In the wake of my last blog post, where I spoke of "home" being where people actually want to hear your life stories, a lot has come up.
Here's a life story. About five years ago, I made my first trip to the UK in many years. When I got back, family members scheduled a dinner meant, they said, to welcome me back. After everyone had gathered around the table, I waited for someone, anyone, to ask some meaningful question about my experience in England. When someone said, "Geez, Liz, how's the food in England these days?" I took an in breath, ready to report on the improved culinary options available, when the whole table burst into uproarious laughter and moved on to some other topic. So I did what I always did in my family, clammed up, watched, and tried to take in all the spirited conversation about politics, skiing, retirement communities, and other people's travels. At the end of the meal, I played my other usual role and cleaned up the dishes. Yes, I could have been the one to change the dynamic; I could have stood up and said, "Why did you bill this as a welcome home event for me if you had no intention of finding out how my trip went?" But then I would have been blamed for ruining a nice family dinner and as usual being the cause of friction, and after over half a century of this whole "story," I don't think I cared any more. It had been an extraordinary visit to England, thank you very much, and I guess I preferred to hold it close to my heart.
At today's rather mystical moment, where my hand is so much improved and all my energy doesn't need to be spent healing -- and where for a short time still, I am here in England -- I am finding all my life stories drifting through my consciousness like ripples on the water, yet I feel so detached from most of them. When you grew up with this kind of family dynamic and then developed a passion for a field that was completely inaccessible to you, you do rather become a cork on the wide ocean, drifting from buoy to boat to floating detritus to inlet, hoping not so much for physical safety, but to find the place you belong. You think, if so-and-so likes this place or activity, maybe I will too. If I listen carefully, maybe I'll hear a conversation that intrigues me. If I travel far and wide, perhaps a Plan B landscape will resonate inwardly with me. There have been so many such experiences, so many of these dinner table experiences (even not at the dinner table) -- in a way, it is a metaphor for my whole life! -- yet suddenly, it is as if I've climbed up to a new level and all these places and jobs and situation have almost gone down the drain, representing an old dimension that I can no longer see or feel. Of course, I don't quite know what makes up the new dimension!
But even over here, I have to be very protective of myself...just because something randomly exists in England, doesn't mean it is right for me. And just because I may hear the glorious music of a cathedral service doesn't mean my relationship to it hasn't changed radically. I haven't so much "retired" as graduated, and I don't need to go back to the old classrooms anymore for my lessons. If I had to describe myself this morning, it is not so much as a wandering, bobbing cork, but as a strong, hardy island in the midst of the turbulent water. If any lovely corks make it to my shores, we'll share stories, OK?
