Preschool and Adulthood are Actually Kind of the Same Thing: An Analysis.

The idea of adjustment is discussed quite a bit in my field. (Does the fact that I just completed my first year of graduate school allow me to say I have a “field?” How grown up.) In international education, we usually talk about adjustment as related to adjusting to a new culture (whatever that actually means…sometimes I’m still not so sure. Spoiler alert: I’m not sure anyone is.) 

No, I haven’t been abroad recently (although that’s coming.) I have not undergone a life-altering tragedy in the last couple of years (although they sure nailed it with the saying “when it rains, it pours.”) 

I’ve realized that we are actually in a constant state of transition. A constant state of adjustment. Perhaps because of some of my past experiences, I always associate adjustment with some earth-shattering event that will change me forever, for better or worse. Sometimes, adjustment does stem from these types of events. Other times, we just find our perspectives and inner selves shifting ever so slightly over time. In hindsight, what seemed like small, everyday occurrences have in fact altered our core, often before we even realize it. Earth-shattering, but in a different kind of way. 

Graduate school for me has represented the latter. Perhaps because I was not prepared for the growth I would experience, I am finding my attempts at adjusting to be feeble and half-hearted at the moment. 

First, there is the academic growth; I went to school in August with a strong work ethic and an overwhelming desire to learn, but very little knowledge beyond my own cross-cultural experiences. I surprised myself consistently and became significantly more confident as a professional. However, even more notable for me was the personal growth. How do I function in groups? What are my deepest passions? Wow, I am passive in conflict and do not express my personal needs in a group setting like I should. Maybe I should work on that. 

Then there are the people. I am not oblivious to the fact that my classmates represent a very special bunch. Many of us are survivors - survivors of conflict, tragedy, personal disappointments, even war. But I have never met a more resilient group of human beings.They are pioneers in every sense of the word, and I have no doubt that I will be reading about many of them over my morning coffee one day. And then there are the two or three people that I did not necessarily expect to find, but am so very thankful I did - in this case, girls that remind me that sister-like bonds can be formed in the blink of an eye and change your life for the better. 

Taking all of this into account, these questions of adjustment arose: How am I going to integrate these new experiences and attitudes into my life? And what will those two or three life-changing friendships look like when we are three, six, nine time zones apart? 

I wrestled with these questions as I went about my week. So, what did my life look like over this now six-day adjustment period?  Well for one, I smushed a bug - it was that blood-splattering kind of smush when all I meant to do was gently brush it off my leg. (I still feel badly about that.) I was enlightened to the fact that the unsightly ring-like bruise around my ankle, which I was convinced represented the early stages of an exotic and potentially fatal illness, actually came from a three-legged race two weekends back. I rejected sunscreen and found myself with pink legs. (Guess my mantra “Italians don’t need sunscreen” didn’t ring true, although they will be tan by tomorrow.) My brother told me that there’s a petition to get the “Ignition” Remix to replace the national anthem. 

In short, I’ve just been living. But isn’t that what adjustment is? Isn’t it continuing to live your life with these newly integrated parts, like finding the space for new puzzle pieces? Isn’t it continuing to live with the questions that we still have, the questions that may take awhile to answer?

I’ve had enough experience with adjustment over the last few years to kind of know the drill. Little moments become magnified as we try to remember how to live in a different world. Sometimes, we don’t even remember what the world (or life for that matter) was like before. Very often, however, the world is kind of the same. We are the changed ones. 

I have always been a bit slow to adjust - it doesn’t usually stop me from taking healthy risks, but ultimately I am kind of like that shy preschooler that has to scope things out from the corner for the first couple of weeks. (Okay, I wasn’t like that preschooler. I was her. And still am.) Shy preschooler or not, I ultimately end up jumping in at the water table or in the sand box, fully engaged and ready to go. As scary and difficult as adjustment can be, I will take adjustment to stagnancy any day. I will take a beautiful friendship over the pain of separation, the excitement of using new skills in the field over my slight fears of being let go to do it all on my own (with encouragement and support, of course.) 

In short, while the bug won’t get another chance at life (again, I’m sorry), my pink legs and I have a long, open road in front of us. 

I’m ready.  

Word Choice

Words matter.

We spend a whole lot of time here talking about this thing called cross-cultural communication. And it can get tricky. Take the word "couscous," for example. You know, the food. Well, imagine my shock when my friend tells me that in her language, "couscous" actually refers to a certain female body part. (I will keep said friend and her language anonymous.) Imagine if I had gone to her country and started shouting couscous. (Not sure why that would ever happen, but you never know.) I probably wouldn't be viewed as the best representative of the USA at that point.

See the problem? All jokes aside, words matter. We don't know how our speech will be interpreted at any given time. Words can really affect how we think of a situation. More specifically, words impact how we talk to ourselves and view our own decisions.

A little over a week ago, I was having a day - the kind of day that causes you to question your own sanity for a short time. Among a few larger issues, hormones and a stressful in-class project finally threw me over the edge. I thought I was pulling it together around lunchtime, but when I nearly walked into a moving car in the parking lot I knew it was time to make a move. After brewing in my thoughts for about an hour (sometimes a dangerous idea), I called my mom. I did not plan on crying, but the waterworks started in the middle of my second sentence (which inevitably happens when you call people you love to "chat" when you are already upset.) The rest of the conversation went something like this:

Me: I. just. want. to come. homeeeeeee.
Mom: Why can't you?
Me: *sniff* Because I caaaaan't.
Mom: You have a car!
Me: But it's only a two-day weekend!
Mom: So? That's two days.
Me: But that means I'm CRAZY.
Mom:...What?
Me: Coming home because I am upset is rash.
Mom: ....Rash?
Me: It means that I am upset enough to make decisions that involve driving for three hours and that is rash.
Mom: It's not rash, it's spontaneous.
Me: It's rash.
Mom: When do you ever even use that word?
Me: Now, I guess.
Mom: Well you could stay, or you could come home and have some wine, and sleep in your own bed. And we can have a family Revenge marathon.
Me: (still choked up) Okay. I think you're right.
Mom: Pack your bag. It's spontaneous!

(Yes, you read that right. It was the family viewing of "Revenge" that kind of sold me.)

Mom was right, as usual. Even the simple act of driving into Massachusetts provided the rush of encountering an old friend - I started to feel better.

I half wish this story had a more dramatic ending, but after a few glasses of wine, several pieces of my mom's Irish bread, and some advil, I was (almost) back to my old self.

This is a long story to simply illustrate a bad day. I could have said simply: "I had a bad day." But I told it to illustrate that:
1) I am not superhuman, contrary to popular belief. (Kidding.)
2) I don't always think about myself and my decisions in a gentle way.

While this whole episode seems kind of silly almost two weeks later, I have really been thinking about perspective. I kept calling my decision to take a weekend at home "rash" and "crazy." Part of this likely stemmed from my intense emotions in the moment, but part of it involves the words themselves.

In fact, because I have a strange ( or "unique"...see? Words!) fondness for dictionaries, I decided to look up the words rash and spontaneous. Here is what I found:

Spontaneous (adj) coming or resulting from a natural impulse or tendency; without effort or premeditation; natural and unconstrained; unplanned

Rash (adj) acting or tending to act too hastily or without due consideration; reckless, incautious, foolhardy

After reading these definitions, I realized that they really are two completely different words. And notice that the definition of spontaneous includes the word natural. I don't think this is an accident. As soon as I started to think about my trip home as "spontaneous," my whole view of my decision changed completely. Words can do that.

Sometimes, there are situations that even the "right" words absolutely cannot fix. I know this for a fact. Many of us face realities that seem overwhelming, and probably are. There are no words that can take away certain kinds of pain and sorrow. Several of my friends have spoken to me lately, whether directly or indirectly, about negative self-talk. It really does seem to be an issue for many of us (myself included.)

Self-care is becoming more important than ever. Not only physically, but mentally and emotionally. Internship searches are in full swing here. Heck, life is in full swing. But then again, it always is. My very close friend and I have a new favorite saying: "Life is a giant detour." Sounds about right.

That's why I am choosing to be compassionate with myself. The first step is choosing the right words.

And I'll be sure not to say couscous.