Everywhere I go, I'm home. Apparently.
(crossposted from (and expanded on) Plurk)
I can't remember what it feels like to go somewhere I obviously don't "fit." Sure, I've gone places and been unsure of myself, but every time in the last two years that feeling abruptly pops like a soap bubble, because every time, within the first 20-48 hours of my Going Forth and Exploring (as opposed to Staying In and Holing Up) someone will speak to me, assuming I live there. In London in 2009, less than twelve hours after getting off a plane, someone who lived in London stopped me to ask for directions.
(Her name was Annmaria and she was planning on spending half her upcoming holiday renovating her house, and the other half in British Columbia. Our opinions differed on how close that was to me. See: European vs New World scales of distance.)
In France I was extensively chatted up by older gentlemen, and flirted with by one (who thought I was Russian) as well as by one younger man my age. I'd like to state for the record that while I do comprehend quite a lot of French spoken to me and can order at restaurants, I do not speak French. Ever flirted in pictures scribbled in a notebook? I have earned that merit badge. I was also asked by a small child, in Paris, if I was English. In Seattle people refer to local hotspots as if I knew what they were. (And, familiar with the city as I am, I kind of do, but only in terms of freeway exits.) In Portland last month, I was asked 1. to register to vote, 2. to sign a petition, 3. for directions, and 4. complimented on "my" city. In the space of about forty-five minutes after getting out of the car.
So, it's weird. I go places and I'm treated like I belong, so I do belong because "belonging" is a purely social phenomenon. The first time I went to France I was one of a gaggle of high school students, and in any event, I can't quite remember the feeling of "other," partly because there wasn't much of one. High school students being what they are we were all pretty well insulated inside our group of each other. I do remember feeling somewhat disappointed that France did not magically make the atmosphere inside the tour bus a bit less American. And why would it have? It was full of American teenagers!
Every time since then whenever I have traveled most people I meet just assume that I am either 1. native, or 2. from very nearby, no matter how badly I ignore customs or butcher the language. This is really helpful most of the time, and it's a little weird to think of going somewhere like Egypt or Korea, where a white chick obviously is Not From 'Round These Parts because there are certain graces extended when you "belong."
Oh, there are graces extended to tourists, but I'll take being expected to know what you're saying and where I'm going over being spotted as an easy pickpocket mark, it being much easier to apologize for accidentally being rude than it is to recover a stolen passport.
It's not a barrier to going anywhere, and most of it is all in my head, but it's still really weird to think about in terms of walking off a plane in somewhere I've never been, am drastically outnumbered, and the odds are stacked against me in terms of Faking It Successfully. (Faking It is how I get through a lot of life. I don't know what to do, how to act, or what to say, and I am very frequently mortally embarrassed. I fake it. I fake it really well and through faking it I get enough practice, get used to it enough, whatever "it" is, that faking it becomes real.
...if this strikes you as a somewhat autistic way of going about it, YOU'RE RIGHT. I am not autistic, I'm anxious and an abstract visual thinker. It's convergent evolution.
So. I want to go to Greece, and to the Pacific Islands, to Australia (which doesn't count because I'll bet you TEN BUCKS somebody will ask me for directions), to Egypt, to Morocco, and to Mexico. My neuroses are not a barrier: I've got lots of practice getting around and over my neuroses. Money, mostly, is what I'm waiting on. And if I go, when I go, and you're there, and I seem a little less like a functional human being and a little more like a duckling that should be wearing a helmet, well...
Yeah, it's just me. ♥
I can't remember what it feels like to go somewhere I obviously don't "fit." Sure, I've gone places and been unsure of myself, but every time in the last two years that feeling abruptly pops like a soap bubble, because every time, within the first 20-48 hours of my Going Forth and Exploring (as opposed to Staying In and Holing Up) someone will speak to me, assuming I live there. In London in 2009, less than twelve hours after getting off a plane, someone who lived in London stopped me to ask for directions.
(Her name was Annmaria and she was planning on spending half her upcoming holiday renovating her house, and the other half in British Columbia. Our opinions differed on how close that was to me. See: European vs New World scales of distance.)
In France I was extensively chatted up by older gentlemen, and flirted with by one (who thought I was Russian) as well as by one younger man my age. I'd like to state for the record that while I do comprehend quite a lot of French spoken to me and can order at restaurants, I do not speak French. Ever flirted in pictures scribbled in a notebook? I have earned that merit badge. I was also asked by a small child, in Paris, if I was English. In Seattle people refer to local hotspots as if I knew what they were. (And, familiar with the city as I am, I kind of do, but only in terms of freeway exits.) In Portland last month, I was asked 1. to register to vote, 2. to sign a petition, 3. for directions, and 4. complimented on "my" city. In the space of about forty-five minutes after getting out of the car.
So, it's weird. I go places and I'm treated like I belong, so I do belong because "belonging" is a purely social phenomenon. The first time I went to France I was one of a gaggle of high school students, and in any event, I can't quite remember the feeling of "other," partly because there wasn't much of one. High school students being what they are we were all pretty well insulated inside our group of each other. I do remember feeling somewhat disappointed that France did not magically make the atmosphere inside the tour bus a bit less American. And why would it have? It was full of American teenagers!
Every time since then whenever I have traveled most people I meet just assume that I am either 1. native, or 2. from very nearby, no matter how badly I ignore customs or butcher the language. This is really helpful most of the time, and it's a little weird to think of going somewhere like Egypt or Korea, where a white chick obviously is Not From 'Round These Parts because there are certain graces extended when you "belong."
Oh, there are graces extended to tourists, but I'll take being expected to know what you're saying and where I'm going over being spotted as an easy pickpocket mark, it being much easier to apologize for accidentally being rude than it is to recover a stolen passport.
It's not a barrier to going anywhere, and most of it is all in my head, but it's still really weird to think about in terms of walking off a plane in somewhere I've never been, am drastically outnumbered, and the odds are stacked against me in terms of Faking It Successfully. (Faking It is how I get through a lot of life. I don't know what to do, how to act, or what to say, and I am very frequently mortally embarrassed. I fake it. I fake it really well and through faking it I get enough practice, get used to it enough, whatever "it" is, that faking it becomes real.
...if this strikes you as a somewhat autistic way of going about it, YOU'RE RIGHT. I am not autistic, I'm anxious and an abstract visual thinker. It's convergent evolution.
So. I want to go to Greece, and to the Pacific Islands, to Australia (which doesn't count because I'll bet you TEN BUCKS somebody will ask me for directions), to Egypt, to Morocco, and to Mexico. My neuroses are not a barrier: I've got lots of practice getting around and over my neuroses. Money, mostly, is what I'm waiting on. And if I go, when I go, and you're there, and I seem a little less like a functional human being and a little more like a duckling that should be wearing a helmet, well...
Yeah, it's just me. ♥