The Culture Shock Rollercoaster

Various factors have acted to lift me out of my first relative slump here. It always turns out to be a matter of patience and faith that you will always make it to that light at the end of the tunnel (though another tunnel will surely come). The more I live, the more I recognize how much community is central to my identity. I thrive on connections to others at the level of ideas, frustrations, dreams, moments of happiness, confusion, hope, hopelessness, etc. Considering this, there are certain advantages and disadvantages to my wanderlust, among the “challenging” list is the fact that I am, and will always be, an outsider to this culture. Forming community is not so easy, and at the forefront of my ascribed identity is my nationality, so that is the dynamic on which relationships are first formed; it takes more time to break through to the other levels of ourselves. This became clearer to me in counseling a young American exchange student here who is struggling with her “otherness” in being treated as a novelty while not being permitted the space and time (and her own language limitations) to show her true self. I was struck by the intensity of her feelings, and recognize that I have unconsciously developed techniques to deal with similar emotions.
Anyhow, this all leads me to the simple yet deeply therapeutic encounters with Felix, the roasted peanut and fresh squeezed orange juice vendor on the corner of my street… the other day he dished out a waterfall of peanuts into my extended hand, and commented on my eyes (this being a certain commonality between the DR and here). While we chatted on eye color, he sold four bags to four separate individuals, deemed me good luck, and poured me another dose of peanuts. Today, as I bought an OJ, he asked how my studies are progressing, and I conveyed my excitement. “Maybe you can succeed Bush,” he suggests. I smirk, and he moves into a commentary on the culpability of so many actors in the current state of world affairs, in contrast to the simple Bush blaming game. Parts of peace lie in these daily acts of dialogue.
Besides this, I am grateful for the Sunday evening Zen group that provides a safe haven of people dedicated to slowing down our city-racing minds to focus on the transcendent spirit in and among us. Mneesha and I will present to this group April 9th as we plant some ideas as to how to move along in their desire to be “engaged Buddhists.”
Another important factor in my coming back to center has to do with keeping in touch with you, my friends that I admire and respect and with which I share a common history. I spiral off hearing of your personal paths of development.
Today I sat in a cafeteria in the health services section of Buenos Aires, reading for tonight’s class on systems of international relations with my mind dancing around and drinking up the ideas and pondering thesis topics. I often step back and marvel at the extent of this privilege I have—to spend hours in reading and thought, with the support of so many. I try my best to focus on my gratefulness for it all, and not let a sense of guilt creep in as it often does. Actually, I find this effort impossible when approached by little girls in rags and bare feet… indeed, why me to have so many opportunities? My privilege is such a paradox in my life; a force that propels me along despite my desire to tuck it away.