It's Okay Not to Be the Tough Girl

Yesterday when I arrived home from school, as I do each day, I changed out of my teacher clothes into sweats. I slide my toes into my cozy moccasin slippers and walked into my living room. As soon as I sat on the couch, I heard a loud "thud." Something had fallen onto the floor. Since the handyman had hung artwork the previous day, I assumed it must have been on the walls. I scanned them first. Nothing.

I stood up and realized one of my funky side table legs was on the floor. It had fallen off.  I love this side table and its quirkiness. I love the carpenter who designed it because he saw tree branches and their uniqueness and incorporated those into his art. These little nuances can make the table a little temperamental and vulnerable at times (aka, the legs have been known to fall off) but I love it a little more for those traits.

Post repair. This time the right front leg (closest to the camera position )fell off.

Despite the table's vulnerabilities, this table is strong. After loosing a leg, my table still stood supporting a heavy copper lamp, votive holder and even my half full glass of water. Not even slight wobble but obviously in need a little tlc.

As I sat on the floor to reattach the fourth leg, I realized that the table was a metaphor for me. I was my quirky 3-legged side table. I could still support lots of weight. I could still function but I needed some tlc too.

Each leg has a specific way it fits into the top. If they weren't so tricky, I'd flip the table over for a better view but today that seems like a little too much work.

Over the weekend, I unfortunately was in a bus accident. A pedestrian ran out in front of the bus I was riding. The bus driver slammed on the brakes to avoid them. This caused me and other passengers to be thrown from our seats. Thankfully my injuries are contusions. Thankfully I was with friends on the bus and they went along with me to the hospital. Thankfully they are also okay. I have contusions on my head, face and shoulder. I have typical aches and pains and bruises all over my body from being in an accident. Exhaustion from a late hospital night and from my body trying to heal.

Saturday I stayed home, rested and slept. Sunday I also took it easy. One brief lunch outting to test my strength, some massive lesson planning and assisting the handyman. That wasn't too much.  I was okay or so I told myself that I was.

Yesterday when I woke up, I was more exhausted than I'd been Sunday evening. I figured I'd pushed myself too hard on Sunday. Despite a tiny voice in the back of my head saying, "Are you sure you should go?" I went to school. I thought I was strong enough and being back into the normal routines would be just what I needed. Shortly after I arrived, I realized I'd made the wrong decision. The advice from family and friends both near and far, was right. I was going too fast. I was still standing, just like my table; trying to awkwardly balance, shouldering too much weight, pretending everything was fine.

After the accident, new friends and colleagues here in Prague reached out to support me here. Phone calls, visits, text messages. All with offers of help. How many did I accept? None. I said no to everyone. I said that I was okay and didn't need anything which I thought was true. I had food. I was resting. I was taking Ibuprofen. What else did I need? When I wasn't in the comfort of my home though, that's when I realized I should come home to get some more rest. I also realized I needed to accept the offers of help. Maybe the accident was impacting me more than I thought? Maybe I needed a little tlc? The table could stand on 3 legs and I could stand after the accident, but why should I struggle alone?

I'm learning that I have a need to appear independent. That I think it's weak to ask for help in my life outside of school unless it's for things like restaurant recommendations or where to buy ice cube trays. I need to be the tough girl. Especially when I'm a new member of a community.

What this accident has taught me is that it's not just okay, but it's good to be vulnerable. People want to help. It's okay to show your weaknesses to others because we all have them.

It's good to ask for help when it's offered; be it soup or company or a laugh, because even if you think you didn't need it, you probably do.

I need to be more open to ask and receive help. I need to accept the tlc just like my little quirky table does when one of its leg falls off. It's okay not be the tough girl because what you receive from others will make you stronger than you could have ever been without. It also sometimes involves amazing arnica cream, flowers and chocolate too.

Flowers and great company from a friend.

Being the New Kid

This morning I woke up with a bad case of homesickness. I desperately wanted to call my family and friends and say, "I'm homesick. Let's go to breakfast or meet up later for dinner." I wanted it to be easy, to just be myself with people who love me.

But right now it's not that easy. See I'm the new kid. Each interaction I have with people in Prague feels pressured. I feel as though I have to be my best self each and every time.  

A million questions and judgements flurry through my mind while I'm with others. 

"Do they like me?"

"Why did I tell that story? I should have shared this one instead."

"Be open-minded. Take the time to listen."

"Why are you worrying about this when there are people with such 'bigger' things going on in their lives?"

And while all of this scurries across my conscious, another part of my mind desperately shouts, "Stop this. Just be you! They'll like you." 

This stage of feeling awkward and the wash of blue feelings will pass. What I need to do until it does is keep accepting the invitations here and just enjoy getting to know others. I need to reconnect with faraway friends and family to strengthen my sense of self.  And lastly treat myself with kindness.  That all sounds good but maybe for today, I just need to watch another episode of "Orange is the New Black," and go to bed early. Those are things I think I can do.

Home Revised

It seems like there's a trending topic with bloggers I follow lately. The concept of home. I wrote my own version while on my flight home from Mumbai to Chicago a week and a half ago. 

Then I was met at the airport with huge hugs. 

After just a few hours back in the the States, I realized my original "home" post needed a major rewrite.

Until I boarded the plane, I had called Dekalb, Illinois and Mumbai, India home. In DeKalb, home held memories of Christmas Eve traditions including matching jammies. In Mumbai, it facilitated escape from beautiful chaos. Both places created safety, peace and comfort. 

The final few weeks, I felt like I'd lost home. My sense of having a place had evaporated. 

Which is where?

I was in stuck in-between places Trying to accept that I'd spend the summer holding a pin to put onto my map.

But then unexpectedly, I found home. A bedroom in my parents' new house that was decorated less than 24 hours after 2 closings. 

My bedroom for the summer including cute throw pillows

A sister trip to Vancouver with the Goo. Watching soccer out with my parents. Spending a Saturday catching up with dear friends in Chicago. I realized that sometimes home isn't one place. It's not the place your parents lived for 28 years. Not the apartment you painted in vibrant hues in Mumbai. Home is anywhere and everywhere. It's where I make it.

For this summer, not only does Kermit have a home but I have one too. The uncertainty I'd struggled with the final few weeks of the school year in Bombay has been unexpectedly reattached. Stitched back into the place by the people I love. Thank you.

Crashes

Yesterday the walls came crashing down. Literally.

One of the cabinet doors in my kitchen broke away from the wall as I attempted to put away my freshly washed french press.

At the time I thought it was funny. The external, literal falling down of things around me. Lately it's felt like I've been driving in Mumbai again; trying to dodge collisions and this one I couldn't avoid.

Yesterday though, I shrugged it off, put in my School Dude request to have it repaired (Yes, I know I'm spoiled by only completing a brief online form to have a handyman come to my apartment and make the repair for free) and went about the remainder of my day.

About 11:30 this morning, though there was a pile up. This crash came in the form of a doorbell and a table.

My friend's movers arrived to pick up the table she bought from me.

The movers slide off their sandals, picked up the table and were out in again in moments. This move was perfect. A green light. After closing the door, I sat back down to work. My eyes glanced back to the lesson plan and suddenly, I started to cry. The collision A full on, noise making, eye squinting, boogery cry. I'd been hit.

Also when you move furniture you also realize just how dirty your walls are.

While washing my face, I realized this crash had nothing to do teaching but was all about my space. I'm a nester. My home space is important to me. It's sacred. This new emptiness made me feel as though the end had arrived.

The longer I live abroad though, I realize this is part of transitioning. It comes in waves. Today hit me. It wasn't so much about the thing. The table. It was about the people I'm saying goodbye to for a while.

Rather than wallowing in my sorrows in my emptier nest, I reached out to my friends who in an instant were there with understanding and support.

Friends quickly offered to move up our afternoon date. They arrived earlier. After lunch, manis and pedis and just some good talks and quality time with some of my girls; I'm no longer suffering from transition whiplash.

While I hope no more literal things come tumbling down around me, I do know that these collisions will be a part of the next few months ahead.

End note 1: In case you wondered, the French press was also a casualty. Shattered and not quite as shrug-off-able as the cabinet door.

End note 2: Yes we are riding in a rickshaw with a lampshade above our heads. All you need to know is that it made me feel better. 

Transitions Suck

Transitions suck.

They’re hard. I know what’s ahead. 

Packing. Saying goodbye.

Waiting. Sitting in between moments.

Being the new girl. Seeking possibilities.

I’ve done this before. I’ve watched family and friends navigate them.

New countries and cities. Jobs and marriages. Babies being born while loved ones grow older.

Sometimes we RSVP’d change and sometimes they’ve crashed our party.

I invited them. I invited change.

But right now it feels; I feel sad.  

Because I feel right here is right.

And that’s okay because it's just all part of this.

Ahoy! Language Lessons

Learning a foreign language has never come easy for me. I tried, with a bit of effort, to learn Spanish and Portuguese. When I actually put effort into studying them, my reading and writing abilities were average. My listening abilities were pretty mediocre too.

First Portuguese class at EAB. Moro no India.

A photo posted by Megan Looney (@meganlooney05) on Jun 22, 2012 at 9:24am PDT

Oh and my speaking proficiency? That fell into a completely different category. It was awful. Why? Easy answer. Mostly because I loathe speaking another language.

Whether in the past or in the present, my perfectionistic side speaks loudly and criticizes my abilities when I make an attempt to utter a word or phrase.

I'm transported back to my freshman year in college. My Spanish professor only spoke Spanish. Shocker I know; but from what I recall he refused to speak any English. I'd use the most strategic means I could think of to evade answering his questions. Avoid any and all eye contact with him. Shockingly, that strategy didn't work and he'd call on me. Even when I would ask in Spanish for help with a particular word or phrase, "¿Cómo se dice____?" He'd refuse. Now I'm not saying having high expectations aren't appropriate for students or that I disagree with the belief that "we learn best when we're outside our comfort zone" but I was in agony. I wanted to slide down off my navy blue college desk/chair combo onto the floor and cower under my desk until this moment in the spotlight vanished. Needless to say my frustration and anxiety caused me to drop that class and Spanish.

Moving to the Czech Republic, I know I need to learn Czech for a few reasons.

First the practical. I've read it's helpful. As in most countries, some people speak English and others don't. Also, as in most countries, people there appreciate it when someone puts forth an effort to try and speak the local language. Both of these are shocking statements I know. Please sense the sarcasm.

The second reason? It's personal. No more excuses. No more hiding behind sweaty palms and a frozen tongue. I'm determine to learn Czech.

Since I was bound and stupid determined, I began to research some options. I wanted to find something that would play to my strengths, by choosing a program that included visuals while at the same time providing me the needed listening and speaking practice I loathed needed.

So this week, as I rode in the car to and from school, I started studying.  This morning while out to breakfast with a friend, she asked me what phrases I knew. This impromptu quiz brought out those feelings of not being good enough or smart enough (insert Stuart Smalley mirror image here) but I told her the phrases I did remember. They were fewer than yesterday but still some stuck. And much more importantly, I said them aloud to someone other than my driver, who doesn't speak English, who hears me practicing all the time.

So "Ahoy" or "hello" to this new learning and starting to let go of the past.

My commute today has some new Czech stats: 2 lessons, 5 (maybe 6) confident phrases. Long way to go but I'm starting. #Czech #india #language #prague #megscode

A photo posted by Megan Looney (@meganlooney05) on Feb 12, 2015 at 3:34am PST