Earworms, Bluebirds & a Lion Man

I am on the back of a bike. The metal bars meant to hold a package, purse or bag of groceries, is painfully digging into my rear end. I'm in a delicate state of balance. The tips of my toes are on the short bar that runs horizontally to connect to the axel of the back wheel. One slip and my toes will jam into the spokes. Even though I can't see what direction we're heading I anticipate the turns and stops by memory. In about half a minute we'll reach the end of the bridge and have to stop. The light at the intersection is rarely green whenever we pass through. I know we look completely absurd and when I'm not terrified about falling off, getting my toes stuck in the wheel, or loosing my balance, I'm giggling uncontrollably. Because I'm also balancing between two states of hysteria. I have a song stuck in my head and Annina explains to me, over her shoulder and she pedals us forward, the expression Germans use for such occurrences: earworm.

Taken August 2010, my adventure in Brussels. I took pictures of this couple being cute together on their bikes before walking past them later being street musicians near Manneken Pis. See that little rack on which the pack of water bottles sit? That is where I would perch when riding on Annina's bike.

That was last year. Sometime in the fall. In Amsterdam. With my dearest au pair friend. Only recently has a certain nostalgia for aspects of my life in the Netherlands begun to make an appearance. It usually materializes in my thoughts when I'm not really thinking. When I feel mindless. Going through the motions of something I could probably do with my eyes shut if I could. (But I wouldn't because most of those occasions are when I'm driving home from somewhere.)

My list-making self should probably start making a list of the things I realize I miss. But I probably won't and instead I have a trick that works much better than that. I save playlists. If I don't blog about something, take a picture, or make allusions in my journal, there isn't really a place for certain moments, experiences, or emotions to exist except in my memory. And memories fade, change, and sometimes disappear all together. I still remember learning about an earworm and in that memory lies the exposition of this post.

I make and save playlists for nearly everything. I have a playlist from when I read Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows for the first time. One song per chapter. If I run out of ideas for titles I'll just date it. So, the one titled "4-20" really refers to the fact that I happened to compile it on the 20th day of April and, despite what you might think, has no other association to the number arrangement. I have a playlist of songs I like listening to from back in the day when I was obsessed with playing The Sims. I have one that would be the soundtrack if I was a character in Skins. But mostly it goes by seasons, or months, and years. Here is collection of songs from the playlists I created in Holland. These are not all the songs that hold memories or were frequently blaring from my Macbook speakers or iPod headphones. These are just the ones that when I listen to now still have a overpowering orange flavor. Or an orange after taste. Or an orange spice, if even for just an instant. Orange for Holland, of course.





"Black River" by Amos Lee
When I visited Västerås I made it a point not to listen to music while I was there. (The train ride to/from Stockholm being the exception) so that the memories would seep into me and my soul in a different (and hopefully deeper) way. But when the week was over I found songs that somehow corresponded to my trips. The river that runs through Västerås, which I walked by a few times on Kulturnatt and after yoga in the castle, is called the Black River.

"Where Do My Bluebirds Fly" by The Tallest Man on Earth
The Tallest Man on Earth, aka: Kristian Matsson, is from Dalarna, Sweden. (Which is where the branches from my mother's side of the family and my father's side of the family originated at some point.) I downloaded all of his albums and EPs literally as soon as I got back to Holland from Sweden. And I listened to him every chance I got for something like two weeks straight. I don't want to say I was obsessed because that makes it seem like I'm crazy but maybe I am. I'm still pretty crazy about him. Have you ever discovered a musician and just felt so deeply connected to them and what they were singing that it was like you've known them and been listening to them your entire life? Yeah, that is how I feel about him in a nutshell. Like we were meant to be. Him, my headphones, and my heart. I listened to this particular song on repeat for hours one night while journaling about the transformation I felt happening in my soul.

"Cocaine Lights" by Phosphorescent
I listened to this song as the train back to Purmerend pulled away from Centraal Station at 12:09am on October 17th. The first two stanzas seemed perfectly timed for how I felt then. I was thinking of how much I missed BFF Brandy. The line "to be less of meat and stone / And more of feather" especially because I will never forget the time she asked me when we were probably only 14 what it would be like if we had feathers instead of skin. And Pablo Neruda's (a poet we both fell in love with on the same day in a book store in Kansas when we were again probably about 14) "Love, We're Going Home Now" is one of our favorites because we often feel like two blind birds about two blind birds searching for our homes. That October night one of the fellow au pairs I had become friends with was going home to Spain and I realized then that I would eventually being saying good bye to all the girls I spent every weekend with and almost every day Facebooking. Somehow, that night was when it finally set-in that the places in my life were not the only factors that shaped me but the people as well. It made me realize that there are so many people who you encounter and befriend. They mean something to you at some point in your life. And then life goes on. People are constantly passing through our lives. Annina walked me to the train station that night, all the way up to my platform, because that is what we do. We always walked each other to our departure points. Leaving goodbye-until-next-time for the very last moment. That was also the night I rode my bike back to the village in the dark for the first time and the cocaine lights kept me warm.

"Little Lion Man" by Mumford and Sons
I had downloaded a free Tap Tap Revenge app on my iPod and played it to pass the time away while waiting for the train. This was the only free song on there that I liked. I think I played it at least 100 times and got all the way up to the most difficult level. I can't listen to this song now and not twitch my fingers to the guitar chords.

"Big Bird in a Small Cage" by Patrick Watson
This goes a long with the bird stuff in the explanation of "Cocaine Lights." I also feel like it belongs in the soundtrack to my entire life, not just my life in Holland. The meaning is fairly easy to grasp.

In which this tale's heroine fails miserably at being the heroine

My neglect of this blog is embarrassing and really has no excuse. I don't think even the most sincere apology will be sufficient. For the past few days I haven't had access to wifi at home so I'm scrounging some off at Panera. My dearest reader, there is so much I need and want to tell you but I just don't have the time right now. Until I get my wifi fixed here is a little follow up.

Hagelslag
Remember those messy but delicious sprinkles that are a staple of the Dutch lunch? I bought a box from World Market. I have a love-hate relationship with this particular delicacy. For all the times I had to spend sweeping them from the kitchen in Holland and wiping down the children vigorously only to find them scattered about regardless, I still caved in a bought some because I suppose, in a way, I have missed them. The sprinkles that is. The children I'll address in another post.

Paul
Remember Paul, my family's foreign exchange student last summer? He stayed in my room while I was in Holland and when I got back, aside from leaving some shopping bags hidden in a corner, he also forgot some French newspapers on the floor by my bed. I've kept them.



Gifts
Remember the gifts from abroad I was excited about giving people? They've all been distributed and I think everyone liked them.


Anne Frank
Remember when I visited the secret hideaway in Amsterdam with my friend Caitlyn? And how much admiration I have for Anne? I'm volunteering now at the Georgia Commissions for the Holocaust's Anne Frank Around the World Exhibit. It makes me very happy to be able to hang out with Anne a few hours every week.

Yoga
Remember that one time I used getting back into yoga as a metaphor for adjusting after time abroad? Well, I still haven't mastered the headstand yet. I'm closer every practice. But I just wanted to fix a little case of mistaken identity. The instructor who I referred to as Glenn in that post is actually Jason. Glenn teaches on Thursday evenings and he is very different from Jason.

Sweden
Remember that one time I stayed with my wonderful relatives in Sweden? Well, I still carry that with me every day and it is a part of who I am. There is a wonderful blog, The Modern Viking Vixen: A Foreigner's Guide to American Survival, written by a Norwegian living in L.A. She is by far one of my favorite bloggers. And if you're reading this blog then you should be reading hers. I'm still flattered and honored to have been featured in one of her Motivational Monday posts. Check it out!

An Informal Treatise on Apperception and Assimilation - Part II

There is a commercial circulating the TV networks right now that makes me cringe. It is an advertisement for birth control and it implies that having children means you have less choices in life. Or not have a life of your own at all. But that isn't the point I want to make. Put it on mute. The women are walking through a store hand-picking the most major decisions most young adults face. They just reach out, pluck a house, significant other, graduate school diploma,and what not off the shelf and put it in their basket. As if it were all really that easy. I used to cringe whenever it came on but now I've graduated into some entry-level curses instead. I can't be the only person that is bothered by it but I think the fact that I now completely despise it holds a strong link to my re-entry experience.



I've provided an overview of my previous drama with re-entry and shared my first "ah-ha" moment this time around. Now, let's to get down to it. Here are the main components of reverse culture shock:

Feeling alienated. Any experience abroad, any encounter with the world no matter if it is just a glimpse, has an effect on a person's psyche. What one experiences abroad can never be fully relayed to others beyond the surface level. The returner can tell stories and the audience will listen politely, but no matter how genuinely interested they are there will be some sort of barrier. An invisible line separating the returner's experiences from their audience's understanding. It is no one's fault that this happens and of course sometimes it doesn't really matter. But it can also cause some angst. The returner can become easily wrapped up in thinking that no one understands. It is a little bit like being a teenager again. However, on the other side of the coin, this is why I will always have a special relationship with the people I met/befriended abroad. There is an unspoken understanding and connection between us that grew from our encounters and experiences abroad. I think it is human nature to want to connect with people and in terms of re-entry there is only a certain level of connection that can be achieved no matter the medium: picture slideshows, lectures, first-hand accounts, ect.

Frustration. The inability to relate to others upon return can lead to frustration. It can manifest itself in such a way that the returner might not realize it's true cause. It can take any length of time for the realization to occur or it could, in my case, only take a challenging yoga session. Just as I became frustrated at times because I couldn't understand the Dutch culture in certain instances, I now become similarly flustered and confused about things I am re-encountering in my home country. I question myself, second guess myself, and try to understand everything, which could really just be a personality trait but it certainly becomes a heightened issue during my period of adjustment.

Indecisiveness. This is another side effect of the frustration and/or the alienation. If you're confused then making decisions can be very difficult. For me, even the simple choice of which pair of shoes to wear can become overwhelming. If you lack definition then nothing really feels right. So far, what has really helped me in this area has been my close friends and family members. They force me to refocus. Brandy in particular because she knows me so well that in some strange way she has the ability to shift me into the right perspective on life. For others undergoing reverse culture shock I think it is important, despite the alienation that displaces them from those around them, to force oneself to spend time with significant people: a parent or spouse or sibling or best friend or mentor. People change and relationships change so those who have been through thick and thin with you or those who possess life-wisdom provide the ideal context for reorientation. They'll accept the returner and be open to what he/she is going through while providing support at the same time.

“It is paradoxical but true that something that takes you out of yourself also restores you to yourself with a greater freedom.”
—Every Day in Tuscany: Seasons of an Italian Life by Frances Mayes

Additional side effects include: withdrawal, a feeling of rootlessness, negativity, insecurity, and a need for excessive sleep. I had no idea that last one can be attributed to the re-entry experience until I did some reading online but in a way it makes perfect sense. I've been having multiple dreams a night nearly every night for almost a month now. I don't feel well-rested when I wake up even if I've gotten my full quota of sleeping hours. My subconscious is incredibly active, which is a good sign, but when I'm awake I'm still feeling that blankness. That neutral emptiness. It can only disappear with time so patience is one quality that returners need to foster within themselves during their period of adjustment.

Also while reading online, I've come across many suggestions on how to help make the transition easier. Get active in your community. Keep in contact with friends from abroad. Keep yourself busy with projects of varying importance. Some things might work better for certain people. I know what works for me. Journaling. Reading. Meditation. Jogging. I have myself on an easy-to-digest diet of all those things. The tricky part is determining how often and how hard to push myself. I think the returner should be aware of their resistance from the beginning. Embrace the "symptoms" at first so that they're not avoiding the heart of the matter later on.

Now can you see why I feel the way I do about that damn commercial? I know it is not a big deal. It is just a commercial. One minute. Just change the channel. Turn off the TV. I know, I know. The first time I saw it I wished that life really were like that but then I thought about it. The process of making a decision can have just as much (or more) of an effect on one's life than the actual outcome of the decision. Nothing in life is ever easy and that is for a good reason. The more you have to endure and experience, the more you learn. I did my research about becoming an au pair but nothing could have sufficiently prepared me for those six months. I went over there wanting to discover myself. There are probably easier, less costly, ways for me to have done that but it was a one-of-a-kind experience. As cheesy as it sounds, I'm a changed person. I wouldn't be if life was really like that commercial. Yes, it would be nice to just strap a trip to Paris to the roof of my car and be gone but it is the process, the experience, the getting-there that has weight as well. It takes time to build the life you want. It takes time to readjust. I'm still learning things about myself that I don't think I ever would have discovered in any other setting. I'll always have that wanderlust and that thirst for adventure but right now I need to settle into this new life. This new me.