At the time that I moved from the United States to Italy, I had been living in the same community for 20 years. Prior to that, I'd lived either one hour or 7 hours south of that community. I'd lived in the same state for 25 years. And before that, I'd lived in my parent's house in Virginia - for 22 years.
It's safe to say that compared to other people, I don't move much.
When I moved from the mountains of Southwest Virginia to the flat coastal stretch of southeast Georgia, I missed my horizon line.
When I moved from Athens, Georgia to a lakeside - popular among retirees - community in the foothills of the Blue Ridge mountains, I missed the much more youthful vibe of a college town.
Someone asked me yesterday: what about the United States do you miss?
I found that question to be more difficult to answer than you might expect. Upon reflection, I do have answers, but at the time I was hit with the question, I couldn't think of almost any of them.
I think that's kind of strange. Maybe it suggests that I am fairly deeply ensconced in this place, now. I can confess that I sometimes struggle to determine what I should call 'home.'
But even if this place is home, for however long it is such, there are things I definitely miss. I miss the United States when:
-I need a haircut. I can walk into an art supply store and stumble through my rough Italian and still successfully leave with what I came for. But the level of language finesse needed for talking with a stylist is a whole other can of worms for me.
-I want to drive somewhere so that I have total control over when I arrive, when I leave, and when I will arrive home. I just don't drive anymore, and Roman mass transit is a distinct challenge. You can have two apps on your phone AND Google maps running at the same time, make up your mind that the bus you need to catch isn't coming for 45 minutes or more, start the long walk home, and be just far enough away from the bus stop to make it impossible to catch the phantom bus (with a dysfunctional or simply non-functioning transponder) that will bolt past you, as you sweat and curse.
-Something abrupt has happened to my utility supply, my means of mass transit or some other thing for which I depend upon others to maintain on a regular basis, and they have not bothered to warn/inform/acknowledge the inconvenience of the interruption. I don't know why, but this particular level of courtesy is completely lacking here. There is this rather infuriating degree of resignation among Italians (who will still bitterly complain about the situation, but do nothing to improve it) that is either a result of this kind of conditioning or it simply allows the lack of courtesy to persist...I think. And when I approach my stove with raw foodstuff I intend to turn into dinner and I have no gas, no explanation and no knowledge of when it will be restored, I get testy.
-I want to shop in a store for an unspecified length of time - in real air conditioning. The rampant phobia here regarding cold air on your neck or any other part of your body can wear a little thin, particularly since science doesn't corroborate the notion that it can kill you...or at least make you sick. These people, with their Mediterranean blood and passion for the blazing sun must find all of the red-faced, schvitzing foreigners in their midst to not only be hopelessly impaired but also disgusting. And when I've already been sweating outdoors and I walk indoors to maybe get a little relief.....and the indoor temperature is only weakly influenced by tepid air blowing out of a wall ac unit that is yellowed from years of indoor tobacco usage (prevented now by law) and general age...I know I feel pretty disgusting. If you saw my Google search history over the last six months, you'd think I was a hypochondriac, with terms like 'hyperhydrosis' and 'prickly heat' and questions like 'what are the symptoms of dehydration?' This white alien is still struggling, even after two years of being here.
-I want to shop online. I can order things from certain retailers and have them shipped, but if they exceed the size of my overseas post office box (which is not really a box, the size limitations have to do with the size of a mailing pouch), forget it. And some goods - like printed business cards, for crying out loud - while well within the size limits, simply are not shipped by vendors to post office boxes, so I'm out of luck there. The new data protection laws here in Europe have put an additional damper on being an online consumer, as a number of American businesses' websites are now no longer visible to me.
-I want to eat fish without bones. Or shrimp without attached heads and shells. Those two sentences alone should tell you how spoiled rotten Americans are. It's a rarity to encounter a pin bone or two in a piece of salmon at home. It's so commonplace here that I sometimes must rationalize whether I feel rested enough to tackle a plated fish, even when I didn't cook it. And when you pay by weight for whole (i.e., heads and shells ON) shrimp, the amount of edible material once you're finished with the prep can be depressing. Oh sure, I hear you when you say that bone-in fish and shelled shrimp are better tasting, but sometimes, this lazy American doesn't feel like working that hard.
-I see a physically disabled person struggle because they have to stand in a line just like the rest of the tourists or park far away from the business entrance...because there is no ADA here. Now, people here aren't complete jerks about this kind of thing. I have witnessed bus drivers assist people in wheelchairs with the on/off ramps. There is an elevator in the Colosseum (and sometimes it even works). But Americans expecting the kinds of provisions that the law provides at home are in for a rude awakening elsewhere. I don't think that they realize just how conditioned they are by that protection. It's a gift.
-I hear a student talk about her European high school experiences that included the routine violation of his or her privacy. In response to my reminder to her that her grades were something I declined to discuss in email (because it's not a private form of communication), one student said, "Really? I guess that I'm still in high school mode, where teachers would regularly announce your grade to the rest of the room before handing your test back to you." Color me aghast. Again, folks, you don't necessarily know how protected you are until you hear about something like that.
-I want to have that good old job security mindset. As a department chair in the U.S., I already knew what adjuncts' lives were/are like: they're pretty crummy. Base level pay for work you have to do out of your home because you have no on-campus office, no health benefits, no work guarantee from one term or one year to the next. The utter bottom of the totem pole is no place for a person who thrives when they feel just secure enough to take healthy chances in their daily work, positively growing, yielding successes and creating new opportunities...and 'a person' really means: most of us. But I left that for a life here. I told myself that I was perfectly o.k. with not knowing what would happen next in my career, because initially, I had to be. And I believed myself, until I slipped into Ambition Mode. But I'm still in that adjunct saddle, wishing I'd never gotten a taste of a vision of something more secure. Ambition is good until it lives like a monkey on your back.
(And yet, it bears mentioning that academic job cuts are happening left and right in the U.S. - in the arts and humanities, mostly. And that's because while we're still wanted to teach the general education elective here and there, our majors are drying up thanks to a staggering combination of dwindling numbers of students <lower birthrate, 18-20 years ago> and a ridiculously overblown societal emphasis on directly vocationally oriented programs. College is now akin to job training, and nothing more. Since everybody got on the bandwagon of running a college like a corporation in America, if you aren't pulling in the dough in a directly measurable way, then you're expendable. So I'm not kidding myself when I consider that the notion of job security in my field may or may not be something I'll ever see again.)
-I want buttered popcorn with my movie. Italians are totally pro-cinema. After all, this is Fellini's country. But the seriousness with which the cinema is treated means that you rarely have anything edible in your hands during the screening. In my limited experience, perhaps half of the cinemas I've been to actually have a concession stand of any kind. And the little box of dry popcorn is just not up to my standards.
-I want to go for a leisurely stroll on smooth sidewalks, and not worry about twisting my ankle on broken pavement or a pothole.
-I want to wear sweaters. It's in the high 60s and low 70s here during this unusually warm Fall, and because it's two weeks 'til Thanksgiving, I want to wear a damned sweater.
It's safe to say that compared to other people, I don't move much.
When I moved from the mountains of Southwest Virginia to the flat coastal stretch of southeast Georgia, I missed my horizon line.
When I moved from Athens, Georgia to a lakeside - popular among retirees - community in the foothills of the Blue Ridge mountains, I missed the much more youthful vibe of a college town.
 |
| Don't ask me....I just saw this street art in Sicily, and it cracked me up. |
Someone asked me yesterday: what about the United States do you miss?
I found that question to be more difficult to answer than you might expect. Upon reflection, I do have answers, but at the time I was hit with the question, I couldn't think of almost any of them.
I think that's kind of strange. Maybe it suggests that I am fairly deeply ensconced in this place, now. I can confess that I sometimes struggle to determine what I should call 'home.'
But even if this place is home, for however long it is such, there are things I definitely miss. I miss the United States when:
-I need a haircut. I can walk into an art supply store and stumble through my rough Italian and still successfully leave with what I came for. But the level of language finesse needed for talking with a stylist is a whole other can of worms for me.
-I want to drive somewhere so that I have total control over when I arrive, when I leave, and when I will arrive home. I just don't drive anymore, and Roman mass transit is a distinct challenge. You can have two apps on your phone AND Google maps running at the same time, make up your mind that the bus you need to catch isn't coming for 45 minutes or more, start the long walk home, and be just far enough away from the bus stop to make it impossible to catch the phantom bus (with a dysfunctional or simply non-functioning transponder) that will bolt past you, as you sweat and curse.
-Something abrupt has happened to my utility supply, my means of mass transit or some other thing for which I depend upon others to maintain on a regular basis, and they have not bothered to warn/inform/acknowledge the inconvenience of the interruption. I don't know why, but this particular level of courtesy is completely lacking here. There is this rather infuriating degree of resignation among Italians (who will still bitterly complain about the situation, but do nothing to improve it) that is either a result of this kind of conditioning or it simply allows the lack of courtesy to persist...I think. And when I approach my stove with raw foodstuff I intend to turn into dinner and I have no gas, no explanation and no knowledge of when it will be restored, I get testy.
-I want to shop in a store for an unspecified length of time - in real air conditioning. The rampant phobia here regarding cold air on your neck or any other part of your body can wear a little thin, particularly since science doesn't corroborate the notion that it can kill you...or at least make you sick. These people, with their Mediterranean blood and passion for the blazing sun must find all of the red-faced, schvitzing foreigners in their midst to not only be hopelessly impaired but also disgusting. And when I've already been sweating outdoors and I walk indoors to maybe get a little relief.....and the indoor temperature is only weakly influenced by tepid air blowing out of a wall ac unit that is yellowed from years of indoor tobacco usage (prevented now by law) and general age...I know I feel pretty disgusting. If you saw my Google search history over the last six months, you'd think I was a hypochondriac, with terms like 'hyperhydrosis' and 'prickly heat' and questions like 'what are the symptoms of dehydration?' This white alien is still struggling, even after two years of being here.
-I want to shop online. I can order things from certain retailers and have them shipped, but if they exceed the size of my overseas post office box (which is not really a box, the size limitations have to do with the size of a mailing pouch), forget it. And some goods - like printed business cards, for crying out loud - while well within the size limits, simply are not shipped by vendors to post office boxes, so I'm out of luck there. The new data protection laws here in Europe have put an additional damper on being an online consumer, as a number of American businesses' websites are now no longer visible to me.
-I want to eat fish without bones. Or shrimp without attached heads and shells. Those two sentences alone should tell you how spoiled rotten Americans are. It's a rarity to encounter a pin bone or two in a piece of salmon at home. It's so commonplace here that I sometimes must rationalize whether I feel rested enough to tackle a plated fish, even when I didn't cook it. And when you pay by weight for whole (i.e., heads and shells ON) shrimp, the amount of edible material once you're finished with the prep can be depressing. Oh sure, I hear you when you say that bone-in fish and shelled shrimp are better tasting, but sometimes, this lazy American doesn't feel like working that hard.
 |
| This also cracks me up AND sobers me up. I want peace and authentic food, too, wherever I am. |
-I see a physically disabled person struggle because they have to stand in a line just like the rest of the tourists or park far away from the business entrance...because there is no ADA here. Now, people here aren't complete jerks about this kind of thing. I have witnessed bus drivers assist people in wheelchairs with the on/off ramps. There is an elevator in the Colosseum (and sometimes it even works). But Americans expecting the kinds of provisions that the law provides at home are in for a rude awakening elsewhere. I don't think that they realize just how conditioned they are by that protection. It's a gift.
-I hear a student talk about her European high school experiences that included the routine violation of his or her privacy. In response to my reminder to her that her grades were something I declined to discuss in email (because it's not a private form of communication), one student said, "Really? I guess that I'm still in high school mode, where teachers would regularly announce your grade to the rest of the room before handing your test back to you." Color me aghast. Again, folks, you don't necessarily know how protected you are until you hear about something like that.
-I want to have that good old job security mindset. As a department chair in the U.S., I already knew what adjuncts' lives were/are like: they're pretty crummy. Base level pay for work you have to do out of your home because you have no on-campus office, no health benefits, no work guarantee from one term or one year to the next. The utter bottom of the totem pole is no place for a person who thrives when they feel just secure enough to take healthy chances in their daily work, positively growing, yielding successes and creating new opportunities...and 'a person' really means: most of us. But I left that for a life here. I told myself that I was perfectly o.k. with not knowing what would happen next in my career, because initially, I had to be. And I believed myself, until I slipped into Ambition Mode. But I'm still in that adjunct saddle, wishing I'd never gotten a taste of a vision of something more secure. Ambition is good until it lives like a monkey on your back.
(And yet, it bears mentioning that academic job cuts are happening left and right in the U.S. - in the arts and humanities, mostly. And that's because while we're still wanted to teach the general education elective here and there, our majors are drying up thanks to a staggering combination of dwindling numbers of students <lower birthrate, 18-20 years ago> and a ridiculously overblown societal emphasis on directly vocationally oriented programs. College is now akin to job training, and nothing more. Since everybody got on the bandwagon of running a college like a corporation in America, if you aren't pulling in the dough in a directly measurable way, then you're expendable. So I'm not kidding myself when I consider that the notion of job security in my field may or may not be something I'll ever see again.)
-I want buttered popcorn with my movie. Italians are totally pro-cinema. After all, this is Fellini's country. But the seriousness with which the cinema is treated means that you rarely have anything edible in your hands during the screening. In my limited experience, perhaps half of the cinemas I've been to actually have a concession stand of any kind. And the little box of dry popcorn is just not up to my standards.
-I want to go for a leisurely stroll on smooth sidewalks, and not worry about twisting my ankle on broken pavement or a pothole.
-I want to wear sweaters. It's in the high 60s and low 70s here during this unusually warm Fall, and because it's two weeks 'til Thanksgiving, I want to wear a damned sweater.
