Readjusting

It's now been almost two months that I've been home. Sometimes it feels like less, sometimes it feels as if I was never gone.

Of course the most common question I get is, "How was Spain?" I don't mind this question as much as I usually would because I can legitimately respond simply with positive adjectives. But another question I've gotten is, "How are you adjusting?" A question normally asked by those who have spent time overseas themselves. The simple answer might be "better than I had expected" but the answer is a bit more complicated.

I've been really turned on to this topic because a few weeks ago, I gave a talk in a freshmen dorm on the topic "Culture Shock: How Campus is Like Another Country" so I've been high into cultural anthropologist mode, looking at different aspects of culture, adjusting and relating. Additionally, we talk a lot about making active cultural observations in my qualitative research methods class.

I don't really know what to make of the time that I spent in Spain. Or if I should "make something" of it at all. My life here has picked up where it left off. The people I met there continue with their lives and my contact with them is growing thinner already as the common activities in our lives have become non-existent. The habits I acquired as to where, what and when to eat don't apply anymore. My knowledge of transportation and how to get from one place to another are useless to me now. My favorite food brands, restaurants, coffee to order, church to visit on a Saturday afternoon, street to go for a stroll on. They all become mere memories. Places become a setting in a dream. People become characters in my stories. The details of stories, of everyday, slip through my fingertips.

Meanwhile, I get used to eating American food again (though, to be honest, I don't miss Spanish food too much). I reacquaint myself with my car (I do enjoy a nice drive on a sunny day with some good music). I try to think in English (but not too much). I respond to facebook posts and messages from my friends overseas. I try not to bore my friends back home with too many stories that start out with "when I was in Spain". I continue praying for the people I met and the things I know are going on in their lives. I pick up with my friends, ministries and activities that I had here before I left. In many cases, new people have been added to these groups and I forget that four months of relationships have been built up in my absence.

Sometimes I worry that the thing I liked most about Barcelona was being a stranger on a temporary adventure. Life there wasn't permanent. I didn't really have to think about my future or how things would play out long-term. I wonder if over a longer period, if that sort of lifestyle would be satisfying. As much as it was life, with a job, a church, an apartment and friends, it was still a vacation from "real life" in that it was disconnected from my past and particularly my future. This, I suppose, isn't entirely true. The people I met and things I did and saw and experienced shaped me in some way. I haven't come home entirely unchanged. However, things that didn't suit me particularly were very easy to ignore, and I felt no motivation to work to change them. On the other hand, I generally feel this way about life in general. I've never thought of myself as the type who would change the world, just because I've always been too willing to put up with it as it is.

Meanwhile, back on earth (or in Atlanta, as the case may be), I'm back to routine. Perhaps even more so than I would have expected. Back to kayaking. Back to leading a D-group. I've picked up a few new random habits though. I've started praying in Spanish (though only in private). I nostalgically drink coffee every day (though it's just not the same as Jorge's café con leche). I go through my days carefully clinging to what's left of the foreignness of American culture. I carefully try to extract out and explain what I've always taken for granted as "just the way it is". This often takes place in the car, and I imagine that one of my friends from Spain is driving around with me and I am explaining American life to them. Stores, shopping malls, car culture, race relations, traffic, public transport, university systems, family life, anything my drive reminds me of. Sometimes I rehearse how to tell stories in Spanish as I'm walking along, however I'm not able to do it completely in my head. I don't quite speak out loud, but my mouth still likes to form the words. I try to hide it, so if you see me walking along making facial contortions, ask me what story I'm practicing, or politely warn me that I'm turning into a gibbering nutcase, whichever suits your style.

So readjusting? Yah, it would seem I am. I'm still trying to jibe where this culture that I feel has been grafted into me really fits in the life I'm living here. My Spanish speaking friends call me la española because of my accent, which becomes funnier to me every time I hear it, because only here, outside of Spain, am I Spanish. Sometimes I feel like I'm a million miles away from Barcelona and 100% American again, but then something catches me off-guard. I guess this is going to be a process, and who knows when it will end. Or if it ends. After all, I've been rehashing drafts of this entry for over a month. I'm finally letting it go out into the wilds of the internet. So be patient with me if I accidentally greet you with "bon dia" or say goodbye saying "Adèu" or (heaven forbid) try to kiss you on both cheeks, you might have to remind me where I am. Here is feeling like home again, but many days, I'm still day-dreaming about Barcelona.