A Nether Ending Story

I saw this in real life…

A lady walking her dog without a leash.

No big deal, right?

Well what was walking behind them at a much brisker pace in order to keep up was a little yellow tabby cat with a collar. This lady was walking her dog and her cat…neither of them on a leash. I halted on my bike since the tabby guy got a little nervous when he saw me, but she just called his name and he sprinted up to her and the dog. I stood there for a while and watched since it was one of the cutest thing I’ve seen along the bike path in a while and probably something I will go my whole life never seeing again, aside from on the ‘ole YouTube. 

I haven’t been updating my personal blog lately since my personal life has reached a level of busyness that just doesn’t allow for much self-reflection. I’m happy for it, but I miss the writing time. I’m still working from home (creating its own motivational challenges), but the next few months are going to be intense as I work with a team of teachers opening a new school. This is a new step in my career and I’m thrilled to be a part of it. I’m also working for Powerful Learning Practice, a professional development program for educators that puts me in touch with thought leaders and veteran teachers - something every teacher is better for. And I’m still doing my freelance writing work. Lots of plates spinning at once and I haven’t quite figured out a system for keeping them going without the occasional crash, but I’m certainly not complaining. 

My mother is coming to visit The Netherlands for the first time next week. I can’t even begin to describe how happy I am about this. So many daughters say this, but she is really my best friend. And who doesn’t get excited about hugging her best friend for the first time in six months and showing her around a new country? It’s her I’m excited about, but she’s also bringing me treats from the states, including some of my precious literature anthologies (heavy but important), liquid smoke, hot sauces, and salt and vinegar chips. My friend Thalia and her fiance Matt just visited a few weeks ago and it was refreshing to have a bit of home right here in the apartment, even if it was only for a few days before they headed up to Amsterdam for the rest of their trip. We traveled to Brussels together and I finally put my lips to some of those tasty beers I’ve been hearing about. I can’t help but still miss my American IPAs, though. 

And sweet jesus, the weather is much better these days. I’m still not sure that long, cold, and wet winter is worth what we’re getting, but I’m not going to complain. Everything gets better with the sun, including my mood, and I’m sure my partner is happier for it. 

Here’s to the new life I can see coalescing before my eyes. 

Feeling more like myself…

I’m American, which influences a lot of my identity and personality. One of the things that I think makes me “really American” is my need to work. As much as I try to shake it and be okay with time off or working part time, I can’t help but feel like a jerk if I’m not busting my ass for a full 40 each week. This tight connection between a job and my sense of self worth has been a source of a lot of angst for me over the past six months and the many shades of gray each day pumps out here in the winter doesn’t help. 

Well, I’m sorry to say I still haven’t gotten past my need to work to feel like a useful member of society, but I am happy to say that I’ve gotten a job in The Netherlands. In my field. It’s shaping up to be a dream position and I’ll talk more about it later, but suffice it to say I’m feeling more like myself and certainly more hopeful. I’m continuing my part-time work with clients in the U.S., which is great, but it feels like a pretty hefty accomplishment to have signed a contract in a new country. Giant hurdle jumped. 

Oh, and today I applied to grad school. I’m mentally preparing to be that person I used to be in college - the one with eight million things going on. It’s going to feel good. I just need to pencil in time to make dinner…

I love immigrants

Say what you will, but immigrants are what make a country awesome. Any country. It’s what makes America great (and the food there even greater) and I’m realizing more every day that it’s what makes The Netherlands great. If you were just visiting and watched TV in your hotel room, you might think the Netherlands is full of happy white people, their cheeks flushed from blustery bike rides. That’s not the case. This place is jumping with folks from all over, but a large chunk of the immigrants come from Morocco, Poland, Turkey and Surinam. 

Our apartment building has been undergoing construction for months now with scaffolding surrounding the place, wrapping our apartment in a shroud of darkness. Since I work from home I’ve had the joy (and frustration) of feeling the rumbling of power equipment, hearing the drilling noises, and seeing the mess. But I’ve also heard the sounds of men from different cultures singing songs. I’ve heard languages other than Dutch. And music blasting from boom boxes that didn’t make me cringe (though a few days were filled with Top 40 stuff and I wanted to jam pencils in my ears). 

Today I’m hearing what sounds like a bit of Spanish and salsa music blasting while the guys yell at each other, about what I’m not sure. My Spanish is as rusty as my Dutch. A few weeks ago it was Polish. Somewhere in between there was a brief bout of Turkish. 

It’s not all good over here with the immigrants, though. The Netherlands is having its own battles over what to do with “them.” How to integrate “them” as soon as possible. How to make sure “their” boys aren’t harassing “our” women. It can get pretty nasty and it can get tiring being the sort of person that can’t bite her tongue when I hear xenophobia and racism pop up in conversation (often with the caveat, “I’m not racist or anything, but…”).

However, I try to savor these moments where the world seems to come into my tiny world and remind me that this isn’t a bubble. There are borders, but they’re blurring more and more every day. The more we try to enforce them and maintain old world societal and cultural values, the harder the fights will be. Why not just let the lines blur beyond recognition? What’s the harm?

Forgive the Kumbaya nature of this post, and what you might perceive as overwhelming naivety on my part, but I can’t help but think that the more we give into these blurring borders the less we’d have to argue over and the more we could appreciate what each of us brings to the table. 

First NYE in my new country

New Year’s Eve in The Netherlands. I’m not sure how to tackle explaining this night, because if I were in America I would just grab friends by the shoulders and scream “The fireworks! Jesus H. Christ, the fireworks!” with a terrified glint in my eye. To say fireworks are enjoyed in this country is a gross understatement yet I can’t seem to find an overstatement fitting enough. Dutch folk spent around 65 million euros (about $100 million) on fireworks this past year, according to recent estimates. That may not sound crazy until you consider the size of this country relative to America and the fact that they can only legally buy fireworks during the three days before New Year’s. And apparently that number is quite low compared to previous years. 

Dutch folk aren’t buying just buying sparklers - they go for the big guns, arrows exploding in the sky, powerful firecrackers (which shake apartment buildings when tossed into sewage lines), and other things you wouldn’t want near your hands. I went for a run the morning of New Year’s Eve and ran into quite a few tweens on the bikes with bags from the pop-up firework shops over their shoulders. Some even stopped before they got home to let off a few bangs and pows along the canals - they couldn’t wait. Fireworks have been going off all week, no matter day or night, but the worst was New Year’s Eve when the kids were up before the sun begging parents to let them set fire to explosives in the parking lot. So much for sleeping in! Despite some bad hip-hop on my iPod, my run was peppered with near and distant explosions while I inhaled sulfuric smoke from mortars and rockets. The cows I jog past didn’t seem to care, though the ducks were absent from their usual spot along my route. And this was all before 10 a.m. The evening’s display was something I don’t think I’ll ever be able to convey other than to say it’s most likely similar to what Baghdad residents experienced during the shock and awe of March 2003 without the purposeless death and destruction. The fireworks went off non-stop, all around the city. Breda seemed like a bad nightclub, with colorful blinking lights from fireworks against the smoke-filled sky. I couldn’t help but wile out with our friends at the party since being surrounded by heart-shaking explosions just makes one want to run around a bit and scream, taking care not to spill the champagne. 

A more adorable experience happened after the clock struck midnight. Never have I been around folks counting down in a different language and while it’s obvious they wouldn’t count down in English, it was one of those moments that remind you that you’re in a different place - far from home. In America when the ball drops we pop the bubbly and yell “Happy New Year!” and get back to drinking and dancing. Here in The Netherlands people take a moment to congratulate each person in the room with a handshake and/or the obligatory (and overkill) three kisses. I’m serious - every single person. I stood around watching in awe as the nearly 25 people in this tiny apartment bumbled about the living room saying “gelukkig nieuw jaar.” Dutch people complain that Americans our over-polite and insincere and I say Dutch people can be just as much so with their bourgeois kisses, but in this moment I felt a real sense of hope and congratulations among this group of 20-somethings. There’s always a hopeful feeling at the beginning of a new year and once my head cleared from that inevitable champagne headache, I felt it too. 

Off to Maastricht!

My partner and I are off to celebrate a romantic (and undoubtedly cold) weekend in Maastricht. This is my first time visiting the city, but everyone assures me it’s beautiful. Also looking forward to the rain snow mix in the forecast. Keeping my fingers crossed that it holds off for a day or so. Any recommendations for places to visit?

It’s snowing

Photo by cindy47452

I’m not sure where my disdain for this nostalgia-inducing bit of precipitation started, but I can’t deny that I really don’t enjoy it anymore. I remember the days spent wishing and praying for a snow day to cancel school. In my part of the states, schools were canceled for even the slightest bit of snow because no one knew how to drive in it, particularly bus drivers. A light dusting of snow could bring Southeastern Virginia to a screeching halt and did quite often. But as I grew older I seemed to lose the excitement that came with snow days. The flakes, instead of representing that youthful energy that one also gets in finding a tall pile of leaves that seems to call out the child in you to jump into it feet first, came to represent inconvenience, time lost in lengthy commutes, and money. (I had a car that didn’t always work well and loved to demonstrate this fact during winter storms)

My go-to bit of small talk, as is the case in dealing with most strangers, is the weather. Everyone always asks me, sarcastically, how I like the Dutch weather. I chuckle goodheartedly and say I find it absolutely dreadful. This has been mostly in jest since I’ve yet to see what a true Dutch winter is like (though I have witnessed the incredible amounts of rain this country gets), but if this cold snap and forecasted snow is any indication, I won’t be able to say what I think about it because my mouth and nose, along with all other exposed body parts, will be wrapped tightly in scarves, jackets, mittens, and boots.

Climate is one of the characteristics of a country that, like no other, can make you feel far away from home. You can hole yourself up in an apartment, hide from the locals, and try to recreate the feelings of your home country. You can trick yourself into feeling like the old you - the one from “zee old country,” but you can’t do anything about the weather. Whatever filter I may have had on my view of The Netherlands is quickly dissolving as the cold gets more fierce and my body struggles to acclimate to it. I imagine veteran expats, the ones that have moved all over the world, have bodies accustomed to abrupt changes in the weather. They no doubt have wardrobes that keep them prepared for any situation, from bikinis in 30 celsius to snow boots for those negative 10 situations. I, on the other hand, am still finding my way around. For example, I’m not looking forward to traveling to Dutch class this evening in a pair of Keds while the wind whips its negative four air around my shivering body and snow flakes cake to my glasses.

And so this is one of those things from which I can’t hide. As I face down the (thankfully small) snow flakes tonight on my way to Dutch class, I’ll be thinking about the many other aspects of this new life I’ve been hiding from but which I should face head-on, confidently. They aren’t going away. Neither am I.