The questions

Memories of the road I walked as an expat in Belgium

By the end of the month when the last cardboard box disappears, the garage is empty of items to send to Goodwill, the closets are neatly organized, the art is hung and the last random piles littering the floor are resolved, I will finally have a sense that my expat experience has ended and the next phase of my life has begun. There's been so much to sort out. Being an expat isn't just about location, it's tied to your state of mind.

In many ways, my expat experience didn't begin the day I landed in Belgium to live, but the hot July day I first seriously considered leaving America behind and starting a new life in a foreign country. I stepped out in faith, knowing little about what would lie ahead but believing I could handle it, that it would be good for me even if it was hard.

And it was hard. And it was good for me.

It was  a journey that expanded my world, created a whole new interior and exterior geography, and altered my ways of seeing and being. Just as the title of this blog suggests, life grows, breaks down, is rearranged, and generates something new. 

While the preparation and physical act of moving dominated at least six months of our lives, the psychological effects and lessons will be with me always.  As my post over the last few months have indicated, unpacking and settling into my native country again hasn't just been about dealing with boxes and closets. It's about unwrapping the feelings and ideas that were buried during the process, recognizing what they are, examining them from all sides, confronting what I'm uncomfortable with, working toward a larger understanding, and ultimately, processing my experiences--not stuffing them away.

As I've written before, the greatest truths are often revealed in the questions we ask ourselves. The questions define what it is we want to know, what it is that Matters. Questioning is a constant for me--the foundation of my life. As for answers? They evolve, are fluid, and will always reflect change.

As I come to the end of my first (but hopefully not last) expat experience, I give you The Big Questions I've wrestled with and continue to explore:

• Where is home?
• What does it look like?
• How does it feel?
• Who do I share it with?
• How do I share it?
• What is my community?
• How will I participate in it?
• What material possessions do I need to function happily?
• Why?
• If something isn't useful now but may be useful later, is it really worth saving?
• Does it really matter how much I spent on an item if I don't love it anymore?
• What does money have to do with value?
• Does it matter how much I've invested in a relationship if it's not working anymore?
• What does time invested have to do with value?
• How does proximity create, shape, and end relationships? 
• What items remain personal symbols and what ones have ceased to resonate?
• Why?
• Can I let go of who I was and acknowledge who I am now?
• How do I discard the past without discarding its lessons?
• How do I release old sorrows and embrace the day's joy?
• How do I let go of the hurt and truly forgive others?
• How do I hold myself accountable and yet forgive myself?
• Is all this soul searching leading to understanding and compassion--or narcissm and selfishness?

What are YOUR big questions?

May 12, 2008

On her last day in Belgium...

Every muscle in her body ached, as if it were giving voice to her sadness.

She kept wiping her cheeks, blowing her nose

A pile of damp, crumpled Kleenex rose next to her laptop

She stayed in her pajamas until afternoon, and

Ate the last of the marinated olives and feta cubes.

She threw out the contents of the refrigerator.

In the kitchen , she left behind a non-stick griddle, nylon spatula, and plastic cutting board for the next tenant.

She tossed stained potholders, dishcloths, and a bevy of cleaning supplies.

She tucked the two mugs that belong to her into her suitcase.

She folded clothes into one suitcase and filled another with her Rolodex, boots, boxes of tea from London, socks, body lotion, shampoo, a hairdryer.

She wondered where to put her medical records. They wouldn't fit in her carry on and she was worried her checked suitcase would get lost. She's carrying mammography films that can't be replaced.

She has too many books in her carryon but she won't surrender even one of them. It's an 8-hour flight and she's not a one-book person.

She handwashed her favorite artsy sweater and set aside her black velvet jeans to wear while traveling, and then read it would be 72 degrees at her destination. Now she's wondering what to wear, and whether she can compress her white down jacket and push it in her suitcase.

She's not ready for warm weather.

She didn't call anyone, and watched her cell phone display, waiting for it to flicker off and signal the end of her contract in Belgium.

She read e-mails from Jason, Di, and Lynn and girded herself with their wise words and warm wishes.

She threw out a half bottle of shampoo and conditioner, a jar of face cream, a jar of body scrub, some shower gel, three containers of hand soap and every other toiletry that might add unnecessary weight to her suitcase.

She stacked up three spare rolls of Charmin for the next tenant.

She grabbed the paper towels to line the cat carrier with.

She knows good times are waiting in America, but right now all she feels is a sense of loss, of being untethered.

Tomorrow her journey back to the future begins. Everything's going to be fine, she tells herself.

Then she zips her suitcase and sighs.

March 13, 2008