Driving the Autobahn

 Let's Talk About The Autobahn!

I always thought it was some specific stretch of highway somewhere in Germany where everything was perfectly streamlined and there were no speed limits. People would bring it up like it's some beautiful place where only fun is had because you can go as fast as you want, and only the coolest sport cars drive it. But it turns out "autobahn" is just the German word for highway. And let me tell you, it's not fun... for multiple reasons... 

If you're an American reading this, just think about the times you've been on the highway driving in the right lane, and some maniac speeds past you at 95mph, and then basically cuts you off as he moves dangerously close in front of you into your lane and continues speeding down the highway. If you're like me, usually when that happens, it's stressful because you don't like being that close to another car at highway speeds. Plus, they have all this space on the highway, but they choose to cut you off... (maybe you're usually the maniac, and so you won't share my feelings here, hehe) But now imagine that happening every minute: every car in the left lane is just as aggressive as the one before except they are going at a dizzying 140mph (225kmph). The lane is narrow enough that you can feel the wind pushing your car as they pass you, and then they cut you off so close, you might have a measly 4 feet of leeway for a few seconds. They are driving insanely fast and getting aggressively close to you.

THEN imagine the next car in front of you in the slow lane is only going 37mph. It's unbelievable; the unwritten minimum is only 60kmph! That's technically 37mph, and people actually go that slow on the highway! But the mid-tier speed is 95mph! MID-TIER! The soccer moms are driving 95! The stress is unimaginable, people. So your choices are: 1) not getting to your destination in a reasonable amount of time, or 2) try to keep up with the speed-demon maniacs just to pass anyone, and imagining yourself in a fatality crash with the next slowpoke up ahead. You really start trusting your breaks (hope they are in good working order!)... The fastest I've ever driven in my life has been here in Germany and that was somewhere around 96-100mph (155-160kmph). That's as fast as I could stomach...

I borrowed my neighbor's van to drive a group of teens 4 hours northwest to a festival, and he was like, "oh, that's the best thing about the van; you can get up to 225kmph." At the moment, I didn't have any idea what that speed was because I am still not the best at converting, so I was like, "oh cool..." When I finally figured out how fast that is, I thought to myself, "you expect me to drive that fast with a van full of teens?!" I couldn't go more than 145kmph, which is already 90, and horrifying! It didn't help that I'd recently learned to drive manual... Besides, that 4-hour drive was full of traffic jams and construction sites, and only a few stretches of speed-less highway. For a good 30 minutes, we were barely moving.

Here's a few facts about driving in Germany: the autobahn does have speed limits in and around towns, and construction sites. Once you're in town, off the highway, the speeds are painfully slow (by my standards) and they like to hide speed cameras and send you tickets in the mail. You can get a point on your license for being only a fraction of a second too late at a yellow light, many of which are also camera-recorded, and after 3 points, your license is suspended for a number of weeks. It's only when you get outside of town on the highway that the speed limits are removed and you can step on the gas. Then that might be for maybe 10-15 minutes before you get to the next town or find yourself slowed by a construction site or traffic. And some of those construction sites draw their lane lines so narrow, the cars have to stagger (at that point, it's useless and even dangerous to have two lanes). Driving at normal speeds in an incredibly tight construction lane alongside semi trucks is one of the most stressful things... Only if you're driving further distances will you find bigger stretches of speed-less highway, but maybe for an hour, maybe more. Germany isn't that big. It takes 10 hours to span it north to south, and 7 east to west. And it's peppered with small towns and villages. I once found myself on a 4-lane (4 lanes on each side), mostly empty highway, and I felt somewhat comfortable going 100mph, but after an hour it was back to a 2-lane, narrow highway where I had to intimately contend with the slowpokes and the speed demons again. And then it was back to areas that range in speed between 80 -120kmph (50 - 75mph).

My cousin Elyse and I were joking about how you can look behind you to pass into the left lane and see no one, but by the time you get into that lane there's suddenly someone in your rearview mirror, right on your tail. Oh, I haven't even mentioned the tailgating... ugh... 

So, it's not like you're speeding down the vast open road for hours at a time. I'd feel safer illegally speeding down highway 55 through Nevada on the, "loneliest highway in the US," than I would anywhere here in Deutschland, because at least the lanes are wider, and the shoulders fit a full car, and if you veer off, you're not crashing into anything but maybe a road sign or some bushes! I guess the danger there is, if you crash, no one is coming, lol. In Germany, when you want to be a speed demon, you're usually in close proximity to other cars going painfully slow. You can only be a speed demon for a little while and then you have to deal with slowing down and speeding up, and slowing down and speeding up... They are also much more intent about staying in the right lane when you're not passing, so the fast people are constantly weaving in and out of the right lane like frogger... it's so dangerous. People will pull out right in front of you at the last second to pass a slow vehicle, and this is normal. You have to be ready to stop at a dime. I would have expected at least a higher minimum speed, but it's not so! 

Highway 55 in Nevada is called "the loneliest road." Make sure your tank is full, because you won't see a gas station for hours and hours...

My neighbor told me that some politicians have tried to remove the non-speed limit areas in Germany, but that's political suicide. Hah!

Over the last few years, I'd developed a bit of a driving anxiety. Once I got married, we shared a car and I only drove half as often. Then I lived in Israel for 3 years where I was more or less immobile: I walked everywhere, and only drove maybe once every two months. When I did, we never drove for more than 4 hours at a time, and the speed limits were closer to what I was used to. When we moved back to the States, we decided to take a 2-month vacation where we basically lived in our van, driving 8-16 hours from one place to the next (this is when we drove the loneliest road). It was a fun adventure, but I obviously had to face that anxiety, and came to a place where I could cope. But I would still feel mildly uncomfortable, and after a number of hours, the feeling would creep back. It would really surface when we drove at night.

Speaking of coping with anxiety during our 2-month vacation... Dustin had a thing at the beginning where every few hours on the road he would scream at the top of his lungs, and I would almost have a heart attack, and he would laugh so hard... after a few times, I just started bursting into tears... let's just say he realized quickly that it wasn't worth the laughs...

Last month, I traveled back home to attend my sister's wedding and drove 8 of the easiest, most relaxing hours through Detroit and then Toronto, where there was actual space between me and the cars around me, I wasn't getting cut off every few minutes, and could go at my own speed without worry. I didn't even have to think about shifting gears in traffic jams. It was especially easy to navigate rural roads. City drivers are aggressive, don't get me wrong; around Chicago, Detroit, and Toronto, they cut you off and speed and weave... but they are nothing in comparison to German drivers. Nowadays when I'm back home, I feel like I'm going at a snail's pace. Needless to say, after facing autobahn hell, I no longer have anxiety when I'm driving in North America.

Here's a photo of a highway in Israel we used to drive on the way to go snorkeling at the Red sea in Eilat, a 4-hour drive from Jerusalem. We usually made our pit stop halfway, at a ranch where we rode camels through the desert.

Highway in Germany Photo by Patrick Federi on Unsplash

Highway in Nevada Photo by Abhi Verma on Unsplash

Highway in Israel Photo by Benny Rotlevy on Unsplash

The Grass Is Always Greener...

 

I think it’s our nature to sit in longing, fooling ourselves about what would actually fulfill it. We keep thinking it’s a new love interest, a new job, a change of scene, an epic travel experience, or maybe a better paying job. Or worse, a better drink, a more sensual drug… If I had more opportunities, if I had an easier time of things, if I had more money, if I had incredible sensory experiences, if I had all the sex I could possibly want, if I never experienced rejection or push-back, if our government would just do the right things, if I removed all the haters from my life, I would then be happy. We see that life could be better and sometimes that’s true. Some of us go through hell on earth, and need to seek a healthier environment. Other times we are simply blinded to the good that we have in our lives and take them for granted. But it's easy to take things for granted, because all these things don’t really fulfill. Maybe for a time. And maybe they do improve and enrich our lives. But they all fall short of satisfying that deep longing in our soul; the one that, when gone unfulfilled long enough, makes us utterly dread being alone with ourselves, makes us feel empty, makes us cry from the deepest place, makes us feel so very bone tired and essentially broken.

It was always my dream to live in different places in the world, and learn different cultures. I did that. I’m doing that. And while it does bring a richness and level of excitement to my life that I appreciate and enjoy, the longing is still there, and it’s tempting to think the next place will fill it. I found out that moving your life across the world takes a huge toll. Every new place brings huge challenges that I am never able to anticipate or plan for. I could write to you ten pages on all the little things one takes for granted that I have had to relearn every few years…

I don’t mean to belittle my life, or gain pity from people. I have no regrets. I take responsibility for my choices and the resulting consequences, good or bad. I simply wish to share some wisdom. What I thought were the answers simply aren’t, and I think those of you who envy me are to some degree fooling yourselves. I’m still the same person with the same inner challenges, and I don’t simply leave them behind when I go to new places. I still struggle with punctuality, still fail at planning, still struggle with connecting to people, still feel like a failure for not accomplishing the aforementioned, still have the same needs and still suffer the tendency to overwork myself and burn out. I still get socially exhausted and cocoon in front of the TV for too long, and forget to give my husband attention. I still miss my family and friends… and the more places I live, the more people I miss. I still dip into depression at times when I can’t deal with it all… It’s all there. I’m still me in the Middle East, still me in Europe, still me in North America.

No matter what awesome experience I have, that longing remains. I think many of us feel that way. We make it to our dreams, and we realize it wasn’t the answer. But we did it, and we are proud of ourselves, but now what? We’re doing it, and it does feel good, but why isn’t that longing going away? Maybe we had a lot of fun, but then what? Why didn’t that fix us? Why does it all feel the same? Maybe it makes us feel more special, or more important, but does it really fulfill us? Or maybe it came with a great cost we weren't prepared to make. But we don't want to think about it too deeply, and so continue to fool ourselves, moving on to the next thing that we think will fulfill us, or maybe more of the same things. Okay, so it wasn’t that relationship, good as that person was, but maybe someone else will do the trick? Okay so this experience didn’t do it, but perhaps the next one will. At least the next thing will give us something to look forward to, something to give us hope for a while, until the next thing… The grass is always greener on the other side...

At the risk of sounding preachy, the only answer I really have is Jesus. That’s it. In my deepest loneliness, when my heart is broken, there he comes, filling me like an overflowing river after the rain, with a comfort and peace that I cannot describe or explain. It’s like every part of my emotion is healed, and everything is okay. I feel it so intensely sometimes I have to cry. Maybe I still have a process to go through, but suddenly I have the strength to do it. When my marriage is hurting, there he comes, helping us to forgive each other, giving us strength to love again. When people deeply disappoint me, there Jesus is, to comfort me, to give me hope in humanity again, to help me to trust again. I have this tendency to sit in the longing, continuously forgetting that only Jesus can fill it, and worry about my choices, my failures, my lack, and wish for something or someone to fix it. But then I have hope. That’s because it doesn’t really matter what job I get, or what experiences I miss out on: I have what truly fulfills me right here, and I bring him along everywhere I go. He’s with me in the Middle East, in Europe, and in North America. He’ll be there when I go away from the people I love, and He'll be there when I’m with them. Jesus is the only true fulfillment I have in life. 

Photo by Patrick Shaun on Unsplash

Uncovering Flavor Deprivation.

When I moved to Jerusalem, and finally had a stocked kitchen, and went about cooking a proper meal the first time, I had this intense sensual experience with my food, like time itself had slowed down and flavors had new dimension. The green beans and asparagus, the purple cabbage, the giant carrots... The peppers, the tomatoes, the dates... the greens, the melons, the olives... not to mention the fruit... It was all just sensual from the moment you smelled the produce in the market, to the release of the aromas while cooking, to the eating of the food. I felt like one of those chefs in the movies, who would stand in the market and pick up the fruit just to get a giant whiff. I was a new vegan, and now I was cooking ultra healthy with vegetables in combinations that I never had before; tasting flavors I'd never tasted before. Then there were the fresh spices. I literally would stand at my counter and just smell my bottle of paprika because it was that good (in the US, to me, paprika was almost like a throwaway spice, mainly used for color, so I was amazed that it would become one of my favorite spices). I was having this awakening, so to speak. But I didn't fully understand what I was going through. I didn't really consider that every item of produce that I'd purchased simply had more intense flavor. Jerusalem produce just tastes better in general. 

I felt a sensory deprivation when I moved back home, and once again, I didn't fully understand what I was experiencing. I lamented the shopping experience: the spices and things are all packaged neatly in glass and you can't smell the freshness of it before you buy it. I also lamented the lack of fresh spices. I found a solution: to simply buy them by the seed and start grinding them. But I didn't consider that I was experiencing an entire deprivation of flavor in general, and that even the produce that was in season just wasn't as good... 

And, again, I still had hope because I thought it was just the tropical fruit... So instead of looking for mangoes, which were almost always disappointing, I would instead try peaches. Local organic Michigan fruit is a beautiful thing. But the peach harvest was destroyed by a frost when I moved back, so all the peaches were shipped in from Georgia, and the local fruit market closed because of corona. Neither of those things fully recovered before we moved away. And we couldn't afford to live on the expensive farmer's market prices. We had a few moments of intensity, but they were always short-lived. So, I didn't get to dive into the good flavors the local farms had to offer.

I simply lost the motivation to cook. I didn't fully understand why.

And here in Germany it's quite similar. Unless you're growing your own tomatoes, or buying expensive produce from a farmer's market, you are getting flavorless, lackluster fruits and vegetables, maybe with some exceptions. I never knew what I was missing out on until I lived in Israel. And I'm sure that people from tropical countries have had the same experience as me. No more juicy, mouth-watering papayas, mangoes, or citrus fruits... so you search for flavor elsewhere...

Meat and cheese have a lot of great flavor, and are the main flavor drivers in the West. I imagine people who move from tropical countries to Europe or North America give up on the produce and end up basically becoming enthusiastic carnivores in the pursuit of good flavor... The problem is, most Americans just eat really fatty, sugary, salty foods, blasted with artificial flavors. I can go to restaurants where I can't eat anything because every single item has dairy (I am lactose intolerant), or the non-dairy items are simply pitiful. Sometimes I'd rather eat a piece of cheesy pizza and suffer later, than eat a pitiful, wilting, bitter salad that's just as fattening because it's doused in oil, but leaves me hungry. No wonder so many Americans "hate" vegetables. Americans often think they're eating healthy when they simply are not, because of misinformation. Some people don't want to change their food habits because it's one of their few joys in life, but they don't realize it's actually the food they eat that is making them feel miserable... but that's another topic...  I just can't go back to that way of life, because I hate constantly feeling lethargic and depressed. I love feeling energetic, ready for life, and generally in a good mood. I still indulge, but I do it strategically and a lot less often, because I now know I would rather be bored with food and happy with life than the other way around. Still, it's somewhat of a loss.

Here in Germany, skipping over their delectable meats and cheeses, which are already next level to me, some of the best flavors are found in their breads and cakes. Germans have become masters in this area. Their flour has a different protein and gluten ratio, so their baked goods are just... different. Their sandwiches only require one slice of meat and one slice of cheese, because the bread is really the star. You hardly need condiments in your sandwiches, because fresh bread has actual moisture content and flavor. It can be dense or light, but it's always heavenly. They actually eat plain bread as a meal sometimes (which I still don't do yet). You've never had a proper giant pretzel until you've had a German pretzel. Even the cheap bread you can buy at Aldi's here is just better than anything you would get at an average bakery in the States, like Panera, for example. And the cakes... the cakes! I've never liked cake growing up. But here, they are never too sweet, never too dry, always perfectly moist, and never so heavy as to make you feel gross or sick. Everyone bakes them at home too. The teens in my youth group--yes, even the boys--can bake delectable cakes I could eat every day. And friends of mine put really interesting liqueur flavors in their cakes, which bring them to the next level. And the average bakery cakes are never dry, never too sweet... I actually like cake here.

But... the problem is, I can't live on cake and bread, and I don't want all the health problems that come with regularly eating meat and cheese, so... yes, I indulge from time-to-time, but maintaining my health means lately I just feel bored with food at home. Yesterday I acquired oranges shipped in from Israel, and they are the best oranges I've tasted in over three years... That intensity of flavor took me straight back to my first cooking experiences in Jerusalem. I was having flashbacks of the sensory experience. And now I'm realizing why I've lost my motivation to cook at home.

Jerusalem has ruined me.

I realize that sounds very depressing, but knowing this actually makes me feel hopeful. For the last few years I just thought there was something broken inside of me. I go into the kitchen and feel discouraged. I haven't been cooking like I used to. But now I know it's not just some unexplained symptom of life's challenges. I'm actually just feeling deprived. I've figured out what's discouraging me. It makes me determined to grow some of my own food, and to look for it in the right places. That gives me hope that food--even healthy food--can become a joy in my life again. 

Photo by Roxanne Desgagnés on Unsplash

Uncovering Maker's Anxiety

I’ve developed this anxiety. Naturally, if I am not making something, I am plotting how to make something--this is a part of my personality. But no matter how much I plot, lately I’m finding it more and more stressful to start the actual doing. And this stress grows stronger each year. When I finally have all the resources to do the thing, I find myself paralyzed. And if I get myself to the starting point, the process goes slow because I want it to be perfect, and I’m not willing to try new things that might lead to failure. I'm afraid of wasting my energy on useless things. This keeps me from learning or growing in this area of my life, leading me to devalue it, neglecting to see that it is so integral to my being, and directly linked to my own personal sanity. 

Lately, instead of making things, I’m going on Pinterest and watching sped-up videos of other people making things. I often laugh at the crap people think is worth making and then I come under my own judgment, unable to make anything “crappy” because I'm unwilling to spend time making crappy things in order to learn how to make good things. I do get a vicarious sense of accomplishment from watching other people make things, which keeps me going for a while. But the overall takeaway is unhealthy, because it creates a growing sense of failure, seeing other people make things perfectly and quickly the first time (which is an illusion created by editing). It also creates a false sense of how long it takes to make real things, and an impatience for the making process.

I'm realizing that my particular brand of makers anxiety has a lot to do with my lifestyle of making massive life changes that involve going overseas. But there's even more under the surface. My anxiety is also tied to the expectations I have of myself, guilt I have over not reusing literally everything, exhaustion from wasted time pursuing fruitless endeavors, and perfectionism. I'm sharing this with you all, not to gain sympathy--I've made my own choices and counted the cost--but to maybe help someone in the process. All my upheaval has forced me to tackle it head-on, when many of us don't get the same opportunities living more settled lives (I don't mean this in a condescending way: settled lives have many advantages people like me do not get). And maybe this will start good conversations that will help us makers motivate each other.

Moving overseas, I couldn’t just throw all my things in boxes, throw those boxes in a truck and store those boxes in the new place (which is what most of us do; what I used to do). I was not about to pay to ship junk across the ocean, and I had only a limited amount of luggage space and arm strength to carry my most immediate needs with me in the airport. So, I had to deliberate about every single possession and whether or not I care to suffer the cost or weight of keeping it. Not just one time, but three times. And this means every time I finally had a good set-up for making things--a proper space, proper furniture, proper tools, good lighting, and enough materials, I would only have a short time of making things before I had to get rid of literally everything and start over.

The process of getting rid of things is one thing. When you have to spend energy deliberating over whether every single item you have is worth keeping, you stop acquiring useless junk. Even then, you still somehow end up with it. Needless to say, shopping is rarely a recreational event in my life now. Even when it is, I won't get things I like without thinking a lot about where I can store it, if it would be easy to bring overseas, if it's worth keeping in the long term, or if I'm willing to only use it for a season. This also goes for my stash of art supplies. I have stopped just buying fun things that inspire creativity. I've pared things down to only buying what I am actually likely to make. But this becomes very boring and uninspiring.

The process of building up your resources in a new country is also quite painstaking. You think, “oh, I’m in a first world country, I can get whatever I need.” And that’s true, but you can’t get everything you want, or everything you’ve grown accustomed to using. And the process of finding the things that are at least comparable to what you normally use is long and arduous, and involves many hours of trying new things, of going to stores you would think have what you need, only to find that these items are found in other types of stores because this culture categorizes stuff differently. It takes a full year before learning that new categorization, and before obtaining new things no longer feels like an “event.” 

Then you have to get used to what things cost in the new place. For example, I wouldn't spend $250 on an office chair in the states, because you can get comfortable ones at Staples for $50. Or for less at a thrift store. Call me cheap, but I went the last entire year sitting in uncomfortable chairs never finding anything in my price range. When it's uncomfortable just to sit at your own desk, you avoid doing it. and then you avoid doing things you would do at a desk, and then it starts affecting your work habits... I finally bit the bullet and bought an average quality chair for 150 euros. The same goes for little things that I might get for making things, like fabrics, for example. I still haven't found a shop like SAS in Phoenix; a warehouse of gorgeous out-of-season fabrics for dirt cheap. I still haven't found a place where there are multiple fabric shops on one street filled with all kinds of interesting Middle Eastern fabrics, like Jaffa street in Jerusalem. Heck, they didn't even sell cotton thread at the "fabric superstore" in Mannheim; only polyester. I guess I'm going to find these things online, but then you lose some of your motivation which comes from seeing all the possibilities at the store... It seems petty to me to even discuss these things, but the amount of time and effort I've spent getting rid of and then re-acquiring things has added up to a sort of paralysis: what's the point of starting the process of learning a craft when by the time I get a good flow going, I'm going to have to overhaul my entire supply, space, and lifestyle? What's the point of trying to make something when I'm not even sure I can find the right supplies?

People who live here can't help fully, because they can't possibly know the differences in items, and can't explain how things here are different from my world, because they don't know my world. And that's okay. It comes with the territory.

You might say, "Susan, don't be silly, you have Amazon. Buy online!" And I do... for certain things. But there are multiple problems here which I could rant about, but it's just hard to buy online when you don't know the quality, or can't perceive details like color, size, impact, etc. 

Then there's a lot of weird feelings that are attached to stuff that we don't usually deal with.

The first time moving back home from Israel, I went through a process with the things I had stored at my in-laws house. Suddenly I'm looking at boxes of literal junk, wondering what the heck I was thinking keeping such useless things. It was also like looking at a time capsule of my life three years before seeing my habits with "things," with new eyes. Over the course of a year, I went through my things, box by box, trying to pare down even more, and uncovering all kinds of weird guilt, expectations, and attachments.

One example is my box of school papers. I had a huge box of papers from elementary to high school, that I was planning to use to make recycled paper. How cool and epic would it be to make new handmade journals from recycled paper I used in elementary school? That would be an awesome way to reduce my carbon footprint. It was the intention for keeping such things. But on the other hand, this huge box was taking up space in my mother-in-law's house, and I didn't want literal garbage to take up space and energy in my life, or in the life of my family members. So I put the box in recycling. I cried. I gave up the dream. At least it was recycled.

Then I went through my old clothes, and decided I would mine them for fabrics while trying to save money. But suddenly I was facing another paralysis: How can I cut up this shirt when there is a homeless person who could wear it? This jacket might not fit me anymore, but it might fit a kid in a shelter who is cold. The shirts just sat in a pile never being cut up because of actual guilt. When Christmas was around the corner, I forced myself to cut the shirts, and I was once again, crying, and listening to intense drum and bass to get through it. How can more literal garbage be causing me so much agony? After the traumatic cutting process, I did end up making all kinds of things from these mined fabrics: neck-warmers with cute embroidered animal faces from Dustin's old dress shirts, throw pillows for my dad's new house from my old jeans and khakis, cute little earbud cases from corduroy, and little angel ornaments from lace ribbon.

Just uncovering these things, and realizing what I'm dealing with is helping me feel motivation again. I've been through a lot with my stuff, and it's okay to feel a bit overwhelmed about it sometimes. It's good to acknowledge what I've been through, because then I can begin to see a way through it, a way to stop carrying it around in the form of anxiety and paralysis. I can remind myself that it's still worth it to make things. I can remind myself that it's vital for my mental health, for my sanity. It's good to see the two sides of being resourceful: the satisfaction of finding new use for old things, but also the potential for stacked up guilt when I fail to be resourceful. I can take the good and leave the bad. Guilt only leads to more failure. Then I've judged others too harshly, and because of that, I'm living under my own judgment when it comes to making things. I need to stop that. I need to allow mistakes. Time spent making crappy things is not wasted if it means learning to do better.

Maybe this is sparking something in you, fellow maker. Maybe you have a stack of old fabrics you have never touched because you got it from your grandma who has passed away. Maybe you have a bunch of unexplored guilt keeping you from being able to do the things that make you sane. Maybe you have unattainable goals preventing you from moving forward. Maybe you have paralysis when you want to start a project because of what you've been through with your "stuff." I'd love to hear about it, to feel like I'm not the only one. Or maybe you have strategies for motivating yourself when this happens that can help inspire us.

Photo by Malcolm Lightbody on Unsplash

Life Update: Germany during the Pandemic

Summer view of Heidelberg from a hiking trail called Philosopher's Way 

A Long-Overdue Update!

It's been 11 months since we moved to Germany, and the time has passed quickly for us. On the one hand, we've been able to experience a new culture in odd form because of the pandemic, which is special and interesting and historic in it's own way. Not many people are able to do what we've done in this situation. On the other hand, for that very reason it has been a much bigger challenge than we anticipated. Although, if there's anything I've learned in the last ten years is that life in every direction is always more challenging than we ever expect it to be...

I wouldn't have been able to function without the help of our very generous neighbors and church community. These people have treated us like family in the amount of ways they have offered us real support, from giving us rides to the grocery store, to giving us furniture, to helping us through the very paperwork-heavy visa process, and simply explaining their own culture--things they would normally take for granted. Our current neighbors helped us find our current apartment and the church community gathered to deep-clean it, and fill it with food and furniture before we even arrived. Our initial quarantine was lived with a warm place to sleep and plenty of food to eat, and even places to sit! They also donated bicycles so we could get around before we were able to purchase a vehicle. Without this community, frankly this situation would have been unlivable. Trying to move into a new apartment on our own when all the furniture and second-hand stores and restaurants are closed due to lockdown would have been very miserable and unnecessarily difficult. We simply wouldn't have come at this time. For that reason, it was been an interesting lesson in hospitality. I thought I was hospitable, until I encountered this community. Their level of hospitality has put any of my previous notions of it to shame. And I've learned to be a little more inter-dependent, which has admittedly been difficult as an individualistic North-American.

It's also difficult to explain our experience without describing the process of learning a new language. While I still do speak a lot of English (my boss speaks decent English) and most people can at least speak some English, most everything we do with other people is in German. And when we try to speak in English, for some it can take twice as long to find the right English words, and the same goes for myself, trying to find the right German words. A lot of misunderstanding tends to happen, and a lot of explanation happens over simple small things that are usually taken for granted in conversation. So I spend twice as much time listening as I do speaking, and I haven't been able to be as expressive as I normally am simply because I don't have the right words yet. And at the same time, I often feel very gosh darn proud of my progress.

All this was happening during a time when I couldn't see peoples' mouths when they spoke because they were always covered by thick N95 masks, and I had to stand at a distance so I couldn't really hear their voices, and could barely make out their words. 

Listening to a new language is a different kind of focused listening: one must listen intently to every syllable, because it is all unfamiliar, and some words are the same with only subtle variations. Some of the consonant sounds are sort of swallowed in conversation, so sometimes it's trying to figure out if I've just heard a word I know or a new word. Just visualizing the spelling of a word at first is a puzzle. Plus, you don't understand every word in a sentence, so you can only pick up what you do know. So you have to listen very intently to all the subtle sounds for anything you might understand and those are your only context clues... You find yourself pondering the length of words, weighing which word they meant, and looking up a word they said five minutes ago when the moment has passed and by now you are totally lost but aren't inclined to back-track... This quickly becomes frustrating because of corona, when those words are very muffled and at a distance. For a time, I found myself preferring online virtual meetings because at least then I could see faces and adjust the volume. And that context is still more difficult than in-person conversation to pick up cues and subtleties... The first several months were full of naps and migraine headaches and tears.

A big part of joining a new community is getting together, but this wasn't really possible when we first arrived because of Corona. This was something I didn't foresee, because I wasn't aware of how strictly Germans keep to the rules. We couldn't go out to neutral locations, i.e. restaurants, because everything was closed under lockdown. We couldn't have a house-warming or welcome party because the rule when we arrived was that only 1 individual could enter a household at a time, and there was an 8pm curfew! So that meant Dustin and I couldn't even visit others as a pair! Individuals had to stop by, we had to split up, and together we visited a few who were willing to bend the rules. I wasn't very good at keeping the curfew...

Something else we didn't know, was that when a German invites you to their house for lunch or dinner, they mean to have you there for 3-5, sometimes up to 7, hours. This was in contrast to our 2-3 hour expectation. So in the beginning, as we were trying to learn the culture, and a little more passive than usual, we found ourselves stuck in peoples' homes for hours on end, unsure of the polite way to say, "Okay, bye!" Turns out, that is the way some people do it. They simply slap their knees, and get up and say "Okay, bye! (Okay, Tchüss!)" while awkwardly heading for the door. Others are more like Americans in the way they give body language cues and give thanks and then subtly express their intention to leave. Since then we've learned that the best thing is to tell people when we intend to leave before we get there, so they aren't baking cakes for tea time later. 

The hardest thing, as I'm sure it is for many leaders around the world, has been navigating the changing corona situation with a community. One must balance individual freedom and the safety of the community in a way we haven't had to in the past. And the way Germans think about the pandemic is very different than the way Americans do, so it has been difficult for me to not feel like a fish out of water sometimes. I have stressed over the difficult decisions trying to follow government rules that go against natural human connection. When you lead in a community built on the unity, love, and the communion of Christ, it's so counter-intuitive to try to keep your distance, block your own instincts to hug people, and to live with people for months without ever seeing their real smile. Even the normal ways I have taught myself to learn names has been thwarted because I couldn't connect their whole face to their name in my mind's eye. I have to help this community fight against the temptation to see people as threats rather than as people. We have to fight fear head-on.

The thing that keeps me going is understanding that these difficulties are temporary. Corona won't last forever. And my difficulties with German will lessen as I learn the language more. In time, I will be able to really go somewhere with this community, and that is what gets me excited. Hopefully I will also take advantage of my location and explore more of Europe when it's possible. And I hope my family does the same and visits me when this pandemic subsides.