Grace

So last week was pretty bad.

I had expected this time to feel differently – I have lived abroad before, and when I was in high school and lived in Argentina the experience was somewhat comparable because I was alone – when I lived in Guatemala I was with my family, and when I lived in Uganda I was living with two very good friends, the incomparable Amity and Nienke, and with Nienke’s wonderful family (say hi to them for me Nienkie!), and in Prague I was involved in a program with about twenty other American students my age so – none of those experiences required me to be alone in any real way. In Argentina however, I lived in a tiny little town with a host family I didn’t really integrate well into, and although there was another exchange student living there who I still count as a friend, I was much more left to my own devices. I didn’t have an immediate community that understood me and which I could find refugee in and I found that incredibly difficult. That experience was definitely trial by fire and if it had not been for the support of my community across the world cheering me on, and for Ruth from Australia, and for my pure stubbornness not to have given up, I think I would have packed my bags and headed home after the first month. The feeling of those six months was pretty searing and I can still remember it in that phantom way that lingers well after the original sensation has passed.

I was pretty terrified in the weeks leading up to my departure for Santo Domingo, and I think that feeling was largely to blame. I kept feeling the phantom of those six months and thinking of how it would feel like that all over again – like my body was made of lead and every movement was tasking, like my world was foreign and unknown and unfriendly, like I was alone and not me and I could not find my bearings. Although I count that experience as incredibly useful, and I continue to be very glad that I stuck it out, it wasn’t a pleasant six months and I am not looking to repeat the experience. I knew the circumstances were incredibly different, and I was pretty sure that this would eventually feel totally different, but I wasn’t sure that that would be true for the first couple of weeks or months, as I got used to the environment and found my bearings.

It doesn’t feel like that.

It definitely has its own challenges, but I am different enough, or the experience is different enough, or both, that I have not felt like that. (So far anyway – since it’s only been 2 weeks it may be premature to be saying all this, but let’s keep our fingers crossed, okay?) I have felt frustrated by the organization I am working for, and distressed by my living situation, and uncertain about how my social life was going to work out, but none of those things felt like they displaced me – the way they did when I was 16. I feel that with a little time and a little elbow grease on my part the work situation will resolve and the housing situation will change, and if I find no friends for the year, that I will still somehow be okay – I have a deeper network now than I had 6 years ago, and I am more self-contained – I can make do much better than I used to be able to. It feels pretty amazing to realize that.

Despite all the personal growthy-ness and the growing up and the new-found sense of self last week still pretty much put me through the ringer. As I looked over my new life it looked something like this:

Work: hah
Housing: total mess, spent all my energy all week working on it, still have to live somewhere that wears me down for the time being.
Friends: that’s a negative, Houston
Yoga Class I wanted to take: you have to wear all white to be able to attend, but the only yoga pants or gym shorts I have with me are black and navy blue.



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So, even though I felt so much better than I had expected to feel at this point, I was still feeling pretty alone and defeated by Friday afternoon when I forced myself to call the friend of a friend who is living here this year working on similar issues and with whom I had not yet been able to meet up. Since it was Friday I was sure she had plans for the evening, so I suggested that we get lunch Saturday afternoon. Rachel said that would be fine, or if I wanted, she was going out later with a couple of other girls to a bar for a couple of drinks, did I want to come along?

No – I didn’t, actually. I was alone and defeated and the idea of trying to get to know a group of new people, including the girl who felt like my last chance for friendship here, felt pretty much overwhelming. I wanted to hide in my room and be anti-social and unenlightened and awkward, thank you very much. But instead, I said “That would be great!,” and made plans to meet them. So I took a shower and a 15 minute nap, got dressed (trying on multiple outfits, feeling like it was a job interview), and forced myself out the door.

About three hours later I was sitting cross-legged on the floor of what can only be described as a small platform nest, in a packed, hip bar in the Zona Colonial, watching the mixed group of study abroad students and young expats and Dominicans around me all talk and sing and bop along to American hits from the 90’s. I really liked Rachel, and we are going through very similar experiences in terms of work, and I really liked her friends. Suddenly, one piece of that dismal list looked much more hopeful and all I could think was grace. It's amazing how much difference strangers can make. One thing that week had gone right!, and I was having fun!, and maybe I was not going to just have to make do all year.