After 4 days in my host city of
Grenoble, France I’m still lost. Lost in so many ways. Lost in the new thought
patterns I must create in order to keep up with a simple conversation at the
dinner table. I lose my words as they jumble together creating roundabout and
elementary statements every few minutes. Lost in a culture where brushing
cheeks with a total stranger is commonplace, yet eating with your hands in your
lap is a faux-pas.
I lose my temper when I cannot
navigate back to my house- only a few kilometers away. I lose my patience with the
people I ask for directions: some detect my accent and shake their head
rigorously “Non”, others understand my Franglais but cannot reciprocate. I lose
time wandering in circles around the same quartier until I call my host Mom to
come get me from the city center. I lose my cool when I break down into tears
once inside her car. I lose my mind when we arrive at home 2 minutes later; my gut feeling was right all along.
There have been other good losses as
well. I lose my inhibitions around new friends. I lose judgment within a very
bizarre yet loving family dynamic. I lose count of the calories I’ve consumed
and elastic waistbands become my best friend. I lose track of how many glasses
of wine I’ve had and feign sobriety at the table- easy when you’re mute. I lose
track of time and willingly bathe in the sun for 3 hours after a picnic on the
Grenoble mountainside- très French. I lose my way of communicating with others
so easily- paving the way for real conversations with those around me. I lose
sight of objectives; I now use my planner as a paperweight and take it all in
moment by moment. I lose myself in a world of distant observation and wild introspection-
first time in, well - ever, that it’s happened. I am lost. I am found. One in
the same.
“ …to be lost is to be fully present, and to be fully
present is to be capable of being in uncertainty and mystery.”
-Rebecca Solnit, “A Field Guide to Getting Lost”
Arielle
