Okay. Well, I’ve at least opened Word and done the whole
open-an-old-blog-post-“Save-as”-a-new-file-(blog post #18!)-wipe-clean-the-screen-in-one-fluid-‘command’+‘a’+‘delete’-motion-then-stare-at-the-cursor-blinking-back-at-me-against-the-vast-white-void-as-my-thoughts-swirl-around-the-cobwebs-in-my-mind-and-all-my-words-flee-like-so-many-birds-in-winged-flight
routine!
But, hey, look—now I have words and the white landscape
doesn’t look quite so vast and cold and empty. Although, these aren’t the words
I thought would start this post…but then again, when have I ever set down to
write and had the words take me exactly where I imagined/thought/planned they
would before I set down to type them…
A week ago (well, actually, it’s been 2 weeks now, as I
finally get around to editing this…) I got on a plane and left the place that
has become a home-away-from-home for the last two months (yes, it’s been 2
months already!). Only, for the first
time ever I think, the next plane ride/trip after the initial one that brought
me to a new place, didn’t take me home.
I left a place where they spoke Greek and landed in a place where the
language was a bit more familiar, but still wasn’t English, still wasn’t mine.
Now, as I continue writing this, it’s been a good week and a
half since I got on that plane. Even though I opened the document and went
through that whole routine of saving-as and starting over, life happened (as it
has a tendency to do) and setting down to actually write this blog and give
form to the ideas swirling around inside my head kept getting pushed to the
backburner so I could turn my focus to school and running and cooking and
hanging out and Greek homework and answering emails and sleep and…
I really should be heading to sleep now instead of writing this
(if I’m not careful, Ill keep writing and not end up closing my computer until
the clock in the corner drops the 0 from the current time of 10:56…). Why do words call now? Why do things keep
popping up that take priority away from writing?
(and I’m sure you’re probably wondering why on earth she
doesn’t just get on with writing about France instead of wallowing in this
reflective tangent…)
Well, perhaps I’ll get to actually writing about the amazing
and beautiful and authentic and restful and wonderful long weekend in France a
week and a half ago next time I open up this document (and hopefully that will
be before my next big trip!). But for
now, enjoy this detour through the mires of my mind, and see just a small
glimpse of how writing works for me…or just skip to the part about France—it’s
coming, I promise J
I wake up and I try to squeeze in some writing time. There
are so many ideas and thoughts that were brought to the surface that I want to
try and unravel. And they’ve been
floating around in my head as potential pieces of a potential blogpost. And until now, they’ve only been half-formed,
abstract possibilities—like when what you want to say is on the tip of your
tongue, like when you’re standing on the edge of an idea, like when what you
need to see is just around the corner but you can’t open your eyes or crane
your neck far enough to actually see it.
Like when you want to climb a mountain but the road to get there is
shrouded in fog; you keep climbing slowly, almost start and stop at times, but
you keep plodding forward, word by word, until eventually you break through the
clouds and you finally see the top the mountain you’ve been looking for; and
then it’s still some work to make your way to the top and actually accomplish
the act of climbing it (or writing it); and then you have to go back down the
way you came, and maybe see new things before or remember to fix and be careful
of your steps at other junctures as you edit your initial climb...
There are a bunch of possibilities for what and how I could
write the rest of this post. And I want
to start, but I can’t quite see or even completely wrap my head around them all
the way myself, and so I hesitate to start uncovering them—and I turn to
tangential metacognitive ramblings about how I think about thinking and how I
approach writing. But I can only take up
so much time and blank space with that kind of writing (well, actually I could
honestly take up quite a lot more, but for the sake of those of you actually
taking some of your precious time to read this, I’ll try to move on).
Here is the essence of some of the thoughts that have been
swirling—let me try to wrangle them up and pen them in this paragraph here so
that they’re at least semi-contained and mostly visible, even if they still
move and wriggle around a lot; they might be easier to tame if I only have to
run around the fenced yard instead of the world trying to catch them (wait, when
did I start turning to barnyard metaphors in my writing??).
Anyway, the quick list:
The first twinge of homesickness. Language—hearing it, feeling it, turning to
it (and in surprising ways). Being
present—truly present. The balance of
activity-packed-days and 8-hours-of-sleep-nights (ah, how I’d missed you—ugh
how I miss you again… :p). The importance
and impact of a single moment—and walking backward along the path, tracing the steps
that led you to where you are right at this new moment. Making time for more moments of quiet and
writing and reflection.. The beautiful
paradox of a peacefully quiet big city.
Walking around in that peaceful calm.
Capturing moments in pictures versus capturing them in writing. A
picture is worth a thousand words but why are they easier to edit than it is
for me to sit down and type these 988 words?
(990 now…) Thoughts and where
they land. Connecting with an old friend
and fellow introvert/writer. Successfully navigating my first trip abroad, my
first trip “alone”. Making the most of
each moment, balancing touristy must-dos with more authentic, local experiences. Climbing a freaking mountain! Breathe it in
and let it out. Realizing the place
you’ve lived for the last two months and the people you’ve shared this
adventure with have become home.
Returning and feeling the relief of setting your sights again on
something familiar, wanting to run up the hill you usually trudge up. “Home”
again home again, jiggity jog…
And this is really life right now and it’s wonderful
and—these are the moments I need to turn back to and remember when I’m
struggling to maintain an attitude of gratitude (thanks, Bridget for the rhyme
and more importantly for the reminder ;))…
Anyway, so that’s just a peek into the marvelous mire of my
thoughts concerning France. And yes,
it’s yet another, different time that I’m sitting down to write this and
continue the rambling. Can you see now
why it’s taken so long to finish writing this post? Why I am even now still writing it and I’ve
been back a week? Why I call this space “On Winged Words…”?
*Well, actually there are a few nuances behind that title
and my reasons for choosing it—which could and probably should be a blog post
at some point… But anyway, these thoughts are so hard to capture and describe
adequately and completely and it’s difficult sometimes to find the words…It’s
as if they have wings—ehhhh, winged words?? Get it?? ;) And, these words are like so many birds,
winged and ready to take flight. I’m
lucky to even get these many down on paper, and these ones I am writing,
pulling from the air and putting down right here right now are flighty at best,
poised, ready to take wing again on their way to you… *
Anyway, that’s another tangent.
So, let’s start hogtying these musings of France we just
corralled into the pen. We touched
briefly already on the debut of homesickness, so let’s mosey on over and see
what language has to say (though it has quite a lot to say, indeed…).
In France they speak French.
Je comprends un peu le français (= I understand a little French). Emphasis on the un peu (little bit). In Greece they speak Greek. Καταλαβαίνω
λίγο ελληνικά (Katalavaino ligo ellinika = I understand a little Greek). Major
emphasis on the λίγο (little bit)—but I’m learning…
I’ve gotten fairly used to walking around amidst the complex
intonations of the Greek language that is slowly, slowly making the move from
foreign to familiar (or at least more familiar than before). But even as I walked through the airport and
boarded the plane to France, I could hear and feel the lilt of the
conversations around me shifting. And
then I was in France and it was all French to me. And it’s very interesting (a boring word, I
know, but I can’t describe intelligently enough how language sounds, so
“interesting” will have to suffice for now), it’s very interesting how the two
language sound different, and how they both sound different from English. It just feels different (and honestly a
little bit quieter) listening to French conversation surrounding than
Greek. And perhaps that has something to
do with my being more familiar with French than Greek at this point in time,
because at first at school when I would listen to my students, their Greek
sounded so loud and almost just like noise, but their English has a lilting,
almost melodious, and softer quality to it.
(and maybe that’s because I don’t know Greek yet and can’t recognize the
sounds as having any meaning outside of noise yet). And I recognized more French than I
anticipated, especially reading it. But
even still, listening to the French language, straining to pick out the words I
knew and make sense of the words surrounding, and trying to form a coherent
response rather than defaulting to the deer-in-the-headlights-panic-stare and
praying they speak English, proved quite an endeavor, indeed.
And, too, it’s weird living in a place where the language
and culture are so different from the one where you grew up and then going to
visit a new place that, though really not so far away in distance, is different
yet, and seeing and hearing a language and a culture that is different from
what you have been immersed in and at least semi-familiar but still not yours. It’s certainly not a bad thing and I’m truly
thankful for the opportunity to experience this phenomenon, but it’s just
really kind of weird to be the “foreigner”. But eye-opening, heart-opening,
enlightening, preparing me for future encounters when I am no longer the
“foreigner” in the situation, perhaps… And also, it’s getting kind of
complicated to explain where I am and what in the world I’m doing here in this
part of the world. Like, I’m from
America but I’m living in Greece teaching for a year and I’m just visiting your
neck of the woods for a couple of days…But I’m not complaining, it’s certainly
a good problem to have.
But the weirdest thing of all is that while I was in France
I felt a closer kinship to my newly planted Greek roots. For instance, one of my first French
interactions involved my getting off a bus that took us from the airport to the
metro station and I wanted to say thank you, though obviously in their language. I do know the French version—people who
haven’t even taken a lick of French know the French version. But as I went to get off the bus my mind
rifled through the files of “thank you’s” and in that split second for some
reason could not come up with merci. What’s weird though is that it didn’t even
come up with a proper English “thank you”.
No, my first instinct was ευχαριστώ (efharisto), the Greek version, one
of the first few words I made sure I learned once I got here. Well, maybe it’s not so weird, but it was
surprising. I guess I didn’t anticipate
my mind taking me there. And in
subsequent interactions, my instinct was to revert to the few Greek phrases I
know. Walking through a crowd, nearly
bumping into someone and I found my tongue tripping past a συγνώμη (signomi) on
it’s way to the proper pardonne or excusez-moi. And when I heard something that sounded like
“edo” and “kala” (= “here” and “good”) from a couple with their dog atop the
Bastille, sounds of a language that didn’t sound French, but sounded familiar—I
got really excited to be near and hear Greek people!
But anyway, language is weird—and that’s only skimming the
surface of some of the surf that was churned up during my time in France.
Being away, being on my own travelling, being with new
people, was a new adventure but also a new lesson in being truly present in the
moment—my mantra, goal, ideal for the year.
It was also a nice break from the busyness and craziness of
life these last two months. A long
weekend and break from the school routine.
A chance to at least get a little more sleep than usual—and that extra
hour of sleep for daylight savings time, come a week early here in Europe, was
rather nice. And even if you don’t sleep
very much longer quantitatively, sometimes just waiting to get up until even 8
in the morning seems like a treat when you’re used to rising before the
sun. (oh, can we just pause for a second
to mourn the reduction in sun time? It still rises late but sets way, way too
early—can’t even fit a full run in before the sun is fading from the sky in
shades of pink and orange…anyway.) But
yeah, even though my days in France were jam-packed and we walked literally all
over and were out exploring and experiencing the day from morning till night,
and even though they were technically tiring days, it was also very much a time
of relaxation. It was a chance to
breathe air that felt different, bask in a sound altogether different, take in
a literal change of scenery, and experience something wholly different and wholly
wonderful and wholly renewing.
While I’ve been here in Greece, and even before truth be
told, there have been several occasions where I have found myself pausing to
think about the steps that have led me here, to try and trace back the sequence
of events that led me to this very moment, sitting in my bed, typing away,
which would seem rather ordinary—except for the fact of being in Greece and
doing this! And I think about the road
that brought me here and the people I have met along the way who helped me get
here and how if even one little thing was different, I might not be here…this
might not have happened…
And this here is really a story worthy of its own blog post
in and of its own right, and perhaps one of these days I’ll get around to
it. But it’s worth thinking about, for a
moment, pausing and taking that walk down memory lane, rewinding… And I found
myself thinking about the steps that took me first to Greece and then to
France. And the really quite unlikely
chance occurrence wherein I met the friend who hosted me there (thank you
again, Emily!!). If we hadn’t met in
that random way my senior year of high school when I was just sitting in some
classes still deciding if that’s where I wanted to go, then I wouldn’t be
sitting at a Creperie in Grenoble, France, with an old/new friend, talking and
connecting and reflecting... And if my
Grandma hadn’t gone to Carthage then who knows if I ever would have even looked
into going there and then I certainly wouldn’t be sitting (now in my kitchen) here
in Greece typing about going to France. And, and, and…it’s enough to make your
brain hurt J
On to the next thought…
So, Grenoble is a pretty decently sized city (like 200,000
or so), but walking around you wouldn’t necessarily thing that. It’s quiet, it’s calm. It’s nice.
I like the lifestyle of walking—both there in Grenoble and here in
Greece. I don’t miss driving so much
(except maybe when I’m still half a mile from home weighted down by the
shopping bags cutting ribbons into my forearms, doing that awkward shuffle/run
as you feel the soreness creeping in between your shoulder blades and you start
to question whether you really needed all those apples and two jars of pasta sauce for the cabinets to save for a rainy
day…). But it’s really nice having so
many things accessible within walking distance and/or via public
transport—restaurants and museums and parks and stores and markets and church
and school and mountains…oh, the mountains.
I think I’ve fallen slightly in love with mountains. I love the ones I saw this summer in
Colorado. I loved the ones I climbed in
France. And I love the ones that
surround me in Athens’ warm embrace and welcomed me home…
But back to the mountains I climbed in France. It was absolutely incredible. And the pictures try and these words I wrote
the night after the climb will try, but they all fall short of fully capturing
the feeling of making it to the top…
I’m tired. But it’s the good kind of tired. It’s the kind of tired that only comes after
a long day of exercise, fresh air, and sunshine. It’s the kind that makes you laugh instead of
cry when you feel the soreness in muscles you haven’t used in a while. It’s the kind of tired that makes you smile
as you think and write about it, the kind that makes you force your eyes to
stay open just a wee bit longer so you can post pictures and write a little
about the day to try to capture the beauty of it, it’s the kind of tired that’s
a truly good tired. Right now, in this
moment, I can say with complete confidence that today was a good day and that
I’m glad I came. Today we went hiking,
literally hiking and climbing in the alps.
It was incredible. The pictures I
took don’t do it justice… Anyways. We drove halfway up the mountain (thank
goodness for the car so we could do that).
Then we started hiking up through leaves and trees. It was harder than I
anticipated. My calves were
burning. I was breathing heavily. I wondered what I had gotten myself
into. I kinda wanted to stop. But I definitely didn’t want to look weak and
I really did want to climb. So we kept
going, taking breaks every now and again.
We made it to above the deciduous (leafy) trees (which were actually
quite pretty with the changing colors that actually look like fall) and the
path evened out for a while. But then it
got steeper again. And it was actually
really tough. Not much space in my lungs
for talking. I was just trying to focus
on putting one foot in front of the other and not falling to my death. Lord keep me safe. Thank You for keeping me safe. And after every rough patch, tough spot, hard
climb, you could lift your eyes and see these gorgeous, breathtaking
views. And the peace and quiet that come
with the distance from the city that the mountain brings. And the fresh
air. Incredible. Spectacular.
Wonderful. Feel the breathing, in
your lungs. Lift your face, warm against
the sun. Be not blinded, by what you
see. But in this moment, touch
eternity. Some moments were definitely
tough. But it was so worth it. We
picnicked at the very top. We climbed
back down a different way that was easier, though it had some spots that were
more climbing by nature, but those were kinda fun. I’m getting tired so this is getting kinda
sparse. I’m gonna have to turn in
soon. But it was a good day. 20,000 steps, 2000+meters, sore muscles,
tired eyes, a sandwich an apple and some chocolate, .75 liters of water, smart
wool socks, old navy kapris, jcpenny sweatshirt, extra old navy zip up, ncur
backpack, good company, a taxing climb, a good workout, amazing views, peace
and quiet and stillness and fresh air, incredible atmosphere, awe-some, prayers
to God, prayers of safety answered, climb up, climb down, autumn changing
colors, beautiful, wonderful, amazing.
And a raccluet (essentially meat and potatoes and melted cheese, a
regional traditional meal) to top it off.
Definitely not your average tourist experience. Definitely something incredible to
experience. Thank You. A good day.
Definitely a good day. ☺
But yeah, I
climbed a mountain…
And, of course,
I took some pictures. That’s another
goal of mine for this year: to take more pictures to capture the moment, in
addition to writing consistently to capture and make concrete more moments (a
feat I’m keeping up with, at least in the word-doc running journal saved on my
computer which the world will only see glimpses of in these short little
italicized excerpts because the rest is just a jumbled, rambling
stream-of-conscious mess…).
And really,
these primary goals for the year go hand in hand, or maybe rather arm in arm
because they’re kinda germ-a-fobes… Because at the core I’m really focused on
making the most of every single moment that I’m here—whether I’m at the top of
a mountain (literally or metaphorically), or in the middle of a class-full of
Greek first graders, waiting for a bus or for water to boil, or eating the best
chocolate cake I’ve ever tasted, talking with a friend or sinking in to some
reflective downtime in the quiet of my room.
I want to capture these moments, or at least a piece of them, because I
think that will help me remember them, help make them a more elemental and
permanent part of me.
So I want to
write—what I’m doing what I’m seeing how I’m feeling the good the bad the ugly
the boring. And I want to take pictures
and actually print them—the mountains and the valleys. And I want to connect with people—whether
it’s talking with a student struggling with English about football (soccer) as
he explains to me the game he loves and points to the different players on the
computer screen before us, whether it’s sharing stories while sharing a meal,
whether it’s swapping smiles and simple Greek phrases with the apple vendor at
the local Tuesday laiki, whether it’s
trying out new recipes in the kitchen or pounding out the frustrations on the
track with new friends…
I don’t want to
just live in Greece this year. I want to
live in Greece this year.
Feel the breathing…
In your lungs…
Lift your face…
Warm against the sun…
(tenth
avenue north)
So that’s partly why it’s taken so long to get this blog
post up and running. Life has just been
happening. And also there was this
strange thing that happened where it was bizarrely easier and more pressing to
edit/post pictures than write/edit/post these words (maybe because it was one
less step, the creating step—the hardest step…). And also it just takes time to write
sometimes, especially when the words don’t want to land. And also, also: sleep.
I started this blog post almost two weeks ago—you know, with that
whole opening-an-old-blog-post-and-resaving-it-and-starting-fresh-song-and-dance. And it’s taken about as many twists and turns
as a Greek motorbike weaving in and out of traffic, occasionally up on the
sidewalk. (and if you’ve stuck it out
this long, I commend you). This was a view of France, a view of my
writing mind, a view of where the winged words will take you sometimes…………………
