Compost Studios

Memories of the road I walked as an expat in Belgium

By the end of the month when the last cardboard box disappears, the garage is empty of items to send to Goodwill, the closets are neatly organized, the art is hung and the last random piles littering the floor are resolved, I will finally have a sense that my expat experience has ended and the next phase of my life has begun. There's been so much to sort out. Being an expat isn't just about location, it's tied to your state of mind.

In many ways, my expat experience didn't begin the day I landed in Belgium to live, but the hot July day I first seriously considered leaving America behind and starting a new life in a foreign country. I stepped out in faith, knowing little about what would lie ahead but believing I could handle it, that it would be good for me even if it was hard.

And it was hard. And it was good for me.

It was  a journey that expanded my world, created a whole new interior and exterior geography, and altered my ways of seeing and being. Just as the title of this blog suggests, life grows, breaks down, is rearranged, and generates something new. 

While the preparation and physical act of moving dominated at least six months of our lives, the psychological effects and lessons will be with me always.  As my post over the last few months have indicated, unpacking and settling into my native country again hasn't just been about dealing with boxes and closets. It's about unwrapping the feelings and ideas that were buried during the process, recognizing what they are, examining them from all sides, confronting what I'm uncomfortable with, working toward a larger understanding, and ultimately, processing my experiences--not stuffing them away.

As I've written before, the greatest truths are often revealed in the questions we ask ourselves. The questions define what it is we want to know, what it is that Matters. Questioning is a constant for me--the foundation of my life. As for answers? They evolve, are fluid, and will always reflect change.

As I come to the end of my first (but hopefully not last) expat experience, I give you The Big Questions I've wrestled with and continue to explore:

• Where is home?
• What does it look like?
• How does it feel?
• Who do I share it with?
• How do I share it?
• What is my community?
• How will I participate in it?
• What material possessions do I need to function happily?
• Why?
• If something isn't useful now but may be useful later, is it really worth saving?
• Does it really matter how much I spent on an item if I don't love it anymore?
• What does money have to do with value?
• Does it matter how much I've invested in a relationship if it's not working anymore?
• What does time invested have to do with value?
• How does proximity create, shape, and end relationships? 
• What items remain personal symbols and what ones have ceased to resonate?
• Why?
• Can I let go of who I was and acknowledge who I am now?
• How do I discard the past without discarding its lessons?
• How do I release old sorrows and embrace the day's joy?
• How do I let go of the hurt and truly forgive others?
• How do I hold myself accountable and yet forgive myself?
• Is all this soul searching leading to understanding and compassion--or narcissm and selfishness?

What are YOUR big questions?

May 12, 2008

What will see me through the next 20 years (and I am less sure of those 20 than I was of "forever") is my knowledge that even in the face of the sweeping away of all that I assumed to be permanent, even when the universe made it quite clear to me that I was mistaken in my certainties, in my definitions, I did not break. The shattering of my sureties did not shatter me. Stability comes from inside, not outside...

--Lucille Clifton

Only in growth, reform and change, paradoxically enough, is true security to be found.

--Anne Morrow Lindbergh

March 21, 2008

Every muscle in her body ached, as if it were giving voice to her sadness.

She kept wiping her cheeks, blowing her nose

A pile of damp, crumpled Kleenex rose next to her laptop

She stayed in her pajamas until afternoon, and

Ate the last of the marinated olives and feta cubes.

She threw out the contents of the refrigerator.

In the kitchen , she left behind a non-stick griddle, nylon spatula, and plastic cutting board for the next tenant.

She tossed stained potholders, dishcloths, and a bevy of cleaning supplies.

She tucked the two mugs that belong to her into her suitcase.

She folded clothes into one suitcase and filled another with her Rolodex, boots, boxes of tea from London, socks, body lotion, shampoo, a hairdryer.

She wondered where to put her medical records. They wouldn't fit in her carry on and she was worried her checked suitcase would get lost. She's carrying mammography films that can't be replaced.

She has too many books in her carryon but she won't surrender even one of them. It's an 8-hour flight and she's not a one-book person.

She handwashed her favorite artsy sweater and set aside her black velvet jeans to wear while traveling, and then read it would be 72 degrees at her destination. Now she's wondering what to wear, and whether she can compress her white down jacket and push it in her suitcase.

She's not ready for warm weather.

She didn't call anyone, and watched her cell phone display, waiting for it to flicker off and signal the end of her contract in Belgium.

She read e-mails from Jason, Di, and Lynn and girded herself with their wise words and warm wishes.

She threw out a half bottle of shampoo and conditioner, a jar of face cream, a jar of body scrub, some shower gel, three containers of hand soap and every other toiletry that might add unnecessary weight to her suitcase.

She stacked up three spare rolls of Charmin for the next tenant.

She grabbed the paper towels to line the cat carrier with.

She knows good times are waiting in America, but right now all she feels is a sense of loss, of being untethered.

Tomorrow her journey back to the future begins. Everything's going to be fine, she tells herself.

Then she zips her suitcase and sighs.

March 13, 2008

where we are

[for edward field]

i envy those

who live in two places:

new york, say, and london;

wales and spain;

l.a. and paris;

hawaii and switzerland.

there is always the anticipation

of the change, the chance that what is wrong

is the result of where you are.  i have

always loved both the freshness of

arriving and the relief of leaving. with

two homes every move would be a homecoming.

i am not even considering the weather, hot

or cold, dry or wet: i am talking about hope.

Gerald Locklin

Four forks

Four spoons

Four dull knives

Four white plates

Four shallow bowls

Four folded napkins

Four empty glasses

Waiting to be filled

Four chairs around

A square table

Four of us with appetites

Waiting to be satisfied

Four pairs of shoes by the door

Four jackets on hooks

Four packed bags

Heavy with expectations

This is the tidy life we built,

But

I will not be bound

By its straight lines

I will not be square

I will not be boxed

I will go off on tangents

Embrace blind curves

I will dare

To throw my life off balance

I will

Make it odd

Not even

I will

Answer the knock

At the door

Add more plates

To the table

Pour the wine

Toast the future

Celebrate

The expanding

And ever changing shape

Of my universe

March 10, 2008

The clouds swept the blue skies away and dimmed the day. The rain spotted the skylights and closed the door on the possibility of an afternoon walk.

Lying on a white bed with my head in the clouds, suspended in this space between being and doing, between home and home, between friends and friends, between family and family.

I feel like an expat in my own life, and I suspect I'll always feel that way.

Home is a place I can't name or mark on a map. Home is a place I left and fear I won't find again.

When the plane lifts off the runway next week and pulls me away from Belgium, I'll be wondering about my destination as the jet disappears into the clouds.

March 4, 2008