for the love of a bike

I had forgotten how serious my love for my bike was and is. I didn’t even really feel like I missed it while I was in Rome, and honestly wasn’t too eager to hop back on it when I got home. Though once I did, the love returned…in full force! Me, my bike, and a summer morning - can’t beat it. Everything else in life seems to move to the back burner while I’m pedaling. And somehow I can even find myself appreciating the beauty of Portland from my perspective on the bike. Everything seems more clear, most namely my head. Reminds me of a line in a song by Blue October:

But in my head…
There’s some shelves that need cleaning,
From basement to ceiling

Yeah, thanks to my bike for helping me out with that. I wonder if it is strange or inappropriate to use a blog post to thank my bike? Guess that’s the benefit of having a blog about nothing: anything goes…

Italiano 101

Let me begin by saying that I find it really difficult to learn a new language as an adult. I consider myself fairly adept with language, yet it’s still a feat that at times seems impossible. As part of my desperate attempt to cling to Rome after having left, as well as my desire to go back, I decided to continue with Italian classes during the next year. It’s a pathetic attempt to keep myself at least somewhat connected, and to feel that I would at least be more prepared should I make it back there. I know that I’m making progress, but man it’s so overwhelming! I feel like I’m treading water. It is one thing to learn some words and phrases, but actually trying to speak and communicate in a new language makes me feel really stupid and inept.

A discussion from my Intercultural Communication class about language barriers and how they affect people emotionally just resurfaced in my mind, because, again, I identify. The feelings one experiences when not being able to fully communicate what they intend, are often vastly underestimated and misunderstood. I empathized with a Turkish classmate who has been in the U.S. for a year and speaks English quite well. He explained that even though he can communicate fairly effectively in English, he is not himself when doing so. The idiosyncrasies and his personality are lost. He is a funny person but he can’t be funny when speaking English. I can’t imagine how much time it takes in order to become “native” enough in another language and culture to actually be able to feel truly comfortable. This student claimed that he desperately wanted to just PAY someone to sit and listen to him speak Turkish, even if the person could not understand a word he was saying. It nearly made me cry because I could understand, albeit on a much smaller scale. What an isolating feeling it is…and one I think we could all benefit from understanding. As we see the troubles immigrants in our country experience, maybe a little empathy is in order. It is not as easy as we assume it to be, and I believe they should all be commended for making an attempt, because language is only one small component of adjusting to a new culture.

Re-Entry Shock

My re-integration into my native country has, on the surface, been a piece of cake. However, deep down at my core, it is anything but easy. I have been functioning on autopilot; I have no idea what I’m doing. I feel like I’m in a time warp and that I never even left. I got in my car after not driving for three months and everything was exactly the same as it used to be. I didn’t even need to think. I drove down the same streets and nothing had changed. Again, I didn’t even need to think. I feel like a zombie. It’s terribly disturbing that I can make my way through my days without even being conscious. Days turn into weeks, weeks into months, months into years, and before you know it, a life has gone by unconsciously. Maybe that is what was so personally important to me about my Rome experience. I had to live every day consciously. I had to think about nearly every move I made. I suppose after a certain amount of time in any given place, this can change. Maybe this is why I’m not sure I’m cut out for being in one place for the rest of my life, or even for long periods of time for that matter. These are all questions I don’t have answers to right now but questions that I am committed to exploring.

I had the fortune of taking one of my summer quarter classes as an intense three-day cram session the weekend I returned to Portland. The only reason this was a positive experience is because the class was Intercultural Communication, and it could not have happened at a more appropriate time for me. Much of what was studied was extremely thought provoking and helped me to understand many of the feelings I experienced in Italy, as well as what I am experiencing now, after getting back home. There is actually a cycle of stages that one goes through when entering another culture and then returning to the home culture. This cycle of course only really applies when one actually spends enough time in another culture and engages enough to become somewhat integrated into the new culture. It was eerily accurate to the experience I had and am having. I experienced every stage just as it was spelled out on a chart in black and white. Go figure…right now I am in “Re-Entry Shock.”

I am finding myself quite depressed as I experience this place I call home. It feels so quiet, so dead, so mundane. Again, I feel like a zombie. I went to the grocery store today and felt like I didn’t even know what to do there. It wasn’t even one of the giant big-box stores; just a small, local chain – a store I used to love. I found myself completely overwhelmed with all the choices, to the point where I didn’t even know what to buy. I just stared in disbelief, not knowing what to do. It’s too much. Everything here is too much. Troppo!! Troppo!!