K: Rough Landing

17 de Agosto 2022

Sitting in a bar in Barthhhhelona drinking a Coronarita and life is good.

I left the States 13 days ago now and it has been.....an adjustment. I was warned about this early part, and it's logical to assume a trans-Atlantic move would come with its struggles. But I was arrogant enough to think I was special and better-prepared. Karma got me pretty good. 

First of all, the physical move was exhausting. Drive to LAS > walk to gate > fly to MSP > walk to gate > fly to CDG > walk through customs > get luggage > walk luggage to taxi stand > ride to wrong hotel > ride to right hotel > walk luggage to room > walk luggage from room > ride to London Kings Cross > walk luggage to waiting area > walk luggage to furthest car on the platform > train to Edinburgh > walk luggage to Uber > ride to the flat > walk luggage upstairs. All with two 50lb bags (one with broken rollers), a 45lb backpack, and a 15lb cat in a carrier. Google Fit tells me I lugged that haul for five walking miles. My body felt broken by the end. 

Then you have the time change. They say it takes one day to adjust per hour you've shifted, and I was suddenly eight hours ahead in a country with two more hours of daylight, making restful sleep a challenge. Yesterday was the first time I slept through the night, which is comical since I'm in a hostel bunk room. But as anyone with insomnia will attest, lack of sleep sure does mess with you.

Next up, language! "But Danielle, they speak English in Scotland." ...Kind of. I can't fathom moving somewhere I spoke none of the language. Even simple differences in local dialect, vocab, and phrasing can make it feel like Scots speak in tongues. Eggplant is aubergine. Raisins are sultanas, Underwear are pants and pants are trousers. Daddy longlegs are flying bugs, not spiders. Being "full of beans" means you're energized, not gassy. Alleys are closes or mewes. Yards are gardens. Cakes are puddings. Cookies are biscuits. Each instance of not understanding someone or pausing to mentally translate is only a brief inconvenience, but the exhaustion build-up from it happening time and time again really takes a toll.

Another struggle any traveler is familiar with: new city navigation. Where's the closest grocery store? pharmacy? liquor store? How are the roads laid out? What areas are good/bad? How does the bus system work? Oh shit, I need to look left when crossing the street instead of right. Does that mean you pass pedestrians on the left too? Do I have to wait for the walk signal or is jaywalking allowed? Guess I'll just stay indoors. But oh, wait, I need to learn how to navigate the inside as well. Like washing machines that are also dryers, or outlets that have individual on/off switches, or power outlets in general that run on double the voltage as those in the States (which I learned by frying three items). While none of this is unique to my situation, it nevertheless takes up precious mental bandwidth.

You know what else takes up bandwidth? Conversions. Is 25C hot or cold in fahrenheit? How many cups in a liter, and since when is 'cl' a regular unit of measurement for liquid? If the chicken is two pounds a kilogram, how much is that in (weight, not currency) pounds? How much is a Great British Pound in US Dollars? Oh wait, that changes by the day. How do you convert a kilometer to a mile? Oh wait, they use miles here too. How do I say I'm 5'10"? Oh wait, they use feet/inches here too.

Now let's touch on immigration vs. travel. (Holy shit I'm an immigrant!) Time change, language, and city layout are regular experiences for tourists, but everything hits different when you're suddenly resident in - not visiting - a new country. When your visit doesn't have an end date you have a plethora of other shit to consider. Like opening a bank account that deals in local currency. Getting a phone plan/SIM so you can call local phone numbers and use data off wifi. Figuring out WhatsApp. Finding a General Practitioner so you can get any sort of medical attention. Finding a pharmacy to refill your US prescriptions. (Or do the Rxs need to come from a British GP?) Searching for a place to live and learning the different leasing process and understanding council taxes. Researching how much you're legally allowed to work under your visa. Getting your biometric residence permit. Et cetera.

But, not only are you a resident, you're a student. Make sure to pay your fees, set up your student email, take all necessary matriculation steps (and look up the word 'matriculation'), prepare for your upcoming classes, familiarize yourself with the campus, buy your books, pick up your student card, book an appointment for international student check-in, meet with your Personal Tutor, download your timetable, set up accounts for LEARN and EASE (whatever those are), and join some student groups.

In what order should you do all these "I now live/study here" steps? Your guess is as good as mine. So you decide to feed yourself as a form of disassociation. But alas, as 95% of the brands at the grocery store are unfamiliar, you spend your time in the aisles reading labels, wondering what "blood pudding" is, Googling answers if there's free wifi, spending 15 minutes looking for something they don't carry, grabbing a bunch of snacks and candy you know will make you feel ill just because chocolate is always chocolate, or walking out with nothing because #overwhelm. 

Aaaaaand then there's the business of adjusting the fur baby whose relocation bills tallied up to $4k, who refuses to eat his new cat food and only begrudgingly eats the expensive replacement from the nearby (but unfortunately upscale) pet store. And the litter box you ordered from Amazon winds up being for a dude half his size so he has to walk in, pull a one-eighty, and do his business with his torso and front paws out the entrance - meaning there's always a pile of litter there on the floor. Damnit, he just puked. Is that from the new food? a hairball? stress? cancer? I should probably find him a vet, yeah? From his perspective everything's gravy, he couldn't care less where he sunbeam bathes. All these changes are just fun bonuses for me to work out.

Thankfully I have a fantastic network for moral support, so I'll just call up friends and family to feel better. Wait. What time time is it there? If it's before 1pm here then I'm SOL. If it's a weekday, I have two slivers of time when they aren't working and neither of us is asleep. Also, what do we talk about? Am I real with them about how I'm feeling, or do I just tell them about the cool architecture and different customs? Either way the conversations become more one-sided - "and then I did this" - rather than the quality discussions or interactions or fun you get hanging out in person. Of course I'll try making new friends locally, but those bonds will take time to grow. Plus I've really got to get my social anxiety under control first. 

So rather than burden others with this Eeyore attitude, I'll just binge some comfort shows. ....Except they don't have Hulu or HBO Max or YouTube TV here, and the UK Netflix lineup is notably different (albeit better) than in the US, so good luck finding ways to watch what you're trying to numb out on. (Big shoutout to NordVPN for getting me over most of these hurdles.)

That's an excessive amount of complaining, but it was a tough week and a half. I slept a lot to avoid reality - one day until 6pm. Most days I was proud of myself for getting out and about for just an hour. But at the risk of sounding predictable or cliche, I was able to keep hope alive by keeping in mind everything I know about my enneagram type. 

The past year or so I've felt incredibly secure - surrounded by friends and family, with freedom to do what I want and go where I want, with new work opportunities that brought both fulfillment and balance - which gave me a solid boost in self-esteem, confidence, personal value, and desire to live an active life. I took on a lot, welcomed each day with contentment and to-do lists, and was generally happy with who I am and what I bring to the world. It was a novel but great feeling to identify so authentically with those Enneagram Three traits that my Nine self has historically struggles to attain. Yet now that I'm abroad, I struggle to get out of bed before noon; I take lots of naps; I dissociate with nonsense rather than tackle the lengthy list of things that need to get done; I've withdrawn from friends both near and far; I heavily doubt my ability to make new friends for fear that I'm not fun enough or likeable enough or interesting enough; I feel like an inconvenience to everyone in my orbit. All of this is textbook average-to-unhealthy Nine behavior, and noticing it happening in the moment doesn't fix anything. But. It's comforting to know this isn't the apex of who I am - that I absolutely can be (and have been) healthier, I've lived in growth before and I'll get there again. This phase is a natural side effect of being Danielle, not a defect. Understanding the intricacies of how I'm wired to react under various circumstances lights a hope within me on my darkest days - a hope that's difficult to find or describe outside of the enneagram framework. So cheers to getting back to my Healthy Nine/Growth Three self in the coming months. :)

I'm in Barcelona because I couldn't stand the thought of waking up at noon to do nothing for yet another week. Am I being avoidant? Obviously. But it's a positive first step in adjusting to this new life. Because if I can book my own birthday trip to a foreign country just two days prior and travel solo while having a happy and fulfilling time, I can absolutely handle Edinburgh.