We're flying back to the United States for a visit. I say "back" for Jake and me, but it'll be Jethro's first time there, even though he's a U.S. citizen. When we set out on this adventure (see previous post) we didn't really think we'd set foot on U.S. soil again for three and a half years. But then we had a baby. And it became increasingly evident that Jake's folks, desperate to meet their 19th grandbaby, weren't up for a trip out here. Maybe more specifically, their knees weren't up for going up and down six flights of stairs multiple times a day while they were staying with us. So Jake's parents decided to give us the money they'd been saving to come to us and instead bring us to them. Jake and I are blind with excitement. But there are nerves, too. And not just about a transatlantic flight with this guy:
Although that prospect does chill the blood. Beyond that I'm nervous that I'm going to return to my homeland and it's not going to feel like home anymore. There are so many aspects of European life that have been good for me, that have made me better and healthier. But they are things that will undoubtedly make me seem and feel strange on U.S. turf. I fear this visit will give me a taste of the "man-without-a-country" sensation I'll no doubt suffer through for a while when we return for good. I hope I'll be able to keep up the good habits I've formed here, but I have this sinking feeling that I won't have the willpower.
For example, we have no car here. So we take public transit, Jake bikes to work, or we walk. I walk all the time. Just to get to the tram stop, I walk a couple of blocks. And then there's always the 99 stairs to be climbed to get back home. I do it several times a day. Usually lugging an ever-heavier baby and a bunch of groceries. Before we came here I would go for weeks without walking more than a block in a day. I drove everywhere. My job was something like four or five blocks from our apartment and I drove there almost every day. The grocery store was two blocks away and I drove. Thinking about it now makes my skin crawl. But then I also realize that going to an American grocery store with a backpacking backpack (completely normal here) would make me look like a very un-subtle kleptomaniac, and the larger sizes of grocery items in America would probably make my normal routine impossible anyway.
Another thing that's improved our health has been the inaccessibility of fast food. It's here, but not near our place. So we have to make an effort. And, anyway, none of our favorites are here: Arby's, Sonic, Wendy's, Taco Bell/Time, Little Caesar's, etc., etc. Before it was everywhere, and it was faster and often cheaper than preparing food ourselves. And so that was dinner for us probably three or four times a week. Here, we eat it almost never. The biggest side effect of this is that I have learned how to cook, which is a life skill I'm finding to be quite useful and rewarding. I'm also pretty certain that if our arteries could talk, they'd thank us. But despite this, some of the activities highest on our "To Do in America" list involves eating garbage. Jake must have an Arby's Big Montana, and if I don't get a really big, thick Reese's Peanut Butter Cup milkshake within two days of my arrival, somebody's gonna die.
Now that I think about it, I felt like crap before we came here. I had low blood pressure, was an appropriate weight, didn't smoke or drink, exercised a little bit, but I felt awful a lot of the time. I was constantly tired, and I felt nauseous and woozy way more often than I think is normal. I threw up for no apparent reason almost bi-monthly, earning me a reputation with family for having a "weak constitution". But now I feel strong. I feel healthy. And I haven't thrown up once in the two years we've been here — and that's including the time I was pregnant. I've gotten sick a few times, but I haven't had those lingering weak, queasy feelings at all. I'm guessing that's not a coincidence.
On the other hand, there are aspects of American life that I'm very excited to become reacquainted with. High on this list is friendly people. I don't want to be misunderstood here. Germans are not generally mean or vicious. I've found that if I ever need to approach a stranger to ask for directions or help with something, they're always happy to oblige. But most Germans aren't needlessly friendly. Shortly after we got here, I walked to the grocery store on a sunny, summer morning. A lot of people were out in the neighborhood, walking their dogs, working on their cars, or whatever. As was completely normal for me and where I come from, I smiled at everyone I passed and wished them "Guten Morgen" ("Good morning"). I must have done this at least 10 times before I got to the grocery store. And I didn't receive a single smile back, much less a reciprocal "Guten Morgen". Mostly I just got stares. Some people ignored me entirely. It took me a while to realize that Germans don't work that way. They seem to have this code that says "We will not interfere with one another." And for better or worse, they abide by it. On the one hand, they come off to outsiders as being cold and disinterested when they don't smile and nod at strangers on the street. But on the other hand, I've never felt threatened or unsafe when out alone at night. I've never worried about harassment or about receiving unwanted advances from a stranger. Because Germans just leave each other alone. That's what they do.
At first this annoyed me, but eventually I accepted and adopted their code of mutually assured isolation, and now I've actually come to respect it in a way. There's a pragmatism to it. Sort of like how they don't ask each other "how are you?" unless they're fully prepared to sit with you and get your true answer, however long or tragic. They're not going to smile and say hi when they have no intention of either A). having a relationship with you or B). having a conversation with you. Really, it's just social honesty. And now, having an adorable baby with me all the time, I see the other side of it. When people smile at and coo Jethro in public, I know they mean it. They're not doing it just to humor him or me. The experience has helped me understand why Germans often view Americans as being shallow and insincere. When you smile at and greet everyone you see like your long lost best friend, how is anyone supposed to know when you really do care about them? I think it's a fair question.
But still, even knowing much of it is a ruse, as an American I find the seas of smiles and how-ya-doins so comforting. I'm excited to be thrown back into it, but it's entirely possible that the Germans have had their way with me, and I'll find myself just as baffled by all the American über-friendliness as a German would be.
And so my question is, if I can't keep up my German habits or reintegrate socially in the United States, where does that leave me? A rude American? A lazy German? I guess I'll have to start my own country.
Anyone interested in homesteading Jasminestan?
JEM
Friday, July 31, 2009
Thursday, July 9, 2009
How We Got Here or Two Years Ago Today
It must’ve been almost 4 years ago. It was afternoon. Jake was home from school and I was home from work. We were standing in the kitchen in our apartment in Logan, Utah, and he was leaning against the sink when he said, “Jaz, what would you think about moving to Dresden when I get done?”
I stopped what I was doing, stared at him for a moment, and I started to cry. It surprised us both, I think. But the instant the words left his mouth, I knew it was right. The feeling was so fast and so strong. I knew, out of nowhere, that this was what we would do. I put my arms around him and told him I’d like that.
He told me about a flier he’d seen hanging in the engineering building at the university advertising a Ph.D. program in computational at the Max Planck Institute in Dresden, Germany. It had caught his eye for a few reasons: He’d recently heard about the new field of computational biology and felt that it was a good match for his interests in biology and computers and his engineering background. He also knew the Max Planck Institutes were well respected in the science world.
But what really stood out was the location. When Jake was 19, in 1999, he served a mission for our church in Eastern Germany. He lived in cities surrounding Dresden for 2 years, learning the language and developing a passion for the culture while teaching others about the LDS religion. About a year after we were married, two years after he’d gotten home from his mission, he took me back. It was my first time out of the country. We visited some cities he served in and a few he didn’t. I found Germany beautiful and fascinating, but alien. I felt on edge, isolated by the language barrier and the cultural differences. Several days into the trip, I distinctly remember thinking, “I knew Jake would love to live here again, but I just couldn’t do it.” And then we visited Dresden.
I can’t explain what happened in Dresden. We were only there for a day and a night. But it took my heart. I can’t hardly imagine a city less like my Idaho hometown, but for some reason there was something about it that felt like home. I felt safe and happy and excited there. Jake, who hadn’t spent much time in Dresden on his mission, felt it, too. We went home and continued studying at the university and working, but we remembered.
And now, with the prospect of a Ph.D. program there, Dresden became the next place. The tentative (but not really tentative) plan. When people asked about our future, we started to tell them about our hopes for Dresden. We tried to hold back our enthusiasm since nothing was assured, but eventually it became impossible. It was going to happen. We were certain.
When it came time Jake applied, and we waited. And on Dec. 20, 2006, our fourth wedding anniversary, I woke up to find that Jake wasn’t in bed. I went into the living room, and he told me he’d just gotten the e-mail. His application had been denied. I felt like the floor gave out beneath me. I was shocked, first, that anyone would turn Jake away. I knew his talents would be a gift to any institution. And I don’t say that as his wife. You can ask anyone who’s worked with him and who knows his mind and his work ethic. They’ll recommend him even more vehemently than I would. Simultaneously, my heart shattered for Jake, who had been working toward this so single-mindedly and so hard. I’d never seen him want anything quite as much. Then I felt something like falling. Like grasping at air. Our “next step” had vaporized, and we had no idea where we’d go. And finally, as I held Jake in the dark room and cried and whispered “I’m so sorry” into his shoulder, I felt relief. Naturally, I’d felt anxiety about the whole thing — leaving our families, friends and belongings for so long. Being dropped with no one but Jake into a culture and language I didn’t understand. But I didn’t have to feel anxious anymore. That door was closed.
Over the next few months, Jake sent out what seemed to be a steady stream of applications. After the refusal, he had decided against getting a Ph.D. He felt more inclined to get into the workforce, so that’s where the applications went: research institutions, laboratories and universities. And I retooled my vision of our next few years. I saw us in a little house or condo somewhere in the United States starting the life we’d likely have for years to come. It felt — fine. It was difficult to shake the strong feelings I’d had about moving to Dresden, but they started to fade, and I started to embrace the more conventional path.
But in the midst of the job applications, Jake also sent an e-mail to the professor in Dresden he had hoped to work with, asking what had been lacking in his application. In time, he heard back from the professor who said that he hadn’t even seen Jake’s application. It had apparently been turned away in committee before it made it into any of the professors’ hands. He asked Jake to send it to him, saying that he was still bringing in Ph.D. students independent of the Max Planck Institute. Jake did and the professor responded quickly and positively. As they corresponded over the next few days, I saw a light come back on in Jake, but I was growing increasingly ill with anxiety. Now my vision of American suburban existence was getting ripped out from under me and being re-replaced with the prospect of moving overseas, which seemed this time around to be much more real and terrifying than before. The professor interviewed Jake over the phone, and a week later Jake flew to Dresden to interview in person. I knew that was it. It would be difficult to turn Jake away on his credentials, but I knew once they met him, it would be impossible — a brilliant, hard working scientist with charisma, a cool head and quick wit. It was over. I sent him off at the Salt Lake City airport, and I knew, with creeping dread, that we would be back at this airport soon.
And we were, two months later. It was two years ago today, the day that I hugged my family in the airport and got into the security line, tear-stained and shaking and clinging to Jake’s hand for all I was worth, and feeling somehow like Adam and Eve being cast out of the Garden of Eden.
That was two years ago.
I think we've done all right.
JEM
I stopped what I was doing, stared at him for a moment, and I started to cry. It surprised us both, I think. But the instant the words left his mouth, I knew it was right. The feeling was so fast and so strong. I knew, out of nowhere, that this was what we would do. I put my arms around him and told him I’d like that.
He told me about a flier he’d seen hanging in the engineering building at the university advertising a Ph.D. program in computational at the Max Planck Institute in Dresden, Germany. It had caught his eye for a few reasons: He’d recently heard about the new field of computational biology and felt that it was a good match for his interests in biology and computers and his engineering background. He also knew the Max Planck Institutes were well respected in the science world.
But what really stood out was the location. When Jake was 19, in 1999, he served a mission for our church in Eastern Germany. He lived in cities surrounding Dresden for 2 years, learning the language and developing a passion for the culture while teaching others about the LDS religion. About a year after we were married, two years after he’d gotten home from his mission, he took me back. It was my first time out of the country. We visited some cities he served in and a few he didn’t. I found Germany beautiful and fascinating, but alien. I felt on edge, isolated by the language barrier and the cultural differences. Several days into the trip, I distinctly remember thinking, “I knew Jake would love to live here again, but I just couldn’t do it.” And then we visited Dresden.
I can’t explain what happened in Dresden. We were only there for a day and a night. But it took my heart. I can’t hardly imagine a city less like my Idaho hometown, but for some reason there was something about it that felt like home. I felt safe and happy and excited there. Jake, who hadn’t spent much time in Dresden on his mission, felt it, too. We went home and continued studying at the university and working, but we remembered.
And now, with the prospect of a Ph.D. program there, Dresden became the next place. The tentative (but not really tentative) plan. When people asked about our future, we started to tell them about our hopes for Dresden. We tried to hold back our enthusiasm since nothing was assured, but eventually it became impossible. It was going to happen. We were certain.
When it came time Jake applied, and we waited. And on Dec. 20, 2006, our fourth wedding anniversary, I woke up to find that Jake wasn’t in bed. I went into the living room, and he told me he’d just gotten the e-mail. His application had been denied. I felt like the floor gave out beneath me. I was shocked, first, that anyone would turn Jake away. I knew his talents would be a gift to any institution. And I don’t say that as his wife. You can ask anyone who’s worked with him and who knows his mind and his work ethic. They’ll recommend him even more vehemently than I would. Simultaneously, my heart shattered for Jake, who had been working toward this so single-mindedly and so hard. I’d never seen him want anything quite as much. Then I felt something like falling. Like grasping at air. Our “next step” had vaporized, and we had no idea where we’d go. And finally, as I held Jake in the dark room and cried and whispered “I’m so sorry” into his shoulder, I felt relief. Naturally, I’d felt anxiety about the whole thing — leaving our families, friends and belongings for so long. Being dropped with no one but Jake into a culture and language I didn’t understand. But I didn’t have to feel anxious anymore. That door was closed.
Over the next few months, Jake sent out what seemed to be a steady stream of applications. After the refusal, he had decided against getting a Ph.D. He felt more inclined to get into the workforce, so that’s where the applications went: research institutions, laboratories and universities. And I retooled my vision of our next few years. I saw us in a little house or condo somewhere in the United States starting the life we’d likely have for years to come. It felt — fine. It was difficult to shake the strong feelings I’d had about moving to Dresden, but they started to fade, and I started to embrace the more conventional path.
But in the midst of the job applications, Jake also sent an e-mail to the professor in Dresden he had hoped to work with, asking what had been lacking in his application. In time, he heard back from the professor who said that he hadn’t even seen Jake’s application. It had apparently been turned away in committee before it made it into any of the professors’ hands. He asked Jake to send it to him, saying that he was still bringing in Ph.D. students independent of the Max Planck Institute. Jake did and the professor responded quickly and positively. As they corresponded over the next few days, I saw a light come back on in Jake, but I was growing increasingly ill with anxiety. Now my vision of American suburban existence was getting ripped out from under me and being re-replaced with the prospect of moving overseas, which seemed this time around to be much more real and terrifying than before. The professor interviewed Jake over the phone, and a week later Jake flew to Dresden to interview in person. I knew that was it. It would be difficult to turn Jake away on his credentials, but I knew once they met him, it would be impossible — a brilliant, hard working scientist with charisma, a cool head and quick wit. It was over. I sent him off at the Salt Lake City airport, and I knew, with creeping dread, that we would be back at this airport soon.
And we were, two months later. It was two years ago today, the day that I hugged my family in the airport and got into the security line, tear-stained and shaking and clinging to Jake’s hand for all I was worth, and feeling somehow like Adam and Eve being cast out of the Garden of Eden.
That was two years ago.
I think we've done all right.
JEM
Thursday, July 2, 2009
The Shark Hat: A Retrospective
Jethro's beloved shark hat, which I received from the Turek family at my baby shower last September, fell out of the kinderwagen yesterday somewhere between our church and the tram stop. We went back this morning to look for it and couldn't find it anywhere. We grieve, but are comforted by the good times we shared with shark hat. Rest in peace, good friend.
JEM
JEM
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