All I want for Christmas..

(I wrote this post on December 23, but never posted it. Now, six weeks later, I feel more comfortable about sharing it, though I will admit that I edited just a little. Here is a glimpse into where my head was at that week.)


     All I want for Christmas is a week where nothing breaks down or is stolen, a week in which I don't have to learn any expensive lessons, another uneventful week that results in yet another boring blog post about my inertia. I'd like a week when I don't feel foolish, when I don't drop anything or forget anything, a week in which I carry all my new keys with me at all times and never lose them.


     I'd also like a bagel with lox.


     And while I whine and complain about our robbery (my fault, I know  - I'll lock the door every night now), I'm still embarrassed at the ease with which we can replace most of what we lost. I live in a country where a large number of people struggle to have enough to eat, but not only can I own laptops and cameras and other expensive toys, I can afford to replace them if I'm foolish enough to let them get stolen. And despite the unfortunate events of this week, I could go out with friends to eat chimichangas and wash them down with mango margaritas. I could go to the supermarket today and splurge on some cheese and a couple bottles of wine. It's embarrassing.


      I used to say that part of what I loved about coming to Cambodia those many previous times was that instead of being the person with the answers, I could be the person with the questions. And here I am, asking myself questions every day that have no easy answers, and it still makes me squirm. To make the comparison I made in an earlier entry, if coming to live in a different country is like having children in that you can't possibly understand what it will be like until you do it, then I am having an adjustment disorder. And it turns out that's embarrassing too - because I want to write blog entries about how wonderful and exciting and interesting and inspiring my everyday life is - and it is, but it's also messing with my head, with my concept of who I am, with my perspective.


      As I write this, I wonder if I will ever post it. Some things may well need to be written ( as part of my own processing) but don't necessarily need to be shared. I've already gotten myself in trouble for the post about leaving my "job" at the clinic; do I want to bare my soul again and admit that life is not a bed of roses? Or maybe that is an apt analogy - it is a bed of roses, thorns and all.


     I feel compelled to say for the umpteenth time (which makes me worry that you will think I doth protest too much) that I have no desire to be anywhere else. I'm where I want to be, having the experience I want to have, which isn't always the experience I thought I came here for. Which is not to say that I didn't expect bumps in the road.


     Oh - the war in my head! I want to be honest and open about how I'm feeling, and at the same time, I want you all to continue to think well of me. I want you to think I'm strong and brave and clever and organized and resilient and flexible and creative.  I suppose what I really want is to believe myself that I am all of those things. And some days, I think I am, to some degree. Some days, not so much.


      As I write this, Steve is in the kitchen, listening to Joni Mitchell and making pesto. I just went in there to get a beer, and he said something nice to me which I didn't feel I deserved. Jaz is at a Christmas party at the school where she teaches and will probably come home with amusing tales of Khmertastic versions of Christmas celebrations. I should be calling all our friends here to make sure I've given them the details of the invitation to come here tomorrow afternoon for Christmas drinks and snacks, but my phone won't cooperate. I'm sleep-deprived and feeling inadequate. Perhaps I need a nap.


     As I write this, most of you are likely sleeping, or staying up far too late wrapping or assembling gifts. You may wake up on Christmas Eve morning and read this and think, "Oh, poor Jess - she sounds so miserable." And again, I feel the need to assure that I am not.


     Well, maybe a little. Or maybe a better word is discombobulated. I am tossing around in a sea of questions, at the mercy of the winds of uncertainty, and possibly slightly drunk at 3:30 in the afternoon. I have too many questions, and not enough answers to feel comfortable. What was that great quote I found and posted? I probably need to read it again...

“I beg you..to have patience with everything unresolved in your heart and try to love the questions themselves as if they were locked rooms or books written in a very foreign language. Don’t search for the answers, which could not be given you now, because you would not be able to live them. And the point is, to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps then, someday far in the future, you will gradually, without even noticing it, live your way into the answer…”   - Rainer Maria Rilke

     What the hell does that mean, to "live the questions"??? Can I put that on a list of things to do? How will I know when i can check the box that says I have completed that item? 

     I had a useful conversation this morning with someone who has lived here for a long time. (I guess he has a hell of a lot more answers than I do.) He mentioned the grieving process that happens when you come here with expectations and real life rears its sometimes ugly head and you have to cope with the reality of being here. He said that his process took a couple of years. Thanks to my finely-tuned but delusional superiority complex, I immediately thought, "I bet I can do it faster." And then I laughed (and cringed) at my own impatience.

     Everything is impermanent. I guess those are Buddha's words, but they were quoted to me by a former monk in relation to my impatience and frustration about something here. I need to tattoo those words on my arm. I need to let go of the belief that I must find the answers, because the questions will change over time anyway. 

     Yeah, I'm pretty sure I should never post this....I'm probably not ready to be quite this honest about my internal struggles, and this is nothing more than a stream-of-consciousness rant about where my head is at on this particular afternoon. Why would you care to read it?


     Yeah, I definitely shouldn't post this entry...


     (Apparently, I changed my mind about that.)