T.S. Tuesday: Lessons from Life as a Gringa
“It is not necessarily those lands which are the most fertile or most favored in climate that seem to me the happiest, but those in which a long struggle of adaptation between man and his environment has brought out the best qualities of both.” T.S. Eliot
I've been living in a foreign country for ten months, and I haven't found my new home to provide the most fertile ground for deep, lasting friendship and personal growth. I haven't found it to be, as Eliot suggests, a favored climate for the fruiting of my best qualities. In fact, many days I feel like moving abroad has brought out my worst traits, unearthing my shiest, most insecure, unwelcoming roots.Ten months is hardly a long struggle and I'm not nearly as well-adapted as I thought I'd be by now, but I have learned a few things along the way.For starters, tolerance. Not tolerance meaning anything goes, although some days it does feel like that when cat calls and butt grabs in the streets are shrugged off with a sigh and a "that's Guatemala for you." But I mean tolerance in the sense that I'm learning that it really, really in the grand scheme of things doesn't matter whether the people I associate with wear the trendiest clothes or went to the most prestigious schools or use the right amount of snark and hipster references in their Facebook posts.I'm learning that everyone has value and something to offer. Enough with the cheese, you're probably thinking right now. That sounds like something you learn in kindergarten. You're right, I'm sure I did learn it in kindergarten.People matter. All kinds of people matter. No matter their age or race or language or cultural or educational background.I've known it all my life, but I've really lived it here in Guatemala as I've interacted with and I've learned from and met people so different from me.It's also what's been hard--feeling out-of-place. These ten months have been a lesson in humility. There are very few moments when I'm out and about that I don't feel strange or uncomfortable or downright stupid. But I think (I hope) this experience is molding me, shaping me to be more accepting of others, more tolerant of what I used to see as irks and flaws, more open to simply being with people, in the moment, with no judgment and no expectations.I've stumbled into trouble, for sure. I have difficulty discerning, as a guest in this country, when I'm supposed to just go with the flow and when I'm allowed to take a stand and set my own boundaries. When I'm allowed to say no. I'm sure I could write a whole book on how not to live the cross-cultural life, but that's another discussion.In this country where I'm daily schooled in grammar and syntax by people with a third grade education and all of my preconceived ideas of male attractiveness have been thrown out the window as tiny men with spiky gelled hair and tight jeans with sequins on the rear end take home all the women, I'm constantly challenged to look past the external. To look past the prejudices I didn't even know I had.I've also erred on the other extreme, forgetting I have anything to offer. Sometimes I forget my own God-given gifts and talents. I forget I can give and serve and love and encourage, but that's another discussion, too.I've become so accustomed to butchered, choppy English and my own broken Spanish that I spent a good five minutes indignantly cursing spellcheck when it "mistakenly" told me "liders" was not an equally viable spelling of "leaders" in the English language, and I don't even hear the syntactical error when someone asks me "You have boyfriend?" or confesses to me "I am hang over."I just go with the flow and answer "No" and "You shouldn't have drank so much last night."If there's any level of understanding or connection, it's good enough for me.Isn't that how it should always be? Shouldn't understanding always matter more than the exact words used or the dress or education of the person who spoke them?I think of how I pick apart the words of authors I read or the movies I watch. Or the things my friends and family say. I think of how smug and snarky and downright judgmental I can be of people back home--of their words or their dress or their upbringing. When I'm in my comfort zone. When I, warranted or not, feel like I'm in a position to judge.I used to constantly size up the people around me. Am I prettier, smarter, more exciting? If I deemed myself to be, then my pride was bolstered and I'd continue on my merry way. If I didn't measure up, jealousy, envy, and self-loathing would take hold, gripping me in green.But here in a foreign country, I am learning in a deep and meaningful (and hopefully lasting) way to look for connection before comparison.Perhaps it's just my survival skills kicking in, aching for connection at any level.Perhaps it's easier because the comparison seems especially futile or comical. No matter what jeans I wear or how skinny I get or what job title I rock with whatever innovative and socially-conscious new company, here, I am still just the gringa, the foreigner, the canchita. All the striving and the exercising and the Pinterest-browsing or even the Spanish learning and cross-cultural immersion won't change that.But connection will.If I have a real conversation with someone, albeit linguistically limited, that is when I become someone more than just a gringa and the someone I am talking to becomes more than just the tortilla lady or salsa instructor or a guy I met at the gym.On my end, at least.Where my own dark judgments used to lurk, gratitude is growing. I rejoice at the small bonds of understanding, and for new milestones like exchanging books with new friends, laughing over silly pop songs that get stuck in our heads, and praying together, in Spanish, in English, in Spanglish.Here, the gift of unlikely friendship springs up when I least expect it. Even in my shiest, my most insecure, my most unwelcoming moments, connections form. And I am learning to cherish these both improbable and probably temporary friendships. I am growing in grace for myself and others. And I am rejoicing as the fruit of kindness sprouts around me and within my own heart as I learn to connect and adapt in this land where I struggle.
Yo no sé mañana
This last week I submitted an application to participate in a faith and writing conference at the end of September, which meant that instead of writing new content to share with you wonderful people, I was sifting through hundreds of posts and tens of thousands of words for the perfect 2,000 words to offer as my writing sample. *I love rereading old journals, little notes I’ve written to myself over the years, and notes of encouragement from others, but I find I rarely reread my blog posts. It’s just not as fun to cozy up with my laptop as it is to unfurl a battered, well-loved journal sprawled with hopes and dreams and rants and prayers.But these posts are the same, a chronicle of my hopes and dreams and rants and prayers.It was good for my soul to look back at the ways God has gifted me with words— not in the I’m-so-talented sense of that phrase, but in that sense that each blog post, each reflection, each whisper of words He’s given me to record and reflect on has been nothing but gift.Today I’m particularly thankful for a post that I wrote awhile back reflecting on a chunk of T.S. Eliot’s poem, The Journey of the Magi. I hope that maybe it will resonate with you, too.“Then at dawn we came down to a temperate valley,Wet, below the snow line, smelling of vegetation;With a running stream and a water-mill beating the darkness,And three trees on the low sky,And an old white horse galloped away in the meadow.Then we came to a tavern with vine-leaves over the lintel,Six hands at an open door dicing for pieces of silver,And feet kicking the empty wine-skins.But there was no information, and so we continuedAnd arrived at evening, not a moment too soonFinding the place; it was (you may say) satisfactory.” I wrote,
“I’m struck by the line “But there was no information, and so we continued.” Not “and yet” or “but” we continued. No, “and so.” There was no information, AND SO we continued.That is not my usual response. On all my metaphorical camel clad pilgrimages, the darkness and the silence and the lack of clues and INFORMATION is a sign of failure, of defeat. A signal to turn back. To search harder. To turn the running streams and water-mills and old white horses into a divine code that gestures to my success or my defeat.I don’t often think to just keep going. To walk anyway. To trust anyway. To the Magnificent Star that first drew me out of my comfortable quarters so many distant miles back.And so the Magi continue. And guess what, they arrive--“not a moment too soon.”They arrive. We will arrive. I will arrive.The darkness will end. The search for information will be satisfied with relationship, with a meeting of the Messiah.I ask today for the courage to walk anyway. To trust anyway. To not be discouraged by the lack of information, but to rejoice in the hope of Who I will find.And so I continue.”
I can’t help but think how apropos this post is today. With only two months until I hit my year mark of living abroad and have to decide—yet again—what the heck I want to do with my life based off of a startling lack of information and certainty, it’s a good challenge to be present, to be here, to continue, even when I don’t know what the future holds.I don’t know where I’ll be living in two months. I don’t know what kind of job I want to look for back in the States. I don’t know if the Bible study I started here in Guatemala will grow deep enough roots in the next two months to continue in my absence. I don’t know if some incredible job opportunity or relationship opportunity or some other dazzling opportunity will be dangled in front of me that will convince me stay here in Guate longer than I had planned.I don’t know where I’ll be living in two months.And so I continue investing in the community I have here while staying connected to friends back home. I don’t know what kind of job I want to look for back in the States. And so I continue to give my best to the job I have here now.I don’t know if the Bible study I started here in Guatemala will grow deep enough roots in the next two months to continue in my absence.And so I continue praying for growth and connection. I continue inviting new people. I continue showing up every Friday night even when I want to give up or my Spanish feels inadequate or I’d rather go to pizza with my friends. I don’t know if some incredible job opportunity or relationship opportunity or some other dazzling prospect will be dangled in front of me that will convince me stay here in Guate longer than I had planned.And so I continue to pray and seek guidance. I continue to look for ways to give and serve and be here now.If there’s anything that being in a foreign country has taught me, it’s that I don’t know a lot of things—or words or phrases or cultural subtleties. But I can continue anyways. I can find meaning anyways. I can find God anyways.There’s a really popular song here in Guatemala called “Yo no sé mañana,” meaning basically, “I don’t know about tomorrow.”And today it really, really feels like I don’t know about tomorrow. I don’t know what the next two months or the next two years will hold.And so I continue. And I hope you will, too.
**I also had the pleasure of hosting two friends from San Diego, which filled my usual writing time with volcano hiking, crepe eating, Youtube video watching and general merriment making. Thanks for visiting, Frank and Kellie!