It's been some time. Probably no one reads this now that we've caught up in person. Perfect. I'd like to say some things to the wide open nothing, the potentially grand non-audience of the Internet. (If the ocean is an empty auditorium, what a frame to this story- large spaces of blank. Natural and man-made! Somebody write a high-school English essay!
If I had more time, I'd describe the 3-week passage or maybe talk a little bit about the Marquesas. That's okay. Fast forward. Air Tahiti. LAX. Chicago.
School visits were great. I felt a lot of pride in what we have done, satisfaction in the students' responses and excitement for my own upcoming year with the program in Chicago. The week after, I started part-time at my old job with a new excitement for my work there as well. The truth is, it was very easy to transition into normal life. We re-activated cell phone service and were swiftly reunited with unsalted clothes, pizza, apples and ice cream.
Somewhere in the next days, Ryan, Stuck, Jake and I went for a swim in the then 56-degree Lake Michigan. Stuck and Jake had been making a habit of this lately. The task involved sipping a plastic cup of orange juice and vodka (with ice!) on a tender barefoot trek to the beach, a solemn disrobing (to bathing suits) and the removal of prescription eye wear, then a stunning, somewhat introspective paddle to a nearby buoy.
My feet touched sand in little hops as I struggled with the pressing chill and lack of salty buoyancy. My arms and legs were inefficient flippers; I was paddling a canoe with a fishing pole. The water sucked at my body, probably not the best ointment for remnants of the flu, it occurred to me, but it left a clean numbness I told myself was nourishing. A thought of pleasure began to settle into an icicle. I liked my blood shrinking from the surface of my skin, the sharp feeling around my eyes, the tightness. My thoughts were frozen to the inside of my skull. My skin was vividly numb.
Chicago. Tahiti. The puerile desire to suggest that a bartender accept French Polynesian francs for the Bud Light special. "You can see me now because I'm here," I wanted to say to people on the train platform that day, "but very very recently I was one of very few gringos for miles.
The swim, 'twas a facetious tussle with the idea of danger. I have no interest in dipping below, losing my hold on oxygen. I am far too in love with the ice and the shore's blooming streetlights. It's animating, this need to continually prove my devotion to breathing. I sputtered on involuntary sweet tastes of water and made my way to the buoy and back to the soft cold sand
Then I went bridesmaids dress shopping and nearly shot myself. All this time, I've been excited for girly things! And what have you boys done to me? I have no patience! Later that day, I attended the bachellorette party. We had a nice dinner, went to a wine bar (rented out for the occasion), (tasty new trendy sparkling Shiraz!), were given chocolate, headed to a street fair, obtained huge gaudy temporary tattoos, sang karaoke, looked at lingerie, the whole nine. It was really quite fun. Before this point in our time back to Chicago, I had felt completely, almost alarmingly normal. However, in the company of these older girls (who, whether in my mind or in reality, seemed to ask boat-related questions with an air of disbelief, a zoo-going curiosity at the stinky, wet, wind-blown life I had recently claimed to love) l could feel something start to fray in a corner of my mind.
What happened next: a discussion about counter tops, a disguised tear behind a tanned hand, a trip to the bathroom, another beer, a renewed face towards life, these things can and have just been condensed.
Sad to miss the variety of each day. Sad not to see the stars, steer the boat, feel the wind. Sad to have pressurized hot water. Sad to be close to a familiar vibrant culture. Sad to be able to run farther than 43 feet. Sad to be able to write without worrying about amps. Sad to see my family and friends and be able to communicate with anyone anywhere for simple, easy American currency ... Hmmm... Ahh yes, accept and embrace a dual citizenship in the foreign world and the immediate one. Fit in with the color pink as easily as the bed of a pickup truck. So many gosh darn adventures. It may not be easy to argue with the gray of a cubicle wall, but here's to trying and The Next Chapter, whatever form it may take.
Thumbs up for iguanas! AND The Next Chapter