'm not done wandering. The currents have pushed my ship back into port for now, but soon enough I'll be back on the water, the wind in my face, racing with arms outstretched towards the horizon.
17 October 2013
06 October 2013
Questioning
You remember how I said about a month ago that I had this huge feeling of assurance that I was where I needed to be, and everything was coming together to make this happen? Well...things have changed. Prague hasn't really been making me happy. It's not that I'm unhappy; things here are fine. But fine is kind of boring. Minneapolis was fine. If fine was what I wanted, I would have stayed there. Fine is not what I want. I want much more than fine. I want to be happy. I want to be amazed every single day, and thankful for challenges I am faced with. As much as I hate to say it, I've grown a little blase about Prague. Aside from the language difference, and the obvious things like absence of family, etc., there really is not much difference between my life here and life in Minneapolis. Prague has ceased to astound me and become just another beautiful European city, one which I am privileged to know, but not one to which I feel a strong tie. Our acquaintance has cooled, and we've both realized we're not going to become best friends. We'll remain on good terms, maybe even catch up every so often, but we just don't click in the way good friends do.
While it would be easy to blame these feelings of uneasiness and discontent on the fact that my grandfather just died and I want nothing more than to be at home right now, it's simply not true. I would love to go home: to see my family and friends, drink in the trees along the river that should be starting to turn color just about now, walk down Lake Street, have dinner at True Thai, go to church, experience all the comforting elements of my life to this point. But I know that were I to be there for more than about two weeks, I would start to get restless again. My palms would itch to feel centuries old buildings, my lungs would burn for different air. My heart and my head would wander the world, and I would never be content until I satisfied those desires. It's not a longing for home that's making me reconsider my long term plans.
Here's what is:
1) Speaking practically for a moment, I'm having the hardest time pulling my visa together. And none of it is my fault. In order to get my trade license, I need my landlord's signature notarized on several documents. I got them to her about three weeks ago, and after pushing back one deadline a week later, I haven't heard from her at all. Had I been able to function at a normal level last week, I would have thought about asking after the forms, but honestly, going to school was a stretch, and I was not up to dealing with cranky landlords and Czech bureaucracy. Not even a little bit. So I didn't. It didn't even cross my mind. So now I have one month left on my tourist visa, and still no paperwork to even get the process started. This whole situation has grown simply ridiculous, and the utter absurdity of the delays and number of appointments I've made without anything to show for them makes me think it just isn't going to happen.
2) Moving away from the practical aspects now, I just don't feel challenged here. Not mentally, spiritually, or intellectually. Bureaucratically maybe, but that has nothing to do with me, and everything to do with a bunch of strangers running the country who care nothing about me; so I refuse to incorporate them into my decision making process more than absolutely necessary. I came here wanting to prove to myself that I could do something crazy. That I could move to a foreign country on my own, without a real plan. I did that. And, as far as things that are under my control are concerned, it would be possible for me to stay here indefinitely. I have a job and I have a place to live, both of which I found entirely on my own. It is possible for me to be a self-sufficient person. Prague was the perfect place for all of this. But now I'm feeling like I want to move on. Prague was a wonderful first step, and I will never regret my choice to come here. However, a first step implies there's other steps to follow. I want those other steps. I want to question things, to have my jaw drop, to have stars in my eyes, to feel something about the things I'm experiencing, good or bad. So far, the biggest cultural differences I've noticed are that Czechs don't like wearing shoes inside. And that they like their beer. Not exactly groundbreaking. There's so much world to explore, and I'm worried that staying in Prague is only scratching the surface. It's safe. I'm ready to take a chance on something bigger.
To be fair to Prague, I think my expectations were perhaps unreasonably high. I wanted so much from this city, and had built up the experience so much in my mind both positively and negatively that there was no way any place could live up to them. And if falling short was an inevitability, I'm glad it fell short on the negative aspects of my imagination. If I was going to be dissatisfied, I'm thankful I was dissatisfied with how easy it ended up being. I'd much rather start slow and give myself the opportunity to pick up speed than jump out of the gate going full-tilt and burn myself out. I'm certainly not burned out. I want more.
I don't have anything like a plan for what's coming next. I've been exploring some possibilities, but nothing's set in stone, or even sand. At best, I'm starting to dig. I'm going to need to figure something out soon though, because if the end of the month rolls around and I don't have anywhere to go, I'm screwed. Worse comes to worst though, I'll go home and figure things out from there. This is all scary, but strangely, not as scary as coming over here in the first place was. There's no way for me to know for sure if I'm going to be happy in any given place, but I do know that I have the ability to change things. I have the ability to act on my own behalf and accomplish things for myself. That's why I'm leaving Prague. I'll miss so much about this city: the wonderful friends I've made, the tree-lined streets leading to glorious cathedrals, the vibrant kids who've made me smile when I wanted nothing more than to cry. I'm going to miss them, but I'm ready to move on. I'm ready for my next big adventure.
While it would be easy to blame these feelings of uneasiness and discontent on the fact that my grandfather just died and I want nothing more than to be at home right now, it's simply not true. I would love to go home: to see my family and friends, drink in the trees along the river that should be starting to turn color just about now, walk down Lake Street, have dinner at True Thai, go to church, experience all the comforting elements of my life to this point. But I know that were I to be there for more than about two weeks, I would start to get restless again. My palms would itch to feel centuries old buildings, my lungs would burn for different air. My heart and my head would wander the world, and I would never be content until I satisfied those desires. It's not a longing for home that's making me reconsider my long term plans.
Here's what is:
1) Speaking practically for a moment, I'm having the hardest time pulling my visa together. And none of it is my fault. In order to get my trade license, I need my landlord's signature notarized on several documents. I got them to her about three weeks ago, and after pushing back one deadline a week later, I haven't heard from her at all. Had I been able to function at a normal level last week, I would have thought about asking after the forms, but honestly, going to school was a stretch, and I was not up to dealing with cranky landlords and Czech bureaucracy. Not even a little bit. So I didn't. It didn't even cross my mind. So now I have one month left on my tourist visa, and still no paperwork to even get the process started. This whole situation has grown simply ridiculous, and the utter absurdity of the delays and number of appointments I've made without anything to show for them makes me think it just isn't going to happen.
2) Moving away from the practical aspects now, I just don't feel challenged here. Not mentally, spiritually, or intellectually. Bureaucratically maybe, but that has nothing to do with me, and everything to do with a bunch of strangers running the country who care nothing about me; so I refuse to incorporate them into my decision making process more than absolutely necessary. I came here wanting to prove to myself that I could do something crazy. That I could move to a foreign country on my own, without a real plan. I did that. And, as far as things that are under my control are concerned, it would be possible for me to stay here indefinitely. I have a job and I have a place to live, both of which I found entirely on my own. It is possible for me to be a self-sufficient person. Prague was the perfect place for all of this. But now I'm feeling like I want to move on. Prague was a wonderful first step, and I will never regret my choice to come here. However, a first step implies there's other steps to follow. I want those other steps. I want to question things, to have my jaw drop, to have stars in my eyes, to feel something about the things I'm experiencing, good or bad. So far, the biggest cultural differences I've noticed are that Czechs don't like wearing shoes inside. And that they like their beer. Not exactly groundbreaking. There's so much world to explore, and I'm worried that staying in Prague is only scratching the surface. It's safe. I'm ready to take a chance on something bigger.
To be fair to Prague, I think my expectations were perhaps unreasonably high. I wanted so much from this city, and had built up the experience so much in my mind both positively and negatively that there was no way any place could live up to them. And if falling short was an inevitability, I'm glad it fell short on the negative aspects of my imagination. If I was going to be dissatisfied, I'm thankful I was dissatisfied with how easy it ended up being. I'd much rather start slow and give myself the opportunity to pick up speed than jump out of the gate going full-tilt and burn myself out. I'm certainly not burned out. I want more.
I don't have anything like a plan for what's coming next. I've been exploring some possibilities, but nothing's set in stone, or even sand. At best, I'm starting to dig. I'm going to need to figure something out soon though, because if the end of the month rolls around and I don't have anywhere to go, I'm screwed. Worse comes to worst though, I'll go home and figure things out from there. This is all scary, but strangely, not as scary as coming over here in the first place was. There's no way for me to know for sure if I'm going to be happy in any given place, but I do know that I have the ability to change things. I have the ability to act on my own behalf and accomplish things for myself. That's why I'm leaving Prague. I'll miss so much about this city: the wonderful friends I've made, the tree-lined streets leading to glorious cathedrals, the vibrant kids who've made me smile when I wanted nothing more than to cry. I'm going to miss them, but I'm ready to move on. I'm ready for my next big adventure.
01 October 2013
In Memorium
23 September, 2013
My Papa Fred died today. He left the world four days after his 87th birthday and just weeks shy of his and Grammy's 60th wedding anniversary. There's very little I can say to explain how much I'm going to miss him. Even in the last few years, as his dementia escalated and claimed his memories, his generous, loving soul shone through to the very end.
To me he will always be the man teaching me to play chess, hunched over the electronic board, letting me think that I was winning because I moved the pieces for the computer. He's the man who taught me pool, and ping-pong, and instilled in me my love for mini-golf. Canoeing brings me back to Holmes Lake with him and Grammy paddling to the beach with me in the middle chomping on Skittles. Going for a bike ride will always remind me of the trips we took on their tandem through Lincoln, following the exercise path and my making us stop at every single station, his groaning and complaining the whole time, which only hardened my resolve because I knew he was doing it to make me laugh.
He was the handyman, the builder, who gave me my beautiful three story dollhouse complete with balcony and shingled roof. He made my wooden rocking horse, and the chest for all my doll's clothes and accessories.
I don't remember him as overly demonstrative in his affection, but there was never any doubt in my mind that he loved my sisters and I deeply. He (and Grammy) were willing to drive 12 hours in one day and end up right back where they started in order to bring Lina or I down for our week in Nebraska. He tolerated (and paid for) our demands for endless trips to the frozen yogurt shop or Children's Museum and sat through many a childish movie at our behest.
I cannot imagine a childhood without him in it, and I cherish every memory I have of him. And despite my immense sense of loss for his physical presence I know that in many ways he can now be more present in our lives than before. I know, in the depths of my soul that he's whole again, that the separation he experienced throughout the past few years has been mended. And while I miss him immensely, and always will, I'm glad he's been spared further pain and frustration. I cannot speak with authority on how a person with dementia feels when they reach the point of nearly complete unrecognition of anyone important in their life, but it can't be easy. And from my point of view as a family member, it's easier to see him go knowing he's absolutely in a better place than the body he left behind.
I love you Papa.
My Papa Fred died today. He left the world four days after his 87th birthday and just weeks shy of his and Grammy's 60th wedding anniversary. There's very little I can say to explain how much I'm going to miss him. Even in the last few years, as his dementia escalated and claimed his memories, his generous, loving soul shone through to the very end.
To me he will always be the man teaching me to play chess, hunched over the electronic board, letting me think that I was winning because I moved the pieces for the computer. He's the man who taught me pool, and ping-pong, and instilled in me my love for mini-golf. Canoeing brings me back to Holmes Lake with him and Grammy paddling to the beach with me in the middle chomping on Skittles. Going for a bike ride will always remind me of the trips we took on their tandem through Lincoln, following the exercise path and my making us stop at every single station, his groaning and complaining the whole time, which only hardened my resolve because I knew he was doing it to make me laugh.
He was the handyman, the builder, who gave me my beautiful three story dollhouse complete with balcony and shingled roof. He made my wooden rocking horse, and the chest for all my doll's clothes and accessories.
I don't remember him as overly demonstrative in his affection, but there was never any doubt in my mind that he loved my sisters and I deeply. He (and Grammy) were willing to drive 12 hours in one day and end up right back where they started in order to bring Lina or I down for our week in Nebraska. He tolerated (and paid for) our demands for endless trips to the frozen yogurt shop or Children's Museum and sat through many a childish movie at our behest.
I cannot imagine a childhood without him in it, and I cherish every memory I have of him. And despite my immense sense of loss for his physical presence I know that in many ways he can now be more present in our lives than before. I know, in the depths of my soul that he's whole again, that the separation he experienced throughout the past few years has been mended. And while I miss him immensely, and always will, I'm glad he's been spared further pain and frustration. I cannot speak with authority on how a person with dementia feels when they reach the point of nearly complete unrecognition of anyone important in their life, but it can't be easy. And from my point of view as a family member, it's easier to see him go knowing he's absolutely in a better place than the body he left behind.
I love you Papa.
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