Found Illusions
ILLUSIONS: Pretend to have had many, and complain that you have lost them all.
--Gustave Flaubert, DICTIONARY OF RECEIVED IDEAS
Buenos Aires, November 1
Last evening, I received an e-mail from my friend Sarah Hazlegrove, who took the photos in my page Burning My Bridges. She is a photographer who spends about half her time in the U. S. and half her time in France. She spoke of the disconnect one feels when one visits a new culture, or returns to a familiar one after having been away.
She wrote that at first: ”I always have at least two weeks of the major ex-pat blues: Why am I here? Where do I belong?” It was strange timing. The e-mail came just as I was having the same thoughts.
This reminded me of a note I wrote last week about the serious traveler:
–The traveler ventured out to find a new home, feeling out of sync with his old one. Now he was a stranger twice. Estranged from his home and a stranger in his destination.
This is the ex-pat’s paradox, never feeling completely at home in either culture, at least at first.
Sarah wrote: “There are people who feel very comfortable living their lives in one place, I can’t imagine that…Welcome to the ever widening circle of part-time ex-pats.”
Indeed, it seems larger all the time. When you are attending a for-profit language school, you meet students, gap-year travelers, dilettantes, retirees, and mission volunteers. For example, Bill is a tall, gregarious 49-year old from California. He stopped practicing law, was a commercial mortgage broker for five years, and then last year “got off the ship before it went over the edge.” Since then he has traveled through Eastern Europe and is now taking a sabattical South America. He plans to return to law practice.
One reason I embarked on this journey is to inquire as to how difficult it is to learn new things at 50. Bill says he finds it no harder to learn Spanish than it was for him in high school, but that “now it’s more enjoyable.”
There are also those who wish to be ex-pats for reasons romantic or financial. The administrator at our school, Milagros, and I had a long conversation the other day about the difficulties of learning language and adapting to a new culture. She spoke about her good friend John, a New Yorker who spent a year in Buenos Aires learning Spanish. He is very confident and articulate at home, but here he complained that for a long time he felt stupid. Milagros (her name means “miracles” in Spanish) speaks flawless English and she is going to visit New York at the end of the year.
It will be her first time. She is practicing Romanian because she wants to speak the language with her boyfriend. He is a Romanian and is currently living in New York. One day, she would like to move there to be with him, but it is complicated because she has a three-year old daughter.
See also: Colonia, Uruguay
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Writer Photographer Man of Mystery
Sam Krisch
getting better and better. Loved it…
Ex-pats. The ones I know seem to have come from very rooted families with connections. Family – being a part of a community — belonging — this is what people crave — indeed, this is why we HAVE our own familes. Why is that the well-connected feel a need to disconnect? I don’t understand it.
I attended 10 different schools in three different states by the time I was in fifth grade. That feeling you say ex-Pats get? That’s how we spent our childhood, my brothers and I, never belonging, never feeling connected. I always said “when I grow up” I want to find a place to be, and then BE there. And so I have. With pleasure. I envy those with roots. I think that’s why one us spent decades in the Marines, one in the club business, and one is a tenured university professor. We all needed roots and a sense of belonging.
My brother Michael sings a song called The Cape written by Jerry Jeff Walker and performed by Guy Clark. It makes me think of you, Sam. Here’s the words. I apologize, the guitar chords are mixed in. You can hear him do part of it on my facebook page if you want – it’s the only video there. I think you will like the song. My brothers and I used to jump off the roof of our dessert home, competitively, to see who could jump the farthest. We pretended to fly – it was a lot of fun and I’m sure the reason for my two hip replacements at the age of 53!
C Em A G F G C
C Em A G F G
A7 G F C
C Em A G F G C
C Em A G
Eight years old with a flour sack cape
F G C
Tied all around his neck
C Em A G
He climbed up on the garage
F G
Figurin’ what the heck
C Em A G
He screwed his courage up so tight
F G C
The whole thing came unwound
C Em A G
He got a runnin’ start and bless his heart
F G C
He headed for the ground
CHORUS:
A G
Well he’s one of those who knows that life
F C
Is just a leap of faith
C Em A G
Spread your arms and hold your breath
F G C
And always trust your cape
C Em A G F G C
C Em A G F G C
All grown up with a flour sack cape
Tie all around his dreams
He’s full of piss and vinegar
He’s bustin at the seams
He licked his finger and checked the wind
It’s gonna be do or die
He wasn’t scared of nothin’, Boys
He was pretty sure he could fly
CHORUS
Old and grey with a flour sack cape
Tied all around his head
He’s still jumpin’ off the garage
And will be ’till he’s dead
All these years the people said
He’s actin like a kid
He did not know he could not fly
So he did.
CHORUS