Notes From an American Across the Pond

 We have been traveling for 7(ish) days. The ish is because we were trapped in Detroit for an extra 24 hours, making our stay in Munich incredibly brief before we jumped on a night train to Warsaw. The travel gods are not fans of us (or the hundreds of thousands of others stranded all over the world) after CrowdStrike leveled the playing field and unapologetically grounded us all. Our luggage finally caught up with 3/4 of  us on day 6 -- Tracy’s luggage has now been assigned a “claim number” and has been “located,” whatever that means. Although we despise fast fashion ethically, we embraced it unapologetically, as we could get underwear and socks and t-shirts in our diverse sizes quickly and cheaply.

It’s been an incredible trip so far, full of “stop-and-take-note” reminders.

1. 
   I don’t need much to be perfectly comfortable. Two clean pair of undies, comfy shoes, a bra without wires, socks that don’t smell like French cheese, something to change into so that I can wash what I’m wearing…this is all I really need. A toothbrush and deodorant. A hair tie. 
   

1.1: the reality -- after 6 days, the ability to actually wash my hair and put on pajama pants was a tiny piece of heaven. Sign me up for the American excess. Do I need 50 t-shirts and 50 pair of shoes? No, I do not. Do I need 5-10 of each? I’m gonna say yes. Even the comfiest of shoes will give blisters after a while; even the best-fitting T-shirt will tag you as a frumpy American when everyone else is wearing beige on purpose. 

2. People in Europe are ridiculously nice. The French? The German? The Poles? Really nice. It’s not hard to be respectful and kind and if you are respectful and kind, it’s amazing how kind they are back at ya. Do Europeans stare more than Americans? Yes. That will always be unsettling, because we Americans spend the majority of our lives pretending that we aren’t looking and we are trying to avoid eye-contact. But are Europeans rude? Nah. They are just living their lives. We are the ones invading their space and demanding they drop everything and assist us, whilst also speaking our language. 

2.1: It’s not hard -- It’s amazing how far a please, a thank you, a “check please” dropped in the language of the country you are in adds to the goodwill. It’s a tiny thing, to learn how to say “thank you” in Polish. And of course I sound ridiculous saying it. But every single time, my attempt brings out a genuine smile, a head nod, and a genuinely friendly response in Polish. I think about how important it is to feel seen, and I wonder if it’s just that -- just by trying to honor a tiny bit of their language, of their culture, it shows that we respect the people here and the land that we are on. It doesn’t take much to show people that you see them. That you are thankful to be here, and that you are thankful for their hospitality.

3. The resilience here never ceases to amaze me. Germany, Poland, France - they were decimated by the war. It doesn’t really matter who dropped the bombs and who set the world on fire at this point. What matters is that these countries regrouped, these cities rebuilt, and these people are incredibly resilient. Warsaw was literally leveled in 1945, not because it was strategic, but because Hitler was angry and losing. But Warsaw rebuilt from nothing. They have every single reason in the universe to be pissed at the world, and yet they welcome us with a smile. 

3.1: We have a lot to learn --  In America, we demand they speak OUR language. We don’t bend over backwards to help the foreign among us at all. Our American exceptionalism has a lot to learn from the hospitality of others. We are the selfish, cranky tweens on this globe, and we could stand to learn a lot from our elders.

I hope I have time to write about each of the cities we’ve been in, before they all meld into one hazy memory of an incredible moment in my life with some of my favorite people. I want to write about the awesome Arab neighborhood that we stayed in in Munich; I want to write about the conversations I held in German and how incredibly kind people were to honor my attempts and stay in the German language, even though their English was probably better than mine…I want to write about the energy in the city of Warsaw and their defiance in the face of total annihilation; I want to write about the amazing airbnbs we have been able to book, and how life-changing it is to be in control of our own timing and meals and sleeping arrangements; I want to write about the need to honor our own need for rest and for vacation, even though we are in incredible places and we want to see and do everything; I want to write about public transportation and how freeing it is to be able to go to any city here -- regardless of language -- and figure out how to get from point A to point B without having to get into a stranger’s car; I want to write about the incredible food (and did I mention the Polish Vodka?) and the colors and the music and the vibrancy of life.

But for now, I’m going to reflect on how incredibly lucky I am to be here, experiencing all of this. I want to soak it in, this amazing 17 days with some of the people I love most in this world. I’m going to pour myself a shot of the most incredible Vodka I have ever tasted. And I’m going to think long and hard about what it means to be American, where war has never truly come to us, where we are fast to judge and slow to forgive, where we have the world at our fingertips, but we often can’t see down the bridge of our own noses to see -- and embrace -- what it truly means to be a member of the global mess that is humanity.

Fearless

Today, you were student of the month. Again. For the last time. Even though it was a little bit silly -- Ms. Fletcher nominated all the advanced art seniors, no matter what kind of people they've turned out to be -- but, she saved her praise of you for last. 

She said you were a badass. 

She said you were fearless. 

She said that -- no matter the challenge -- you take it on and you rise to it. 

I know that you don't see that in yourself. All the time, you compare you to me, you say that you can't power through, that you can't work so hard all of the time, that you can't be as strong as I am. But I don't know that I'm strong, kiddo. I'm just really, really stubborn. And I have a chip on my shoulder the size of a railroad tie. That doesn't mean that I'm fearless. That just means that...in many cases...I take on battles that I'm never going to win. Maybe it's fearlessness, but maybe it's also tilting at windmills. 

But you, my daughter. You are fearless. And you are a badass.

That doesn't mean that you aren't afraid, because I see you and you are often terrified. 

That doesn't mean that you don't feel pain, because I see you and you are in pain all of the time. 

But I also see you -- again and again and again -- you fall down, you get shit on, you pick yourself back up, you doubt yourself, you question everything -- and then you square your shoulders and you get back in the fight. 

You don't see the strength that I see. 

You don't see the talent that I see. 

You don't see the power that I see. 

You don't see the forever friend that I see.

 You, my daughter, are a ball of anxiety. 

But I see you. I see you as you take a minute and then pull it together, take a deep breath, and get back out there.

It doesn't matter what the future holds because you are a powerhouse. You have a fountain of strength within you. A geyser. You will tackle whatever comes your way in your own way.

You are my soul.

My daughter. 

And I am so incredibly proud of you.

Under Pressure

 I haven't written in ages. 9 months, to be exact. Maybe 10. Math is hard.

I haven't had the time -- made the time -- to write. And frankly, I haven't had the mental capacity to write. 

There are so many things to write about. Helena's senior year and all of the joy and heartbreak and frustration that brings.

Sam's freshman year. And all of the joy and heartbreak and frustration that brings.

My job. And all of the joy and heartbreak and frustration that brings.

I still love my job, although I can't pay the bills. I'm still so incredibly relieved and fulfilled that I braved the jump to Okemos, but I'm still so incredibly broke because of that decision.

I still freelance when I can find the time. I still judge for Scholastic and the New York Times almost monthly. And now, I work concessions on the weekends at KWings stadium so that I have enough cash for Helena to skate her final year in derby. I don't remember the last day I didn't work.

I haven't written in ages because there just. isn't. time.

But today I had a wake-up call. And I feel like I have to write this down. Publicly. Transparently.

Today, I found someone to cover my 5th hour class so I could donate blood at the blood drive before the fire drill that was scheduled 6th hour. I speed-walked down to the rubber gym (IDK, it's a thing at Okemos. Just go with it...) and I signed in and a student told me: "It's your gallon day! That's amazing!" and I was ready to go -- just stick that needle in me, I'm a fast bleeder, we can get this done before the fire drill -- and -- my blood pressure was too high.

Literally, my blood pressure was above the Red Cross' limit.

I couldn't donate blood. My blood pressure was too high.

I've known, for a year now, that my blood pressure was an issue. I've tried to sleep more, drink less alcohol, drink more water, move more, breathe more. But my blood pressure hasn't budged. 

There are so many reasons why. Menopause, COVID, the job change, the job itself, my weight, alcohol, the kids, the bills. So many reasons why my blood pressure is out of control.

And I know what lifestyle changes need to occur for me to get it under control.

But I haven't managed to make those changes happen. An extra 30 minutes of sleep a night and an extra bottle of water a day and an extra daily walk doesn't fix the problem.

My entire lifestyle is the problem, and that isn't going to change any time soon.

So, I made a doctor's appointment next week. I'm apprehensive. My longtime doctor left the practice and I'm stuck with someone new that I've never met. She will tell me I'm fat and that I drink too much and that I don't sleep enough and I know all of these things already, but I hope that she will prescribe me medication so that I can get this blood pressure under control. Because clearly I can't do it out of sheer will.

But I'd really like to live for a very long time.

Because I'd really like to be able to donate blood and hit that gallon mark.

Because I really want to be here to see my kids into their futures and cheer them on.

 And frankly, I'm way too busy to have a heart attack and die.