A New Life

I've been sick, which is kindof nice, at least for the resting-up aspect. I can't believe how much I can sleep. Hours and hours and still sleep the night through. But on the other hand, I'm remembering why, as a general rule, people prefer NOT to be sick. I'm pretty sure the last time I had the flu I was in Russia. Nearly passed out on the subway in Moscow. Nearly passed out in the bathtub in our hotel, which was built to house olympians in the 1980 games. That was (wow) fall of 2001. Eight years without the flu, but I'm making up for it this week. Happily, the super-sweet doctor I went to see this morning (my first experience with the Ecuadorian medical community was quite satisfactory) said the flu that's going around lasts a bout 10 days, so hopefully by the end of this week I'll be back to normal.

All that said to lay the foundation of thinking. I recently realized that I can't not think. Not when I'm tired, or sick, or even asleep. I used to think everyone dreams every time they sleep, like me. And this week I've had more thinking time than normal, since my daily activities have been rather subdued.

Just now I was working on a Bible study and my computer's screen saver clicked on- a slideshow of pictures. As I watched the photos pan across the screen I realized that all of the pictures are less than a year old. They're all from my life here. Scenery around Quito; my HomeBase class at school; my birthday celebration; a shot with a roommate at a restaurant. And I had two contradictory and yet true thoughts:
-It's so easy to make a new life
-It's so hard to make a new life

If you've ever started over somewhere, I would imagine you can relate. Some of it's easy. From my first minute in Ecuador I was surrounded by community from the school. I arrived with a place to stay; a job; a group of co-workers and a church family. It's been the easiest overseas adjustment I've made to date.

And yet, it's hard. I recognise that when I go home for the summer, one huge draw is being with people who know me deep. Now I'm not a hard person to get to know. I open up pretty easily (maybe to a fault?). But there's still something about an old friend. A comfortable friend who knows your experiences, your gifts, your faults, and has moved on. Someone who knew you in middle school. Someone who can recognise the flashes of who your were as a kid when they show through your adult facade. I miss that.

It's hard because I don't really speak Spanish. I pretend sometimes, but even when I do understand, it's hard work. People who've been here for ten-plus years tell me it never ceases to be a truly second langauge.

It's hard because the culture isn't mine. I can try to adapt, but it will never be mine. I will always be trying to figure out the whys and hows of life here.

But then again, what's hard isn't always bad. Often, it's the hard that's worth working at. Where's the challenge in the easy? And here, in these three sentences, you see the conundrum of my life. The safe, the known, the comprehensible...becomes boring. But the new, the unknown, the scary...becomes wearing.

I guess the bottom line is that neither is my true home.