Living Happiness

Dear friend:

It has been a long time since I’ve talked to you. I mean really talked to you. And your silences over the last few weeks have shown me that you, too, have noticed and missed our time together. I don’t blame you. I can’t blame you. I would feel the same way were I in your shoes. But I hope we can mend things.

It has been a long, hard summer for me. Do you know this? Maybe you do. Maybe you don’t. Maybe you’ve reached the point where you think, “Sure I understand, CG, but it’s not all about you all of the time, now is it?” Well … you’d be right about that, too.

Anyways, since it’s been so long since we had a good catch-up, I would like to tell you about my summer. It’s not that I haven’t wanted to share it with you in the first place, it’s just been very hard to do so.

As you know, I came back here to the States for a three-month stay. Did you know that this is the first time in three years I’d been back? Did you also know this wasn’t really a trip I wanted to take? Yes, it’s true. If I’d had my druthers, I would have been in Crete this summer, making my new home a home and spending glorious time with my beautiful fiancé. But I am not there, and I did not have my druthers. Why? you might ask. Well, the truth is I had to come back in order to be married legally in Greece. And there were no shortcuts to my time here — three months it must be with no ifs, ands, or buts. It has sucked.

Don’t get me wrong. There are definite perks to being back. For starters, I can walk into any shop and speak to anyone at any time, and whoever it is understands what I’m saying. This saves me so much time, and it’s so nice to make a joke and have someone understand my humor. I was beginning to think I just wasn’t funny any more!

It’s also been nice to see people I long haven’t seen, to know that they’re just down the street or a car-ride away. When an ocean’s been between you, this can’t be appreciated enough. And I’ve enjoyed having coffees, seeing movies, and going to cookouts on a warm summer evenings with friends.

But maybe you didn’t know that it’s also been hard for me to discover that people don’t really care all that much about my stories, that very few of them really want to see my pictures, and that a lot of my friends are even less enthusiastic to share about themselves. Conversation eventually falters. I cast about for things to say. We say our “see you laters” and I know it’s probably the last time we’ll see each other for a very long time.

It has been a lonely summer for me. Does this surprise you? It has surprised me, too. I have often tried to find things to do to while away the hours, but when I only have one online course to teach and no one is hiring (even in the service sector) because of a sluggish economy, this is a task that has been hard to do. Because you are compassionate, you can probably imagine then that this makes my homesickness for G all the more poignant. He is my best friend, and he is now two plane rides, an ocean, and a sea away.

I can see you’re wondering, though, “But if this is true, then why I haven’t seen more of you? Shouldn’t this have given you more time for me?”

You are right, of course. Yes, it should have. But I just haven’t known how to be with you. For, you see, for me to have my relationship with you, I feel that I need to have something to give to you. And this summer, I have felt that I’ve had very little to give. I have needed you, wanted your company, but I have had no token to offer you in exchange for your kindness. And in recognizing this, I have sometimes consciously and sometimes unconsciously pushed you away.

You have not done anything wrong. You are beautiful as always. But I have needed this time for myself, to replenish my stores, to deal with a sea of sediment that has been stirred up by my return here and is still in the process of settling. I have wanted to share this with you just as much as you have probably wanted to hear it, but I have not been able to articulate most of it, even to myself. Had you been able to physically come over, you would have seen our evening to be one of lopsided conversation. I would have been bad company. You would have gone home early, fed up with having to carry the entire discussion. Would you really have wanted this?

I have learned much about myself this summer–some of it good, some of it not-so-good. I have had days where I have been full of boundless energy and my usual dose of optimism, but I have had just as many (if not more) days where it has been a struggle for me to get out of bed, where my day has been a battle between what my body wants to do (positively nothing) and my mind urges me to do (tasks, errands, anything to keep a routine and stay on track). You could probably accurately say I’ve been depressed. And probably, in the goodness of your heart, you may wonder why I didn’t come to you with this. And I understand this, too.

I didn’t come to you because I knew what you were going to say. Or … at least I thought I knew what you were going to say. You have been so wise, so caring, so present for so long. I have heeded your words and read your thoughts so often that I felt I knew your answers without even having to ask my question. This wasn’t fair to you, I know. No one wants someone else to put words in their mouth for them or deprive them of their chance to have a say. You’re right. And for that, I’m sorry. I’ve probably done us both a disservice by remaining mum, but I honestly thought it was for the best. That and I just haven’t had the gumption to do otherwise. I do apologize to you for keeping you out of the loop and for perhaps depriving you of your own chance to give (something you love to do!) and, therefore, be the blessing you want (and love) to be.

I don’t know where we go from here because I still don’t know how much I have to give you, or even that I can give at all. I am slowly regaining ground, the sediment of my internal sea is finally settling, and I am beginning to feel like my old self again. But it may be a while before I feel strong. Can you understand this and be patient?

I did want you to know I’ve missed you. And I wanted you to know why I’ve been so “absent.” It is not because of anything you’ve done, and if you can think of a way that we can begin reconnecting again, I would open to hearing it. I look forward to what you have to say.

With lots of love,

flickr photo of dog at seaside by Ingrid0804

A few weeks ago, I began a series of posts that shared with you the story of how I began my journey away from a typical, suburban life in the States to a very non-typical, non-suburban life in Greece. The last post on June 14th left you (and found me) on a plane bound for Germany after having left my corporate job and life behind. The sky was the limit. Possibilities were endless. But what would happen?

Even though many of you know how the story has “ended” (I am indeed living in Crete and am engaged to the most wonderful man in the world), there are still a few steps left in the telling of this tale that I want to share with you.

As you have already read, piece after piece fell into place for me after my stay at the monastery. But as you will see now, such ease of movement is not always the only mark of taking steps in the right direction. Most of the time, we also meet with opposition. We are challenged. Our faith is tested. Will we move forward? Do we have the faith to? Our responses to these tests will determine the answer; they will be the difference between our walking … and flying.

Here, now, is how my story continued to unfold, much of which is taken from my actual journal entries at the time. This is how Greece and I began to choose each other and how I went from walking in faith to soaring on its wings … but not without a few tumbles from the tree.

July 8, 2006 ~ Crete
It’s 11:00 p.m. here on Saturday night in Hania, and I’ve just gotten back from a day-long 13-kilometer hike through the longest gorge in Europe. It’s cool out, the stars are bright and the moon is almost full. I’m in my green pajamas, freshly showered after the long day’s trek. I sit on my patio and hear the sounds of Grecian rap down on the waterfront, people laughing and yelling, and far-off dogs barking.

This week has been intense. 12-hour days have been the norm as I’ve begun the course that will end with my TEFL certification. We begin at 10:00 a.m. and, even though classes end around 1:15, the day really ends around 9:00 p.m. Those intervening hours are full of observation, lesson planning, and (yes!) teaching already.

I have been very content here these past days in Hania, despite my overwhelming fatigue with the mad pace of the first few days. It is hard to put into words the way something can feel right in every way, but I know this is exactly where I’m meant to be.

July 18, 2006 ~ Crete
It’s Tuesday evening. I am ready for bed but my heart aches with the beauty of my being here and the painful realization that my departure from here is less than two weeks away. I do not want to leave.

Words can’t even begin to describe the way I’m feeling right now. The memories running through my mind – the Hania coastline at night from the back of a motorcycle with the wind through my hair, coffee on a terrace overlooking the entire harbour on a Friday night with a cute boy with an Aussie accent, dancing the night away in a local club … .

How can I capture the feel of this evening? The crash of waves on the shore, the night sounds of insects, and the faint clink of dinners being had on balconies above and beside. Smells of pasta and garlic.

My heart aches with this beauty, with the fact that I don’t want to leave, with the fact that I want to savor every moment, with the mourning of all the moments that are already past. Life is so amazing, and I am a part of it. This, this I do not want to forget. I am. I AM.

August 5, 2006
I am on my flight from Athens to London, and I am sad. I want to be in Hania. My heart is breaking!

I wish I had assurances. Assurances of what is next for me. Assurances that everything will be okay. But that is not how life works. And that is not how I’ve been living my life for the last nine months.

Will my next steps be led with my head or my heart? For once, I want to say, “With my heart.” I want to continue to risk and be willing to say, “This is what I want. This is what I know to be true.” To do any less would cheat myself.

Labor Day Weekend 2006 ~ North Carolina
It is another quiet evening. This time there is no balcony, no patio, no sound of waves crashing on the shore or far-off dogs barking. Only the faint creaks of my upstairs neighbor walking across our wooden floors and the CD of Greek songs that was made for me a week before I left Hania.

I thought I would sit down tonight and write my story of the past year. It has been an amazing one. One that I could aptly begin, “Once upon a time there was a girl … .” But I think it will be saved for another night.

Rather, on the anniversary of my awakening – for that’s what it was really – I went from being a somnambulator to actually living my life – on this anniversary I have to stop and pause and in gratefulness acknowledge the goodness that this year has been, the goodness that this coming year will be.

I don’t know what my future holds, even what the next few weeks will hold, except that I want to return to Greece – or get as close to it as I can – but I’ve learned to trust this path I’m on and the spirit (God, Being, Mystery . . . whatever you want to call it) that leads me on it. And I can say that I am excited to see what comes next. And I am confident that it is far better than even I’ve imagined.

Sometimes we have to risk everything to discover that we’ve risked nothing. Because … what is it to walk once you’ve discovered that you can fly?

September 19, 2006 ~ Crete
Dear God:

It’s me. I sit outside on my patio in Hania and am feeling really overwhelmed. I have only been here a few days. I have the daunting task ahead of me of looking for a job among 114 schools here and, as G would tell it, I must do this this week. I feel inadequate for the job and scared.

I don’t know what you have in my future. You asked me weeks ago what I wanted and I half-formulated a thought … . I think I still want that, but my emotions are not so trustworthy right now. I hardly know which end is up. But you know what I want. And you know what I need. What I am asking for today is your comfort, your shoulder to cry on and lean on, your strength. Give me strength today. Give me grace. Help me to allow you to unfold my life, even as I am an active participant in that unfolding.

September 27, 2006
Today I did not rally. Today I did not pound the pavement. Today I was not remotely productive. Instead, I arose, ate breakfast, decided that the day still looked like a bit too much for me and went back to bed. When I got up again, I decided that clean unmentionables are a must, even in a country that is iffy on air-conditioning, demands that you not flush your toilet paper, and is covered in dust everywhere you go. So, I spent 45 minutes hand-washing these unmentionables and had the epiphany that this is about the same amount of time it would take these two loads to go through my Maytag.

Lay by the pool. Ate. Lay by the pool again. Napped. Checked email. Then decided to be productive and found myself in BFE on some god-forsaken street looking for a private school that at this point I didn’t even give one flying fig about. So I answered the call of the gyro instead and savored every greasy, french-fry laden, tzatziki-dripping bite. And now I am headed home to listen to my new Greek neighbor yell on the phone to her boyfriend all night.

I say, at least today, anyway, ‘Fuck it. I’m over this.’

I think I’m going to go have some ice cream … .

September 28, 2006
I wish I knew where this journey was going to take me. Or even what the next few weeks hold. But, then again, maybe I don’t. What kind of romance is it when you know every move of your lover beforehand? No. I’d rather be surprised, I guess.

Somehow Hania and I have chosen each other. Is this vocation? Is this calling? On an elemental level, I answer, ‘Yes.’

But I say to my lover (Hania, not G), ‘Speak louder, sweetie. Let me hear you choose me. You know you already have my heart. Now promise me yours.’

That job is just around the corner … .

October 2006
I sit on the balcony of my sea-view apartment and watch the waves as they thunder in. There is nothing silent or soothing about what they are doing. They are thundering and rolling and roiling and crashing, the sand from the sea floor churning its way to the top of the mighty crests and coloring the mighty swells a deep orange. The wind howls unrelentingly and the sky throws down great sheets of rain. I feel like I am watching myself. This match between my inner turmoil and such outer turmoil is comforting. It soothes me. I cannot bring myself to go inside.

I have been here for one month. Thirty days ago today I landed back on Cretan soil, having completed my TEFL course and returned to the States to sell my car and most of my possessions. I now have only three suitcases of belongings to my name. I have come back in order to have no regrets, to truly knock on every door of opportunity before surrendering to the inevitability of a teaching career in Asia. I gave myself thirty days: find a teaching job in Greece, or go to Taiwan. The deadline is today, and I have not found one.

I have knocked on every door, called every school, walked miles in the heat and dust, and no one has hired me. My heart is in pieces. I don’t want to go to Taiwan.

November 2006 ~ Almyros, Greece
It is my 31st birthday and I am sitting in a small café in a small Greek town a few hours north of Athens. I have been teaching for three weeks and am seated next to one of my new colleagues, Maria, who has arranged a small party for me to my complete and utter surprise. With us are her daughter, and her best friend (my new Greek tutor) with her two daughters. They have brought gifts and a cake, even though they don’t know me. I open the gift bags to find a candle, a scarf, a thong, and a new sweater because the cold weather has already begun and my own sweaters have not yet reached me from the States. We laugh over coffee and cake, and they try to teach me Greek words. Lucky for me, they all speak English, too.

I am here because of the grace of other people. A job came through two days after my thirty-day deadline … a phone call from a school in northern Greece looking to replace a teacher. But my program director offered it to another student, and I was hurt, outraged: how could she do this to me?! This student had become a friend of mine, though, and her heart was in the Middle East. Knowing she didn’t want to remain in Greece, she gave the job to me. We learned of the position on a Wednesday. By Monday I was teaching.

I have just come home now to a message from G. He is still in Crete but he wishes me a very happy birthday. I look at my little pile of gifts and the card that everyone has signed. And I think back to one year ago and the day I left the corporation behind. It would be easy to think that that’s the day I took my first steps away from a life that had become too small for me. But really I know that the first steps I took were earlier than that. They were the steps of me walking to breakfast at a Trappist monastery in the wee hours of the morning. They were the steps that changed my life.

Note: This post is the last of three that chart my journey from one life and into another.  For the first part of the story, you will want to read these two earlier posts:

• Footsteps in the Dark (Part 1/3)
• The Next Steps in the Journey (Part 2/3)

All peace to all of you.
Namaste,

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