Santiago (Heart) Strings

So, in my dream last night… I know, I know, never the most fascinating way to start the conversation. But seriously, in my dream last night Ryan got a new position with his company… in Dallas, Texas. This isn’t too realistic (it would most likely be Houston if Texas ever came calling). Now, I know better than to mess with Texas (it is, after all, the home of my dearest girlfriend Emily, queso, and “Friday Night Lights”). Still, I was actually disappointed, realizing it wouldn’t be so easy to leave the close friends (er, friend) I’ve made here and the life Ryan and I have set up for ourselves. It wasn’t because I didn’t like the new destination or was all that in love with the old; it was simply because even in dreamland I didn’t necessarily want to start over.

The view during the first month I lived by Ocean Beach, 2009.

Nearly a year into the adventure that is Santiago, I feel fortunate to have all the signposts of a fulfilling life here: employment, friendships, awareness of where things are and how to get to them, some kind of small handle on the language, and, most importantly, a happy home with my husband. While I know the happy home is travel-proof, the thought of starting all over again with everything else is a little daunting, even though, in the waking world, I’m fully aware that that is the deal with this whole international lifestyle thing we signed on for.

So, as much as I may not be ready for the 30-year mortgage, I’m also not fully jazzed by the my-life-fits-in-three-cardboard-boxes deal either. I think we’ve struck more of a compromise than I realized. We’re settling in somewhere for a handful of years. We’re watching others come and go. We’re giving directions to those who ask and telling the newbie expats who the English-speaking doctors are. We’re gaining that experience that I was so starkly without those first few culture-shocked weeks (er, months). And we may be filling a few more boxes along the way.

What do we call this in-between phase? Our 30s? Settling down? Giving in?

Is it due to age? Ten years ago, you’d never get me to flip through a home decor magazine or look up recipe ideas for zucchini.

And the view my first month in Santiago, 2011.

Is it due to moving-itis? Last year, I moved from a San Francisco apartment I shared with a roommate to a layover stay in my childhood bedroom at my mom’s house to an apartment 6,000 miles away in order to finally move in with my husband. Now, I’m pretty content to sit back and kick my feet up on a coffee table that isn’t going anywhere anytime soon. Even when Ryan and I talk about finding a bigger place in Santiago, the thought of moving alone usually winds down the conversation. But who knows, a burst of energy or next great opportunity might come along, and we’ll be off. Again, we just don’t know for sure.

Is it a simply a need to cling to some sort of consistency? That as long as we know we’re here, we know it may not be perfect, but at least we have control over our surroundings and our goals and goings-on within them?

Who knows. Maybe I’ll dream up the answer. Somehow, I don’t think it’s all that important to know why, but just to feel that there are already some strings that tug when I think about (one day) leaving Santiago. It’s not something I expected to say this week, but that tricky subconscious thought otherwise.

What I’m Learning

The other day, I told you all what I’ve been thinking about lately. Implicit in the idea was that I’m also learning a few lessons along the way, so I thought I’d be a little more direct and share what I’ve learned (or am still in the process of learning) since moving to Chile ten months ago.

Santiago airport, many moons ago now.

I’ve learned that I have no idea how long we will live here. I say this at the outset because this is, hands down, the most popular question Ryan and I have been asked since we jumped ship. To set the record straight, we don’t know. There are no ultimate return tickets home on the books. Ryan’s not on a set contract, and there’s a lot of work here. For that we’re grateful, as that’s certainly not the case back home. His work is project based and his project is just getting off the ground. It may keep him busy for the next two or three years or he (we) may be moved elsewhere. That “elsewhere” could be here in Santiago or in Australia or Canada. The open-ended quality of our relocation makes part of me feel like we’ll be living in Santiago forever, even though I know that’s not the case. But without a countdown, we have more time to look around and realize: “Wow, it’s been 6, 8, 10 months.” Soon it will be a year, then more.

I’ve learned the simple past tense, but only in the “I” form. I.e., I can say “I went” or “I spoke.” Considering my Spanish teacher tried to teach me the past tense the week I arrived (before she realized I didn’t even know the meaning of the verbs she was conjugating), this is a small accomplishment. I can also (in Spanish) talk about the weather, cooking, the layout of our apartment, where we live and what we do, where we are from, that we don’t have brothers or sisters, what I like to do in my free time, how long we’ve lived here, and that no, we don’t know how much longer we’ll be in Chile.

I’ve learned how to successfully fill out and process medical claims. Exciting stuff, I know. But seriously, this is no small feat. Since we’re pretty out-of-network in this neck of the woods, we pay for our healthcare services up front and submit claims for reimbursement or to put towards our deductible. Of course, this sometimes has to be done via confusing websites and skype calls that drop only once I’ve been put on hold or local calls where the person repeats herself just as quickly when she finds out I don’t actually know that much Spanish. The first time was the hardest, as are many firsts here in Chile (getting a visa, going to the post office, understanding what the cashier is saying, paying bills, or cashing a check). Now I’ve gotten the hang of most of these and have learned to control my blood pressure (for the most part) where the bureaucracy used to overwhelm.

The longest, skinniest country on earth, that’s where we live.

Ryan and I have both learned that a three-day weekend is not enough time to explore Patagonia. As Ryan said the other night, it’s a bit like sitting in California and saying, “Hey, let’s fly to Virginia for the weekend. That’d be fun.” I know we’ve all done it and worse, flying in and out of various far-away locales in order to be there for a friend in need or a wedding or a work event. But, it’s not necessarily ideal or economical, right? So the next time we have a one-to-two week stretch, we’ll finally be able to see the beauty first hand and know what it’s all about.

Ryan’s learned how much he misses surfing. In his entire life, he has never lived this far away from the ocean (and he’s coming up on his second-year anniversary in Santiago). We miss other things, too, like burritos and our families (not in that particular order :). We depend on each other to get each other through the missing and back to the reasons why we’re here. I’m not sure we depend on each other any more than we would back home, but it’s a different kind of reliance because at the end of the day we arrived here a family and we’ll leave as one and so much will have occurred in between that we could never have truly prepared for when we made this decision back in California, before we were even married, before I’d ever stepped foot in South America, and before Ryan had time to miss the ocean.

I’ve learned that I can teach English to people who only knew how to say hello and goodbye when we met. So, I’ve learned how much can be learned.

As evidence, I’ve learned to cook. I’ll be the first to admit that necessity is the driving force, but, hey, results are results. I can now include hummus and macaroni and cheese among those missed tastes of home that I’ve made from scratch. In addition to a million variations on pasta, I can also bake some tasty chicken, stir fry shrimp, marinade beef, and not dry out the salmon when we can get our hands on it.

And it tastes gooood.

I’m always trying to learn to let go. Of stress. Of disappointment. Of the aggressive driver who runs the red light or honks 15 times when I only need three more feet to reach the curb. Of the emotional distance that can creep up along with the physical distance.

I’ve learned that when you really do need a friend though and you reach out, it’s almost always a good thing for both of you. Sometimes, you get amazing nuggets of advice, too, like this tidbit from my girlfriend, Jaime, by way of her husband, George: “The brick walls are there to remind you how badly you want it.” We were talking about writing and editing our work and finally publishing it. Jaime is very close to knowing that reality and I cannot wait to tell you all about her book when it comes out. But the brick walls can be anything, right? Because we may have been talking about writing, but we were also talking about relationships and struggle and doing the work.

I’m re-learning to swim. I’ve known how to since I was four and knew a butterscotch candy awaited as long as I made it through the whole lesson without crying, even when it was time to jump off the diving board into the deep end. I’m not sure why I cried. I’ve loved the water every day since. And, at the time, there was a strong, tan set of arms waiting to catch me. I suppose it’s the same reason we, as adults, might hesitate and catch our breath when we’re heading into the unknown or taking on a new challenge. When you’re four, you just might cry about it a little (just as you might when you’re 4+) So, when I say I’m re-learning to swim, I really mean that I’m training my breath and my endurance for movement through water and I’m teaching myself the importance of taking the time out to do so.

Peace.

I’ll also tell you what I haven’t learned yet: a whole ton of Spanish, what it will actually mean (and not mean) if this book I’m writing actually gets an agent, how to bake (like, really bake), what’s it’s like to ski the Andes (there aren’t any trees!!), about Christmas in Chile, what this country and city will mean to me when we look back on this time, how many more earthquakes we’ll feel, how I’ll write about this place one day, just how much I couldn’t imagine not knowing all the people I’ve met and will meet here, and about a million other things that make this life about surprise and mystery and all the opportunities for discovery along the way.

And, of course, whenever it is we’ll live in California again.

 

What I’m Thinking About

I’m thinking about change. How it happens. The people it affects. What doesn’t change when everything else does. What small thing can be different when everything else looks the same.

I’m thinking about love and loss because that’s precisely what I’m writing a novel about. That and healing. And, eventually, change. And the people along the way. At the moment, I’m trying both to say all that in a one-sentence hook and condense 275 pages into a one-page synopsis. It’s taken me a month so far and I’m still not quite there.

Book stall in Barrio Italia. Inspiring in any language.
The goal is still to publish one of these.

I’m thinking about names. The power of naming. The meaning we want to impart, whether it’s a character or a person or a pet.

I’m listening to Voxtrot and thinking about 2006 and San Francisco and the times we had and the friends and the songs that defined our days and nights as a collective, moving, vibrant gaggle of 26-year-olds.

Now I’m thinking about time differently. As something that is slowing down and tapping me on the shoulder, asking me to be present.

I’m thinking about the finish line. In high school it was so well defined. A chalky white line over the rust-orange track. Something to slam my sneaker just enough past in order to finally slow down and catch my breath. In college, it was the day an English paper was due. In work life, it was usually the copy deadline for the next issue. Today, it’s this summer. It’s when I want to dangle all these query letters out on a long line and see who bites. My book may not find representation, which might scoot the finish line that much farther ahead. I may not be able to see it when I gaze down at my feet, but I know it’s there somewhere. Then, there will be other stories to tell and other finish lines to reach with characters I haven’t met yet.

Lines and circles at my feet on the walk to school.

I’m thinking that so much just comes down to the wiring of our brains.

I’m thinking about control, or really the lack of it. That this life surprises. That we are never want for the miracle of life and surprise when all we have to do is stumble upon a 300-year-old redwood tree or really think about the universe (I mean, really think about it) or listen to someone else’s heartbeat or taste a ripe nectarine.

I’m thinking about cooking. That it doesn’t stress me out as much as it used to, but that I don’t know for sure what’s calming me down about it: getting some more dishes under my belt or the fact that the world doesn’t end when I burn the walnuts. You just start again. There’s still plenty to eat. These are good lessons.

I’m thinking about language. That more of the Spanish is coming. Not a lot more, but enough to not wither in confusion as often as I did nine months ago.

I’m reading about child soldiers in Sierra Leone and thinking that I’m not want for anything in this world.

The view right now.

I’m thinking about the view through the gauzy white drape as the fan blows the other buildings all blurry for a bit as the air rotates to and fro.

I’m thinking about saying goodbye. Friends I’ve made here are already heading back home, wherever that may be. The Chilean adventure is ending for them, and ours is still very much underway and beginning again all the time.

I’m thinking that I haven’t seen many of you in many months and it may be many months still before we meet again, but I feel such peace knowing you are there.

What are you thinking about?

Swimming Towards Letting Go

The other day I splurged. It didn’t involve chocolate or shopping or a massage. But it did technically take place at a spa. I took 25 mil of my hard-earned teaching money (that’s about three classes worth) and left my stifling apartment and walked down to a fancy hotel and paid my entrance fee so I could use their rooftop pool… all afternoon. And I have to say, considering the peace of having a blue pool all to yourself, free fruit and water, plush towels, and city views peeking through pillared slats with every head turn for air, it was the best 50 bucks I can remember spending on myself in a long time. (Just so we’re clear, I first tried the much more affordable pool, but the same week my somewhat dire need to find a body of water happened to coincide with the local club’s renovation schedule. I’ll be following up next week.)

http://www.facebook.com/DOITGIRLS

We resist these indulgences, don’t we? It’s wiser to save our money, to donate our time, to do an honest day’s work. But we need to occasionally let go of what we should do and embrace a healthy dose of what we need. Sure, this need happened to be over-priced and certainly not scaleable, but the pure joy–of slipping into that water, gliding back and forth for laps on end, taking a rest, reading a newspaper, and heading back in for more–was much needed, for the mind and body that went up in an elevator to the 15th floor of a Santiago hotel, were certainly not the mind and body that exited back onto a bus-strewn street.

I’ve never really been a swimmer. I spent many years being a runner, but frequent foot and knee injuries in my late 20s curtailed my long evening runs and some 15 years of logging miles around a reservoir in Boston, along SF’s Marina Green, and up my hometown trails. I still needed a way to release and unplug and simply move, so I took to morning walks on the beach, an ocean‘s roar most welcome company. Healthy or not, I let go of that long-standing need to pound the pavement in order to feel spent. Somewhere along the way, I heard that your body benefits just as much from three miles of walking as it does from three miles of running, and whether or not that’s true, it has definitely been true for me. My aches went away and I still lodged free those mood-elevating endorphines and, most importantly, got the mental space to clear away the anxieties and complexities of life long enough to breathe deep and let go.

Since there isn’t an ocean to walk along here in Santiago, I started this post to tell you about swimming, another low-impact way to benefit your whole body. And to tell you that my best friend is an incredible swimmer who has been in the water all her life, competing in both swimming and water polo, teaching swim lessons, and now raising money along with The Night Train Swimmers (NTS), an impressive team of open-water swimmers based in Northern California who compete in solo and team swims all over the world in order to raise money for charitable organizations. Recently, she and her group succeeded in the first all-female open-water swim from the shores of San Francisco Bay to the jagged rocks of the Farrallon Islands. Yes, those islands you can just make out from Ocean Beach on a clear day.

She is a swimmer.

So is my my old SF roommate. To watch her in the water is to watch an athlete at her best. She competes in open-water swims as well, so there’s a healthy edge of fearlessness and confidence to her talent. When I visited her in her adopted home of Sydney, Australia a few years ago, I’d join her in the early morning for a walk through the city, past the botanical gardens, and to an Olympic-sized salt-water pool. Sure, I headed straight to the slow lane and didn’t mind; I’m a person who’s comfortable knowing her limits. By the end of two weeks, a built-up endurance and an energy level that could carry the weight of the rest of the day convinced me that I was becoming a swimmer.

Well, the full-fledged metamorphosis may have been slightly delayed, but thanks to months of heat and smoggy air and dodgy traffic, I don’t feel an inner runner returning, but maybe, just maybe a swimmer. After all, there’s a reason water is used for cleansing, for baptism, for the stirrings of life, for the functioning and survival of our very bodies. It’s pure and timeless and more powerful than a single you or a single I. There isn’t anything quite like that feeling of immersion in and movement through crisp, clear water.

But now I’m realizing what I’m really trying to tell you about–and understand myself–is this idea of letting go. Of the conditions that encourage it, of the moments when we are able to do it, and perhaps, too, those times when we can’t for whatever reason. When the wound is too deep or the work too stressful or the miscommunication too severe. But in the pool, or on the trail, or at rest in a peaceful place, we can sometimes let go of even the deep wounds and stressful work and severe miscommunications. We can feel flashes of the lightness of childhood, when we might have spent entire summers in and out of the community pool, our hair matted and our skin dried by the sun. We can have the critical distance to finally know what to do about a lesson plan or a relationship or a wrinkle in the adventure. And we can simply focus on the breath and stroke and self-generated momentum coalescing in such soothing repetition that the “complete” letting go has occurred without our even willing it to, soon followed by the “peace” and the “freedom.”

I hope you’re finding what you need, letting go of what you can, and finding new, inspiring aspects of yourself rising to the surface. I say, go ahead and indulge them.

Endless Summer

Most of us dream about it, right? Hot summer days stretched out in uninterrupted succession. Balmy temperatures and consistent sun. Dresses and flip flops and iced tea. Warm nights gathered around a barbecue in a friend’s backyard. Well, I’m definitely down — to a point. I think Santiago’s climate is teaching me something I never knew about myself with such clarity before: I’m not an endless summertime kind of girl.

All pics snapped from the truck:
Ocean Beach, SF, December 2011.

It’s the middle of March, and the temperatures have been in the low 30s C / 90s F for months. It started getting hot back in early November, Chile’s springtime, which I’ve also heard aptly described as “summer with a breeze.” Of course, Santiago is simply stunning when the warm weather first arrives. The breezes clear out winter’s smog layer, the Andes pop their shoulders back in astounding clarity, and pungent flowers bloom in purple and magenta glory throughout the city. The communal effects are nothing short of stunning. But we’re nearing five months on. Those “breezes” have been scant for some time, and you can forget about rain! It’s not happening.

 

Having spent so much time in San Francisco (and being the daughter and granddaughter of SF natives), an overcast day is what I know best. It’s comfortable and regulating one’s body temp is far more manageable in my opinion (as is, I have a fan whirling next to me and a cold compress draped across my neck.) When the sun does strike back home, the city stirs with glee as its collective inhabitants scale hillsides, scatter to the coastline, or stake out an outdoor table somewhere. Now, I want to do all of that the second the clouds roll in! We’re getting close enough to autumn (don’t let today’s projected 92-degree temp fool you) that once in a random while an overcast morning or rustling evening rolls by. In these moments, my energy spikes. I bound out the door, ready to take it on, whatever “it” may be.

 

Since about January, I’ve had a long-standing vision of what I’m going to do the first time it rains in Santiago (which isn’t too often, even in the wintertime). Provided I’m not in class or otherwise predisposed, I’m going to bound right out into the middle of it, throw my arms out wide, and turn my face up to the sky to welcome water back to land.

 

If we head to the coast or far south, we’ll find the clouds and marine layer, which always spark a sense of the cozy for me. I think that’s what I’m craving more than anything — the opportunity to bundle up, crack open a book, and truly “be” in sync with the weather. Without a pool, ocean, or AC on hand, it’s hard to exactly tap into this endless summer. I’ve talked to enough people who love the weather here, so I know I’m likely a member of a small group, if not alone in my autumn fantasies. I also know there are far hotter places in the world to reside, so I’m grateful that Santiago may in fact be temperate in comparison. After all, the nights and early mornings are cool. 7AM get-together anyone?

 

All I’m saying is that now you’ll know who that girl twirling in the middle of a rainy sidewalk is when you see her. (I happen to know it’s raining back home in San Francisco right now, so do a little twirl for me if the spirit moves you.) As for today, I’m about to go jump into one of Santiago’s abundant water fountains that shimmer and cascade like the mirages that they are. I figure I’ve got at least five or so minutes to enjoy myself before I get caught 🙂