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Perspective from the Pacific, Perhaps
The worst thing about this reverse culture shock thing, I think, is how it can hit out of nowhere. One day (like, oh, yesterday), I’ll be fine and happy—missing Australia, but not badly; sort of the way I miss fresh fruit during winter—think that the worst of the readjustment is over. But then the next day, I show one of my friends from high school my New Zealand photos, and suddenly I feel claustrophobic about my life again.
And it’s the claustrophobia that really makes the reverse culture shock an actual shock, not just an unpleasant taste in the back of my mouth. Missing my new friends, the pavlova and lamington cravings, my apparent inability to think in pounds and ounces—I can deal with those. But this sense that my skin is suddenly two sizes too small, that my life has shrunk and I too will shrink if I remain in it for very long, that’s much harder to keep at bay.
It’s damned hard to fight that sort of feeling, knowing I’m fighting my old life. Especially my old, happy life. It hadn’t been perfect, but I’d liked it. And now, to look at it and find parts that are alien to me is just…. It makes giving into that chatty little demon—the one exhorting me to regret my time away—more and more tempting.
Ugh. I’m sorry if the above makes no sense. My mind has being going in circles all afternoon, and the only way I can think to get away from it all is to literally get away from it all.
Which is why I’m looking forward to going to San Diego next month.
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It was supposed to be a brother-and-sister affair. My brother had planned on going to a conference or lecture or something equally unglamorous but travel-worthy, and invited me along. We have family there, and he claimed he wanted help in answering all the nosy questions from our aunt and uncle. Given that my aunt and uncle don’t really ask that many nosy questions, I’m inclined to believe he wanted company—especially since his wife couldn’t take the time off—but couldn’t bring himself to admit that to his not-quite-kid sister.
Whatever. It was an opportunity to get away; I wasn’t about to turn it down.
Well, last week, his plans fell apart. One of his college buddies is suddenly getting married in LA in a few weeks, and my brother was asked to be best man. My brother decided he didn’t want to take two trips out to California in a very short period, not when he’s trying to sell an apartment and has a father-in-law expected to go in for surgery at the same time. There would be other conferences, he figured.
I agreed. But that didn’t mean I was about to cancel my plans. Not after realizing during my months abroad how much I love travel. Not after I got to know a couple of bloggers in San Diego who I really want to meet in person. Not when there’s a possibility of going scuba diving again. Especially not when I’m in this frame of mind.
Company and supposedly nosy relatives be damned.
I don’t know when, or for how long, I’ll be leaving next month, but United is having a sale right now, and the opportunity is just too great to pass up. To be honest, I’m not sure what I plan to do either, beyond wander around the city and spend some time at the beach.
I’m hoping, though, that being on another coast will give me some perspective on my post-Australia American life. That seeing this country, and my life in it, from a different (geographic and mental) angle will give me—if not answers—some clarifying measure of peace. That an unknown ocean will cleanse, even a little, my troubled mind and soul.
Right now, that’s all I’ve got.
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