This Post is For Dan

Stop being worried about coming home. You have your incredible girlfriend and at least 90% of your efforts can be concentrated on helping her adjust to life in the States.

That being said, you should know that I've said "mulţumesc" in at least 10 different situations. My family is really tired of me asking "ce" when I cannot hear them, and I had a dream in Romanian the other night.

Get ready for the ridiculous amount of entertainment options, and be prepared to find very few of them interesting. The amount of English sinage is probably going to overwhelm you. You'll feel a little bit like Jim Carrey in "Bruce Almighty" when he can hear all the prayers- suddenly everything you hear is comprehensible.

Prepare yourself for getting upset at the grocery store when you spend $20.00 and they try to send you out the door with 8 bags. Try to remember that non-Romanian stores do not accept Romanian currency of any kind, and you'll feel like an idiot when you do it for the third time. You might forget that you can call and text people now (btw... will your number be the same?) Also, they have ice in America and they'll give you water that doesn't come in a bottle without going three rounds with the wait staff.

That's all the trivial stuff. I'll write the next part as if you didn't have your own Romanian throwback. You'll be sad. Depressed even. Everything at home looks good to you, but all in a Romanian light. You'll struggle with comparing everything to what you experienced there, what it's like there, what you saw there. You'll want to see everyone you can, and no one at all. You'll experience an insane desire to connect with people and a deep disappointment when you realize NO ONE knows what you are dealing with. They'll pretend to care while you pretend that you aren't thinking about the life you just left. You'll both try hard and fail. You'll scheme about going back even though you know you won't. You'll feel both alone and too close to everyone at the same time. If you are me, you'll cry when you see some of your best friends for the first time. You'll be happy and sad and confused and inexplicably angry at times. And you'll be tired.

And then you'll call me. Because I'm in the middle of it too, and it's a lonely place.

A Week

It's been 167 hours since I landed at O'Hare Airport in Chicago after a rather harrowing experience. Let me tell you some of the things I've learned.

1. No matter how much you give away, you will still have too much in your suitcase.

2. Priorities make themselves abundently clear when you have 10 minutes to lose 7 kilograms of stuff. Goodbye, shoes, cosmetics, pillow, and blanket. I'll miss you.

3. You could have spent more time carefully planning what to throw away, because the airline isn't sure that they should let you on the plane with that cast.

4. People in an airport will ask anyone for advice... I'm quite clearly not an airline executive, but sitting behind a desk warrents all kinds of questions.

5. They do NOT mess around with security in the Bucharest airport... Dublin is somewhat different.

6. Every plane to ever depart from OTP will be delayed.

7. If you are getting wheelchair assistance, you will be wheeled into the back of a semi trailer, and driven across the runway and then wheeled into the plane through the cargo entrance.

8. The lovely Irish accent will make everything better. From the airline attendants to the wheelchair assistance lad Sean, it's difficult to get upset with the Irish.

9. Americans are obnoxious the world over. I'm sorry, Mr. California. But just because you went to Germany instead of Amsterdam doesn't mean you are a world traveller. And sleeping on a park bench whilst drunk and high doesn't mean that you got a "real European experience." Stop trying to arm wrestle people and then talk about how you could "take" anyone you wanted in high school. Take your flipping sunglasses off, and don't brag about how you've not bathed in 3 weeks. And do you really travel with your own plasic wine glasses? Take it from someone who got the real European experience... you should be able to drink wine out of whatever is available.

10. The Dublin airport is lovely, but those lights are BRIGHT at 4:30 in the morning.

11. Someone is going to notice that you need help when you are standing on one leg with two bags, staring at the flight board for 20 minutes. Do they really have to put CANCELLED in big block letters? They could say it in a nicer way, I think.

12. Having a broken ankle can work in your favor... pleading my case for why I should get onto the standby list first, getting escorted through security (totally could have blown that plane up... I barely got frisked) and customs by the lovely Irish Richard (who called me love, mhmm), and seated early on the plane... it worked out alright.

13. Having a broken ankle can be ridiculously stupid on a plane, because it will HURT. You know how your legs swell anyway in flight? There is no comfortable postion, and you therefore will keep not sleeping.

14. Ted from Ireland is a very nice man who will tolerate you crying (nearly) on his shoulder about four times in the course of a 9 hour point of contact.

15. Arriving in the United States is beautiful, but hearing that your parents are not at the airport is kind of painful. Thank you, communication mixup- my fault entirely.

16. Warm and friendly relatives are incredible... but visiting people you've only met a few times in your life after skipping DAYS of sleep and traveling for nearly 30 hours is a bit overwhelming.

17. You will want to cry when you see your mom and dad for the first time. Because they will take care of you, and you can stop being so strong for a while.

18. The I-80 stretch from Chicago to Michigan is still long.

19. It might take a while to sleep normally again.

20. Home people are wonderful, incredible really. But you will still miss belonging somewhere else.

Home

The old adage "home is where your heart is" is a very lovely thing to cross stitch and hang on your wall... when you have a place to live and a settled life and a career that isn't completely terrifying.

But my life isn't like that right now. I don't have a place to live or a settled life or a career that is certain.

And my heart isn't is one place, so you can imagine that the specific location of "home-" that one spot on the map- is pretty hard to figure out.

My heart is in Blissfield, where I grew up, where my roots are, where my parents are. My brothers have gone for the most part so the ties aren't as strong, but it is still the place where my childhood happened.

My heart is in Anderson, where I discovered my passions and my dreams and developed my person. I have friends there, and connections, and fantastic memories.

My heart is in Chicago, where I found myself independent and challenged and inescapably happy. I miss teaching in the city, walking in the city, listening to the city.

My heart is on the East Coast, where I have a fantastic job this summer and some prospects for the fall. I feel like I could be really happy there, both professionally and personally.

And my heart... my heart is in Romania. Part of me will be left here, in the eyes of my students and the juxtaposition of concrete and green spaces and the warmth of an entire nation.

I booked a plane ticket back to the States yesterday, and it feels final. It feels... real. I have an end date for this chapter of my life, and it's bittersweet. I'll leave this city on the evening of June 18th and arrive in Chicago on the afternoon of June 19th, more than 24 hour later. I'm worried about a lot of things, many of which I'm sure I'll blog about... but not feeling like I belong anywhere is currently at the forefront of my mind.

Passage of Time

For most children, days are spent in constant anticipation. They ache for camp in the morning, swimming after lunch, and snack time in the afternoon. They ask multiple times a day about the schedule and pester adults about plans in the evening. They live from holiday to holiday and birthday to birthday, counting the months, weeks, and even days. Ask any elementary school child how old they are, and you will more than likely get a response with a fraction of a year attached (6 and a half, 7 and three-quarters, and in the hysterical case of Munchkin #9, 6 and five-sixths).

And so time passes, and pretty soon an infant is a toddler, and a toddler is in preschool, and the preschooler is in elementary school, and the elementary school child is in the throes of pre-adolescence, and the pre-adolescent is a terrible teenager and the teenager is looking at colleges and the college-bound kid is graduating and getting a job teaching in Romania.

My younger brother C~ and his girlfriend J~ just graduated from high school at the beginning of June. So graduation party season descended upon us, and dutifully I went. I ate LOTS of potatoes and chicken and cake and looked at pictures and through scrapbooks and socialized with the same people over and over. And I celebrated the milestone, the huge accomplishment, the BIG deal that this is. I gave hugs and cards and congratulations and good luck wishes. And I thought about the passage of time.

As I sorted through snapshots for C~'s graduation party and marveled at the beautiful growth of my beautiful brother, I was struck by the magnitude and multitude of life. I taught that child to walk, and then watched 17 years later as he walked across a stage. I watched him grow and change from a child of energy and craziness and perseverance to a man of integrity and strength and humor. I observed from a distance his growth, and in the meantime forgot that it was happening to me.

Though my other brother hasn't yet graduated from high school, the same thing happened to him. I watched E~ develop into a real person this year. I am struck by my memories of the sweet little boy he used to be, always joking and playing and making everyone laugh. He was an unbelievably bright and beautiful child, and I blinked, and he became a man with talent and grace and confidence. Even his body seemed to change in an instant, from a soft and approachable boy to a solid and self-assured man. And again, while I was watching E~ grow, I forgot that I was doing the same thing.

And so now the baby, the firstborn, the caretaker, the testy adolescent, the planner, the worrier, and the kid who couldn't WAIT for the passage of time is grieving a tiny bit. She is a little sad about how quickly these last 22 years have passed. And as she prepares mentally and physically and emotionally to leave the certain and the known and the sure, she is a little bit afraid of the growth that is certain to happen this year.

Transitions

I have moved fifteen times in the last 4 years. Honestly; I just wrote it all down and counted. And there have been countless other "little moves" woven into the fabric of my college experience- moves to and from home for the weekend or break, moves to visit friends or relatives. One would think that with all this experience, I would be good at transition. I should be an expert at navigating the waters of interpersonal relationships and family dynamics and how to fit everything in my tiny car. I should be good at reentering into situations which are familiar but a little vague, and establishing old habits with old people, and redeveloping a sense of normalcy in each new place.

But I am not.

I expect things I shouldn't expect, and neglect to anticipate important things. I miss social cues and new family norms and changed relationships. I forget what it was like to exist in one place while trying to figure out the new, and I consequently spend time existing no where. And I miss people, and I am shocked and sometimes offended when they have changed while I was away.

Many of my moves have literally changed the direction of my thought, or indeed my life. Moving to college was an experience of great growth and independence. The move to Colorado was an experience of great beauty. Moving to Romania for two weeks was an experience of hope and connection to a people and a land. Moving to Upward Bound was an experience of tremendous empathy and a shattering of perceptions. Moving to Chicago was an experience of scholarship and adulthood and career and understanding. And all of these moves have contributed to the move that is approaching in just 61 days.

And people will change, and places will change, and attitudes will change, and time itself will change. And most of all, I will change. I will return to the States after a year in Romania a changed person. Not necessarily for the better, though I would crave this improvement, but certainly a different person. I will have a year of new experiences and new cultural understandings and new language skills and new teaching techniques. And everyone here will have had a year of everything else.

And I am just hoping that I get better at transition.