How did I get There from Here?


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North America » United States » Illinois
November 18th 2009
Published: December 3rd 2009
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What though the radiance which was once so bright
Be now for ever taken from my sight,
Though nothing can bring back the hour
Of splendor in the grass, of glory in the flower;
We will grieve not, rather find
Strength in what remains behind
-Ode to Intimations of Immortality, William Wordsworth

Everything is easy: learning to read, arithmetic, riding a bike, driving a car, baking a soufflé, climbing a mountain, brain surgery, leaving your country for 6 months. Its easy. No problem, anyone can do it. Of course, anything is easy once you’ve done it. It’s the before that is difficult. Its the beginning that leaves you frozen, awash in fear of unknown, unpredictable possibilities, questioning why you would even want to put yourself through the trouble. Is the risk really worth the possible benefits? Who really needs to eat a soufflé anyway? Wouldn’t a nice turkey sandwich be just as good?
I think what I have learned from coming home from my trip is an appreciation for how hard it was to leave in the first place. Its so easy to be sucked into the Wake up-Go to work-Come home-Sleep-Repeat Cycle that can rule your life. Once you are on the wheel its hard to get off without being run over. I miss the constant sense of anticipation that I had everyday that I was traveling. No matter where I was or what I did, it was new and different and something that was unlikely to be repeated in the future. Even if I didn't like the place I was I could look forward to moving on in a day or two. Traveling has made me into an anticipation junkie. If I had to pinpoint the source of reverse culture shock this would probably be it. The feeling of everything being new is replaced with the feeling that I have seen everything before yet I am not the same person seeing it. Its very strange.
One of the side benefits of meeting new people is the lack of preconceptions they have about you. They don’t know where you are from, where you work, where you went to college. Until you open your mouth you could be a zoologist from Russia, or a chef from South Africa. The first thing that someone asks you is "Where are you from?" Sometimes this even comes before “What is your name?” I happen to come from a place so small that we have to use the neighboring village post office because their population of 850 is more sufficient to support it. So when someone would ask me where I was from I would say America. Then if they were still interested I would say Illinois. I was hoping that most people would know Illinois, but more often they would recognize Chicago more easily. These questions make me question how much of our identity stems from something that we have no control over. Until I was referring to myself as an one all the time being an American isn’t something I ever thought about. It’s just something everyone around me was. We all learn the pledge of allegiance in grade school and when we grow up we vote and pay taxes. Being an American takes on more dimensions when you are the only one around for possibly thousands of miles. Once I have identified my nationality the preconceptions can resume. I would hear things about 'Barak Obama' and 'Chicago Bulls.' As if Barak Obama must be my personal friend and living 100 miles from Chicago means the Chicago Bulls have somehow influenced my identity. But where we live does influence the person we become. I know that the conviction that I carry with me that I am the equal to any other person, and have a right to go where ever I want and do whatever I want (as long as I am obeying the law) is very American in origin. It is especially rare among women in the world. The women in India were more likely to see a wild tiger than a single woman traveling alone. On the negative side, Americans are considered loud, obnoxious people who own guns and glorify ignorance. But once I assured everyone that I was not armed cordial relations could resume. My trip around the world was amazing and I would do it again in a heartbeat. There are alot of things I miss about traveling, but it is nice to experience the comforts of home. For one thing being able to shop without regard to size and weight of objects is nice. But the number one best thing about being home is homemade chocolate chip cookies. They are a delicious luxury that no one should be without for very long. Sure you can get cookies pretty much anywhere. You can even find chocolate chip. But the only place you can get homemade is at home.




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4th December 2009

Welcome home!
Now.. how do you top this??
4th December 2009

Welcome home
I have enjoyed reading about your experiences. I also experienced the worst culture shock coming home.
12th December 2009

great blog
hello, I came across your blogs while just browsing sites at work. wow, what a trip! I am jealous, my dream is to backpack in another continent eventually. I have been outside the US just never "backpacking" before. What a great trip which you will remember forever!! I didnt get a chance to read through every single blog but I take it that you traveled alone? Was that scary? In a few months I am traveling to Central America for volunteer work alone and I am excited about that!!! Great pics too!

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