Puzzle Pieces

Well, my alcohol consumption increased dramatically.

It’s not that I didn’t drink at all before moving home, I just didn’t have anyone to drink with. Not that I didn’t have any friends… I just… didn’t have any friends that really drank. Some had valid reasons. They were allergic to alcohol. I wouldn’t give peanut butter to someone who was deathly allergic to peanuts, so I was not about to give a glass of wine to a friend and watch them pray to the porcelain gods all night. Sorry for the imagery. Others, just didn’t? Not that alcohol consumption is a necessity to have a good time, but some social lubrication helps the ease and flow of conversation when people are a little shy. Also, the buzzy, floating sensation of being tipsy is fun! We humans find 101 ways to find a high and this one just happens to be legal and readily available. However, where I was living, people, for whatever reason, thought fun was a word that started with “f”. To be avoided at all costs. If there was a glimmer of it on the horizon, people reminded themselves, and everyone around them, of how miserable they were or how the world is going to a dumpster fire and half. It was a race to the bottom with people trying to out misery themselves. It led to very dull conversations with relatively uninteresting people. Misery is repetitive, especially when it’s just for misery’s sake. It is a pity really. I believe every person is capable of some magic, and they could have been quite interesting people if only they saw themselves as anything other than miserable.

So that was my life. Life with the miserable people. On a quiet street that closed up shop at 9pm, and where there was nothing to do after the sun set over the hills. Heck, it was so sleepy sometimes the gas stations would close early. Personally, I thought by definition with the lack of public transportation in the area, places like gas stations were legally entitled to stay open at all times in case someone had trouble getting from point A to point B. I was wrong.

Then I moved back to my hometown. The weeks are no longer defined by the days split between weekends. The people in my life possess various small and large passions. Some are amateur musicians or comedians. Others love to dance or hold giant bbqs just because. They are human- they still have their down moments, but people here no longer appear defined by them. And, the gas stations are open 24/7!

Needless to say, when I first moved back home, I was in a bit of culture shock. Scratch that. I was in complete culture shock. It’s not like I moved into a new land with new languages and customs. I just moved around the U S of A. The stars and stripes still wave in the breeze. American accented English is still spoken on the streets. But I came home and felt as if I was transported to a whole new world.

First thing I noticed? Eye contact. I have this slight habit of naturally looking people in the eye as I walk past them. Can’t tell you where it came from or why I started doing it. It’s such a habit I don’t even notice myself doing it half… all… the time. What I am used to is looking strangers in the eye and people looking away at breakneck speed. Sometimes they even moved to a different aisle of the grocery store! Now, when I find myself making eye contact with a passerby, it tends to linger for a fraction of a second. A moment of recognizing each other’s presence. It took me a few days to get used to a stranger’s reciprocal momentary acknowledgement of me, another human being, walking the same Earth as them. It’s nice.

The biggest culture shock for me, however, was the rapid-fire pace of conversations. Listening to the ping pong of different stories and conversations where the people gulped for air before bouncing the conversation back to the other person like a professional game of catch. Or Olympic style ping pong. I was used to amateur hour where conversations started and faltered like someone trying to throw a football for the first time. It drops, fumbles, and wobbles through the air. I became so used to being my counterpart's guide, driving conversation points to topics I think they would find interesting so the conversation didn’t stutter and stall and we were left awkwardly standing there looking blankly at one another. Good thing, I am very good at steering conversations to a place where they can be sustainable. Like a baby deer taking its first steps, after 5 minutes they were usually good on their own. What caught me off guard was when I moved back, people passed the conversation immediately back at me. I spent years walking people through the proverbial game of catch of a conversation that when it was thrown back at me, I was left looking at the conversation in my lap, trying to relearn how to immediately throw it back.

I feel silly writing about my culture shock. They seem so incredibly basic. So woven into the fabric of being human. Eye contact? The ability to hold a conversation? I’ve got to be kidding myself. How can I possibly be moved by such basic human details? I did not realize how far I twisted myself around into a pretzel trying to compensate for how others perceived the world until I didn’t have to do it anymore.

For years I have felt like a puzzle piece slamming myself all over the picture trying to make myself fit in. I tried to see if I fit in the foreground of the picture and tried to see if I could float among the clouds. Was I the issue? I must fit somewhere in this picture. Nothing worked. Each new location made me feel more lost. Yet, some puzzle pieces aren’t meant to fit together, no matter how we orient them and where we place them.

As soon as I moved home, I felt my puzzle piece slide into place. Gradually I feel myself unraveling from the pretzel position I’ve tied myself in. I’m sleeping more deeply, breathing more clearly, and laughing more loudly. My hometown hums with activity and I can feel the energy slowly seep back into me. All and all, it’s good to be home.