Catching my breath

I have been back in the U.S. almost exactly six months now. It finally feels like home again here. For the first time I feel like I have ground under my feet that might not slip away. And like I have truly caught my breath.

Pine needles and mountain lakes and the Deschutes river. Coffee shops and book stores. Dark chocolate and microbrews. Parks and waterfalls and hikes and the ocean. Eclectic live shows with master musicians and dancers. This is home...

I have come out the other side of something. Of what, I'm not quite sure. But I feel arrived somewhere new. I think it is a place within me where multiple realities, worlds and lives are able to co-exist. It is something I feel. Not something I can explain. It is definitely a different understanding of the world: both externally and internally.

The last six months have been a whirlwind. But within this, I find it easier to catch my breath. Easier to find my center within the chaos. I think that my experience in Nepal helped me in this way. I felt sick to my stomach the first time I saw someone back in the U.S. turn on a water faucet and forget to turn it off. I could literally feel my stomach tighten and turn. It was all I could do in those first weeks to not go up to everyone I saw and say, "do you KNOW how precious that water is?" Do you have ANY idea?" This just one example of many in the ways that coming back to this world over here has not always been very easy, nor graceful.
 
I can now take a shower, however, and just be grateful for the water. Very grateful. I don't take it for granted any more. Just one of many. There are times when something washes over me, like a wave. It might be a memory of a place (like the shrine on the street on my way to work next to the meat shop). It might be a smell that isn't from here (like the masala or the cow poop that is too close to the side of the road). It might be a sense of understanding...of a way of going about things that just makes sense. Like taking your shoes off at the door. And having afternoon tea. In those moments, I truly miss Nepal.

At other times I am just so happy to always have electricity. To know I can walk safely wherever I want, whenever I want. And to not have to worry about a strike totally shifting all of my plans at a moment's notice.

At the end of the day, more than anything, it is the people I met in Nepal who changed me. People shared their stories with me. Their homes, and their lives. It is these stories that I carry with me. And that have become a part of me.

Thank you to all who were a part of my journey in Nepal (well, my first journey, that is. I am sure there will be more). Whether you were with me in Nepal, reading my blog from back home, or someone else I've never met. Thank you to all who read parts of my own story along the way. You have also become a part of my story. And thank you to all who have welcomed me back here at home. I am grateful.

This is surely the end of one adventure, but the beginning of another. Stay tuned.

Reverse Culture Shock

One can know that reverse culture shock will happen, but then there's actually experiencing it. Right now it is an illusive whirlwind of thoughts and emotions and physical reactions...refusing to be captured, held still, nor properly seen and understood.

There is no rushing this process, this space of in between. So I am doing my best to just breathe, and allow this new environment and I to come to some terms of understanding that will work for both of us. I'm not quite sure yet how that's going to work out.

Who knew that warmed toilet seats in a public restroom in Japan with 4 different types of automated flush type options depending on your cultural and personal preference could bring such a sense of overwhelm?

In my mind, I keep seeing this experience at the public toilet juxtaposed with my experience of going to the post office in Nepal the day before I flew to send a few things home to myself.

At the main post office in Nepal, when you go in to send something, a man goes through your things to make sure everything is good to send (customs).

Then you hand your package to someone who takes white cotton material and hand sews your package closed.

At this point a woman hands you a thick, black, permanent marker so that you can write your address on the now beautifully stitched cotton material. This is her job, and the only thing that she will do all day. And likely every day.

To the right of the woman with the black pen (everyone is organized in a row so that you are helped by one person and then the next) sits a man in the corner carefully tending to a flame.

After receiving my package, he takes his wax stick, places it in the flame, and allows it to melt. The melted, red wax is used to seal the seams. He is careful, focused, present. I am transported back to times when people wrote handwritten letters with quill pens and sealed the letter with their wax emblem.

At the end, I have been helped, very personally, by a total of 8 people. It has taken an hour and a half, and I have a beautifully wrapped gift to send to myself. This is as official as it gets in Nepal.

And....aren't my brother and his girlfriend, Chiaki, cute? (yes, my thoughts jump these days at random between the U.S., Japan, Nepal, Canada, and back to Nepal, Japan, the U.S...)

There was a lot of rain in Japan when I was there. A deluge of water, in general. A welcome experience after the dryness of the sun and dust of the last few months in Nepal.

Now to spend my last Canadian coins before flying back to the U.S...

No title

In between the craziness of my last weeks before leaving Nepal, traveling to Japan, coming home (jet lag and culture shock) and the next post I leave these pictures.

1. Nepal
2. Japan
3. Seattle
4. Japan

After the whirlwind

Japan is clean. And orderly. REALLY clean and orderly. Woah...that is all I have to say about that right now.

It is also beautiful here. Presentation is important. The food is amazing. There are temples and shrines - of a very different sort than Nepal - scattered everywhere. And the rain is welcome after months of sun (yes), but also dust.

I am missing Nepal. I am missing my friends, my work, the chaos, the dirt, internet cafes on every corner, large smiles, easy conversations with strangers, a simple lifestyle.

I am equally ready to start a new adventure. To take with me what gifts I`ve received from my time and experience in Nepal and to see where these take me. I also know that I`ll return to Nepal again. And that made it a (tiny) bit easier to say goodbye for now.

At the end here, I can`t help but think about what it is that I most have been given and will take with me as new learning, new understanding. About myself, about people, about Nepal, about the "third world", about development work...

In reality, I think the list is too long to attempt to put into anything succinct. And a list would only minimize.

I can pick the top of the list, however, and say that the biggest gift I received from those I know in Nepal was the experience of being around people who are truly present in their lives. To surroundings, to family and friends and community, to cooking and eating... to enjoying.

In reality, the biggest gift I can give to those who hosted me in their homes, communities, organizations, and lives for two years is to take my experience and learning forward with me...to my own life and work and creation...

I am awful at saying goodbye, especially because I didn`t really want to be saying goodbyes. So my last weeks were rushed and chaotic as I pretended that I didn`t have to do the inevitable.

My resistance was met with so much understanding, love, gifts (and more gifts), home cooked food, parties, dancing, cards, and kind words. This says little about me, and much about those who were giving. I felt humbled and honored...thank you to all.


(Above: goodbye dinner with a few of my friends...)