Leaving, Adjusting, TCK-ing

It's been quite a while since I last posted something. Finally, summer of 2015, I feel like writing something again. So here goes a little update on my life. In short: I am in the states now, adjusting to american culture, and prepping for college in the fall.

Playing music has always helped me process things, which is one of the reasons why I really want a guitar over here. I wasn't able to travel with my classical guitar from France due to fear of it being damaged. Pictured above is a Martin DCPA5 which I bought a week ago. It looks beautiful in the photos I took of it, however I wasn't 100% satisfied with it and brought it back in order to make this a true investment in something that I can be proud to own.

Despite not posting and keeping this blog up to date, I have been continuing to take photos and I don't think I'll ever stop. In fact, photography is one of several things that are completely familiar to me and in which I can find some calm. Much like the bible as well, even though I wish I knew it better than I currently do. I guess the beauty of that is that it's a life long process. I think it is important to have some creative outlet(s) in which you can find a sense of familiarity, but I'm also aware that we're all wired differently and this may not be the case for everyone.

It's been a little tough leaving all I know behind in France, saying goodbye to friends and family, some of which I will see again and some I might never, ever, see again (those are the hardest to leave). Knowing I won't return to this place I called home for the past few years is also hard in itself. One of the hardest things, though, has been that no one here asks me about what my life was like before coming to the states. The closest anyone has gotten was inquiring about the flight over. Perhaps I need to open up more, but I believe there's more to it than that. All of this, though, is part of the TCK blues, I suppose, and I know I'm not the only one to have experienced this. On the topic of leaving, I stumbled upon a beautiful poem titled "Partir, c'est mourir un peu", literally translated "to leave is to die a little":

  Partir, c'est mourir un peu,
  C'est mourir à ce qu'on aime :
  On laisse un peu de soi-même
  En toute heure et dans tout lieu.

  C'est toujours le deuil d'un vœu,
  Le dernier vers d'un poème ;
  Partir, c'est mourir un peu.

  Et l'on part, et c'est un jeu,
  Et jusqu'à l'adieu suprême
  C'est son âme que l'on sème,
  Que l'on sème à chaque adieu...
  Partir, c'est mourir un peu.

The poem is by Edmond Haraucourt and a pretty decent translation can be found here.

I'm so glad to have spent a good part of my growing-up years (nearly six years) in the beautiful country of France, with all of its flaws and quirks. Those flaws and quirks have become the new norm for me and none of them seem odd anymore. France - the culture, the language, the place - is now part of me. It's an addition to Austria, Germany, and America, I suppose. However, I've come to realize the only way to truly experience a culture is to live in it. Even if you visit countless times for extended periods, like I have to Germany and America, you can't fully experience the culture unless you're immersed, living in it without a plan of going somewhere else.

This summer will be a challenge, but as Jesus' brother James put it, "consider it pure joy when you face trials of many kinds, knowing that the testing of your faith produces perseverance." So I shall do exactly that. I'll rely on the one thing I know will endure beyond any earthly grievance.

I don't know how applicable this will be to you, the reader, but I hope it gave a little insight as to what is going on in my life. It felt good, almost therapeutic, to write this. A sure sign that I need a new journal. Thanks for reading!

Until next time, then.