Tuesday, November 30, 2010


The other night some friends and I were having a conversation about growing up in the wrong place. We  were talking about how my friend from Bhutan was not made for the Bhutanese life. It was a life of restrictions, you had to be conservative. There was no talk about feelings, no expressing yourself. Women had to be quiet, reserved, the perfect image of a lady. But my friend was anything but. She spent her early years rebelling against everything. Playing with the boys, speaking her mind, refusing to conform. Finally she got out of Bhutan by becoming a flight attendant for American Airlines. She recalls from her time at American a life of freedom. She was able to experience the world and her eyes were open even more. It was then that she realized she was born for a much bigger place than Bhutan. After a few years she met a Danish man, fell in love, got pregnant (to her parents horror) and got married. It is not ten years later, and you should hear this woman talk! Her under the breath comments and loud exclamations always bring the room to laughter. She says the naughty things we are all thinking, but quickly apologizes with "I've always had something to say, but now that I can say almost anything and get away with it, I find it hard to stop!" We hardly mind, of course. Her Bhutanese roots keep her classy while her international persona brings us to tears of laughter. And we know, as much as she did when she first got out of Bhutan, that she belongs in the Western society, this is where she thrives, and we love her here.

This conversation got me thinking. Where do I belong? I had thought it was definitely not in the U.S. because I run away from there as often as I can, but then I always have to return. If it is in the U.S., then where exactly? I cannot figure that out. When I was in London last year I was reflecting on the same thing. My brothers seem to have all found a place where they thrive. One has found a beautiful life here in Denmark, one absolutely loves the West Coast and is happily situated in Seattle, Washington, one will never leave Boston, and another is quite comfortable is Wisconsin. But me, I can't seem to settle in one place for longer than six months. Vermont is too small and empty, Rhode Island just rubbed me the wrong way, and Denmark and I, we just clash, I can't seem to find my footing here.
I sometimes think if I could return to London it would be the place for me, but the people who aided in my infatuation with that city are long gone, would the effects be the same?
My indecision is sending me back to the comfort zone of Vermont. I am tucking myself back between the mountains in which I share a long lasting love-hate relationship. I run back to this little town over and over again but cannot wait to leave once I am there. I love the familiarity but feel suffocated by the overwhelming emptiness and the feeling that there is no where to go from there. There is no room for improvement, no way to get better. Returning to Vermont is a momentary pause in time. It is where I recharge my leaking battery, where I heal my wounds of the road, where I return to zero. But in order to get past zero I have to leave again.
Where to this time?

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