I had a conversation recently with one of my closest friends who has been and continues to be one of the most consistent people in my life. She is my opposite in so many ways: strong, steady, serious, impossibly smart, a leader in pragmatic, detail-minded ways, ever patient, sarcastic, witty, a daredevil, and at times closed off to others, letting very few people in.
We were discussing our differences: my desire to know any and everyone and her desire to take careful consideration in who she opens herself up to. In our shared community, others often commented on how completely opposite we are in most regards and we continue to be questioned, even now, on how we became so close in the first place. We have always shrugged the comments off, knowing that our differences strengthen our friendship and help us feel more balanced. Along the way, we've begun to draw strength from each other and find some strange comfort in one another's nature. Despite our differences, our commonalities are also strong: we both have an immense need to be understood, a desire to be a part of an impactful community, and a depth we don't always show in our day to day interactions. We are also both fiercely protective of the people who matter most to us in life. The last time we spoke, I asked her how we've made this work. We've been friends for nearly 15 years and we are parallel opposites. We've survived nearly half a dozen moves (on my end), two of them being abroad, which makes communication, at times, challenging. Her response, as always, was sincere and direct: "We are two people who take care of others, but don't let people take care of us. We both have a need to give as much as we receive in relationships and seek a certain amount of depth in our closest friends. I guess somehow we got lucky and we just managed to learn how to be the person that the other person needs." In many ways, when we met we were at two opposite extremes. I was entirely too extroverted and optimistic for my own good and she was my equal opposite in introversion and cynicism. Somehow along the years we've both mellowed out a little bit and have met closer to the middle of both spectrums. I wonder sometimes how we ever really got to this point of settling into each other. The first few years of our friendship were bumpy as we were navigating life as young adults and figuring out who we were. She had a way of putting up walls that I saw as challenges to bulldoze through. As in all equal relationships, those walls flipped at times and I learned how to become open and trusting in someone other than myself as well. We are good for each other. And somehow, 15 years later, she remains to be the one person who knows me well enough to see through my facades, even half a world away. When we were younger, we used to talk a lot about the masks we (humanity, in general) wear to keep others from our authentic selves. I think at the the time, it was a lesson we were learning together. When I look back on the small choices that formed the foundation of our friendship, I often think of this Shel Silverstein poem. We, in no way, fit. But we have learned a thousand lessons from each other. What if we walked right by each other and never knew? Our friendship was formed over saying yes. Yes to dinner dates, yes to late night study sessions, yes to summer travel invitations, and yes to grabbing "quick drinks" that resulted in hours and hours of long conversations. I guess, in some ways, reflecting on those experiences catapults to today and leads me to reflect on the relationships I am building within my current community. In some ways as I've gotten older, I'm a little less open. I crave the comfort that comes with deep relationships but I don't always allow others the opportunity to know me deeply until I trust them. Very rarely is that trust instant. Admittedly, the removal of masks often takes more work, time, and effort than I am willing or ready for most days. Loving people and creating safe spaces for them to be authentic comes easily and naturally to me, but revealing my own "blue skin" tends to be reserved for select few. However, I've found that you find your people during seasons of Yes. In pulling back layers a day at a time and in being willing to be transparent with people. The best lessons are learned when we let our guard down and realize that so much of the human experience, even the hard parts, are shared. Shallow friendships have never been enough for me. I want to know others authentically and allow myself to be transparent enough to be seen and loved despite my own blue skin. In communities like the one I currently find myself in, this can be even more challenging. We get used to the transient- to the comings and goings of people we love. Even now, I am well aware that some of the faces that surround me in my current day to day may not be around next year. It's a challenge to open up to someone who you know you might not be there in the months or years to follow. But I believe to my core, that an authentic life is worth living, even when it's hard. This year, I'm pushing myself to live in a season of Yes. Because the alternative is even more frightening to me: What if I walk right by and never know?
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A new colleague approached me this week and asked me two pointed questions with so much sincerity that it made me take a step back. She asked, "Where are you in the midst of your transition?" and....."Are you happy?" They seem like such simple questions, don't they? But as I reflect back to other transitions in my life, I wonder how I would have responded to those same questions in previous seasons. I think back to the 12-14 hour days I would work in my previous school, a place that I loved whole heartedly and where I firmly believed I was making a difference in the world. Happiness became an afterthought in many ways as the needs of my students and the demands of my district became the forefront of my life. I worked harder than I have ever worked at anything, and while I loved and believed in the work I was doing, I was also immensely unhappy. I would fall asleep with severe anxiety and then reawaken with it a short period of time later- never feeling like my contribution was enough. Teachers will always be their own worst critics.
I fall asleep some nights now with the faces of previous students flashing in my head. I think about them all the time these days; wondering if their mom is still working 3 jobs, if their little brother has been born yet, if they are going to bed hungry, if they will have warm enough clothes for the creeping chill that Autumn brings with it, and if they are still walking their younger siblings to daycare alone in the early mornings. I hope that they are happy and that they will remember just how much I loved and believed in them. As much as I worry about some of what they face in the real world, I know without a doubt that there will be smiling faces greeting them when they get to school, warm bodies to hug, and a teacher to tell them they are happy to see them today. I know because that's the crop I come from and those are the people I worked in the trenches beside for years. As I process through my current transition, I find myself struggling with the "making a difference" piece. While it could be argued that no student should ever need their teacher in the way that some of my previous students have needed me, I find the contrast between the old and the new colliding at times, and am juggling confusion in some ways as I work through this new season. I don't need to be needed as much as I need to know that what I'm doing matters and that it matters significantly. I stepped foot out of one world and jumped into another so quickly, that somedays it feels as though I blinked and missed the entire transition piece. In reality, I know that transition takes days, weeks, months, etc., and that I can't expect to feel that I have "arrived" at any given point. It's a process and it's one that will continue for many months, even years, to come. There is so much to love and appreciate about where I am and the experiences that I am having. I wouldn't trade any of it, and I in no way feel that I should be anywhere else at this given moment. My students here need me in very different ways than my previous students have, and being the teacher these students need will stretch and grow me in new ways professionally as well. That in and of itself is enough reason to be here. As time moves on, I hope that I can continue to find meaningful ways to contribute to the community that I find myself in. I am learning as I journey forward that doing worthwhile work is going to look and feel different regardless of where you are and what you're doing. As of now, I'm moving onward with arms open wide and hoping that if I play my cards well, the right people and opportunities will fall into them. As always, I count myself grateful for the journey, for the opportunity to experience new ways of doing things, and always (always) for the people who've journeyed alongside me. I walk a pretty thin line most days between being fiercely independent and a consistent needer of people. It's one of the hardest parts of being an ENFP (see obnoxious link about how much I love the Myers-Briggs test here.) I need a steady, balanced mix of the following in any given week to be truly happy: enough upbeat casual conversations to give me energy, enough significant, meaningful conversations to ponder and give me substance, and enough time entirely alone to refuel and focus on the things I love (reading, photography, being outdoors, strength training, poetry, and music). If I'm not careful to balance all three, I tend to fall into a funk until I am able to work out the balance again.
It's taken me some time to learn myself. When I was younger, even a decade ago, I was enormously extraverted (as most young ENFP's are) to the point where I seldomly gave myself the time alone I really needed to function well. Thinking back to my undergrad days, I remember thinking something was wrong with me when my lively and outgoing group of friends would want to go out (everywhere, all the time, always as a big group) and I would feel overwhelmed by the prospect. It took me years to realize that I simply needed some time alone to recharge, refuel, and to crave being around people again. ;) (And that I absolutely crave quality time alone with people.) I didn't realize at the time that as much as extraversion was my primary way of approaching the world, that I also possessed secondary introverted tendencies; something that has only deepened with age and life experience. Finding balance is an important part of living well. It is an aspect of life that the previous few years have held very little of, and one that I am making a conscious effort to maintain in this new chapter of life. Moving abroad again was a gamble for me. What I left in the states was an intensely stressful career that overtook my life in many ways and that I never learned to manage well. However, I also left behind substantial relationships that carried me through and people who will never really know how much they kept me afloat during some of the darker seasons in my life. Trusting that I would find meaningful relationships here in Hangzhou was holding onto blind faith in some ways. I knew I needed a change, I missed living abroad, and I already knew what anyone who has ever lived abroad can tell you about the relationships you form outside of your home country: that these people walking alongside you become your family in a completely different sense. You rely on each other in ways you could never imagine. They become your tribe. Transition is a funny word. I recently wrote and recorded a speech for a friend's freshman class stateside about what transition is and how to work your way through the process. The funny thing about life is that even as adults, we can never outgrow, outrun, or outrank transitions. We are constantly in a state of learning how to move through life. I am still learning how to find balance in my current setting. Upbeat, casual conversations are the norm around here, and I've had more opportunities to recharge than has ever been typical stateside. I am still seeking out and craving to find my deep, meaningful conversation partners around here. That usually comes with time and building solid relationships, but I am hoping I find those people sooner than later. Being an extraverted processor means craving the depth that comes with exploring how I feel about things out loud with another person. Unfortunately, it also means I often don't know how I feel about something until I write about it or have a conversation with someone ;) I'm finding my way here. The thing I love most about life is that we are constantly evolving. As a teen, I remember awaiting adulthood with so much expectancy, because by then I'd finally have it all figured out. Most days, that couldn't feel further from the truth. For being in my near mid 30's, I sure still have a lot of questions. :) In some ways, I feel that I'm the epitome of both an old soul and a late bloomer and figuring out my place in the world seems as though it's something I might never track down with certainty. I guess the journey is the destination in so many ways. Here's to following where it leads! "Loneliness is the human condition. Cultivate it. The way it tunnels into you allows your soul room to grow. Never expect to outgrow loneliness. Never hope to find people who will understand you, someone to fill that space. An intelligent, sensitive person is the exception, the very great exception. If you expect to find people who will understand you, you will grow murderous with disappointment. The best you'll ever do is to understand yourself, know what it is that you want, and not let the cattle stand in your way." - Janet Fitch, White Oleander
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AuthorMichelle is an expat and globetrotter, currently residing in Augsburg, Germany. Originally from the US, she has called Guam, China, and Germany home. Her passions include collecting children's picture books, reading, writing, traveling, and trying to remove coffee stains from freshly cleaned shirts. Archives
February 2022
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