A Year Off

by Alexandra Brown

  When we got to the coffee shop, I put on a chipper face, and we ordered two macchiatos as we had done every day for the last month in Italy. From behind the counter, a mildly confused face looked back at me with a disinterested smile and said, “What do you mean? Like a caramel one?” Still having the reflex to talk with my hands to overcome a language barrier, I signed out the beverage I meant to order while narrating with an apologetic tone. “Just a shot of espresso and a little bit of frothed milk in a tiny little cup about yea big,” I said, holding space between my thumb and index finger. Seeming to understand, she inquired about any other purchases we would like to make and then stated the total, “That will be $5.01.” I handed her $10.00, and she returned $4.99 to me in change.

  Ninety-nine cents is a burden, I thought to myself. It is a weighty collection of nearly worthless metal that will sag my pockets until gone. Its only real value is its ability to help me not receive even more change throughout the day. It is also an emotional burden, a ploy for a forced gift. Rather than a tip above and beyond what is expected based on some sort of relationship or appreciated service, this feels like I should thank her for removing this unwanted weight. My mind continued until I got to the heart of the issue; some money-grubbing owner who underpays his or her employees was forcing us to enter into these socially acceptable bribe-like scenarios where customers must choose between the guilt of not giving an obligatory gift or bear the bulging shameful weight in their pockets or purses. What kind of country is this? I ask myself. This is a ridiculous system. I imagined distributing my pennies and dimes and quarters to the customers in line before they found themselves trapped in the same miserable situation and then declare that we should no longer subsidize the owner’s parsimony. The fantasy ended. I dropped the change in a jar and waited for my name to be called.

  I would not say I am the type that meets change with grace. It is an uncomfortable and stiff set of clothing that requires a lot of effort to soften up. New York was always a place I dreamed about moving to when I was in my twenties. My sister had lived there for two decades, and the awe of the city never grew old no matter how many times I visited. How could a place of such beauty and wonder feel so dull and dingy now? Had I changed? Was the rest of the world so grand in comparison? Had the trip ruined one of the greatest cities in my home country for me?

  After burning our tongues on the painfully hot watery beverage, we decided to get on the bus and go to the end of Central Park, then walk back. We boarded a bus on Fifth Avenue, and as we sat on our seats, the caffeine started to chase away a few clouds, and my thoughts were a bit less critical. I realized I needed to approach New York like I would any other destination on our trip. I needed to put aside my expectations, judgments, and comparisons and give it my best to see the place for what it was. Destinations are not scaled in any sort of linear fashion; they are at once beautiful and ugly, complex and simple. They are endlessly engaging, as they hold the history of the people and times before us while creating new ways to balance countless social, cultural, and physical dynamics every day. Of course, I love some places more than others for reasons within and beyond my understanding, but if I compared every new place to those I have loved before, I knew I would never have the chance to see and fall in love with where I was in the present moment. Sitting with this thought, I started to feel better.

  After some silence, Alexandra and I started talking, and it seemed we were both going through similar fluctuations. One example led to another, and our comparably miserable experiences were becoming funny. The minute Alexandra described how alienating and out-of-body the entire morning had felt to her, I knew we were just in the throes of reverse culture shock and we would love this city again in no time. But in the meanwhile, we spared no detail as we went on and on about how dull and serious the people felt here, how commercial the environment seemed, how terrible and overpriced the coffee was, and so on. It felt good to just let it all out, so we did until I looked over Alexandra’s shoulder to find an older gentleman having a bit less fun with our roasting of New York than we were. Realizing the obvious fact that most everyone in New York speaks English quite well, we both turned a bit red and rode the rest of the ride in silence.

  Walking through the park that day, I realized my mood was not only a result of reverse culture shock but also a by-product of a good dose of ending-adventure sadness. I needed to update my résumé, find a job, and return to my more traditional day-to-day. I had no aspirations to travel for a lifetime, but I also had no interest in suiting back up and reentering the rat race. My stomach had felt sick for a month, which I had attributed to too much pizza and wine while in Italy, but now I recognized the feeling as a manifestation of my anxiety. While on the trip, I had not solved the problem of the mundane or thought of a way to be one of those people who loved a nine-to-five job. I had come up with a few business ideas, but starting a business can consume almost every moment of your waking life. I was not ready to sacrifice all the things I loved for a shot at loving my work.

  What a lucky problem I have, I would tell myself as a reminder of the fantastic position I was in. I have a great education, work experience, and network to fall back on. Do not confuse life for fantasy. Not surprisingly, this kick-in-the-pants pep talk backfired, as it peppered guilt into my already bitter cocktail of anxiety. I needed to listen to myself and place a bet on me, not on the “follow the steady course” advice I had latched onto in my youth. That thinking might have gotten me this far, but it would take me back to where I started if I stuck with it. After making the difficult choice to quit my job and subsequently having the best year of my life, my motivation with decisions moving forward needed to be more genuine and rooted in something I sincerely cared about.

  We had been walking through the park for a while, and I suddenly felt the strong urge to sit. I asked Alexandra if she would mind hanging out a bit by a small pond we were passing. We sat down on a nearby bench and watched as wooden remote-controlled sailboats drifted about on the water. I had always wanted to try sailing and was captivated by how simple and effective the concept was. With a slight breeze in the air, many of the boats seemed to be able to go wherever they wanted with finesse while others jerked about with little to no traction. Something about watching the boats made me feel better. The adventure is not coming to an end, I thought to myself. It’s just one adventure after the next. Our trip was not a means to get back home; it was a means of experiencing life, places, and people like we had never done before. We were not trying to get anywhere and nor were we now. We were here to embrace the present, improve at the things we loved, build relationships, and live as much as we could every day. As we sat there in silence, I had a comforting thought: in some ways, we are all like sailboats in a small lake, doing what we can with the wind given and hoping to give it a little finesse as we make our rounds.

  TIPS ON REENTRY

  We found that in many ways it’s easier to deal with places changing than you changing. It’s jarring to be annoyed, bored, or plain disengaged with a place that was essentially your whole universe before you left. Cultural or societal practices that were once intuitive may feel strange and backward as you, perhaps unknowingly, adopted new ways of seeing the world during your time away. Unlike your mind-set when visiting somewhere new and exciting, preconceived assumptions and associations about home may also hold you back from engaging and therefore delay your acclimation process.

  Additionally, you may find that your connection with some friends is a bit different than before you left. Although there is a chance you will ultimately find yourself gravitating to new people, we highly recommend not reading too much into feelings of disconnect in your first year back. Remember that you are most likely the one who has changed, and it’s on you to be gracious and trust the connections you built before you left.

  Reverse culture shock can be very unsettling, but there are ways to help cope with the transition. A few decisions we made for the first weeks back proved to be tremendously h
elpful in the long run and made our return home less jarring.

  1/ Create a Plan for Coming Home

  It can be tremendously helpful to have a general sense of how you want to approach coming home and set an intention around what you want to do, where you want your mind-set to be, and how you want to approach decisions. For example, here are a few questions to consider asking yourself before coming home:

  • How quickly do you want to start searching for work?

  • Do you want to make big changes or decisions right away?

  • Do you want to live in the same place you were living before?

  The answers to these questions will help you establish a plan for when you get back.

  2/ Don’t Take Reverse Culture Shock Too Seriously

  You may feel pretty rough when you first get back, but it’s important to remember that all the uncomfortable things you’re thinking, feeling, and experiencing are a result of reverse culture shock. Just like mood swings or hormonal shifts or even getting the flu, this too shall pass. From what we gathered from other travelers we met, a common piece of advice was to not take negative feelings about home too seriously and to try to minimize judgment, knowing that you may be experiencing everything under the veil of difficult emotions caused by reentry, not the people and things around you. Also avoid making big life decisions or alienating friends you were once close with. Make note of how you’re feeling but don’t indulge in the feelings too deeply.

  3/ Wean Yourself Off Travel

  One of the best decisions we made was to come home but not go home to San Francisco right away. Instead, we slowly made our way back to the West Coast over three weeks. We visited family and friends in New York, Pittsburgh, Wisconsin, and Chicago, and even attended the Park City wedding of our round-the-world friends we had traveled with in New Zealand and Japan. Those three weeks of transition time were beyond beneficial for our adjustment period because even though we had “returned,” we still felt like we were on the road. Being back in our apartment in San Francisco was surreal enough after three weeks traveling across the country, so we couldn’t imagine how strange it would have been had we gone directly home and slept in our own bed on the first night back after nearly a year away.

  4/ Create Bookends

  A week into our trip around the world, we went to David’s grandpa’s house in northern Wisconsin, and a week before going back to our apartment in San Francisco at the end of our trip, we did the same. Having these bookends was very grounding. It helped us cement our intentions for the trip before leaving and gave us time for contemplation upon our return. Spending time in the same peaceful and comforting place at both the beginning and end of your trip can be really helpful in setting you up for not only a good journey but also a good homecoming.

  5/ See Supportive People

  This may seem a bit obvious, but you could run into a situation where some of the people closest to you or those you happen to see the most may not be keenly interested in hearing about your trip when you get back. You’ll be eager to share the experiences you’ve just had with the people you care about, so try to surround yourself with the folks who are just as eager to hear about them. Not surprisingly, it feels much better to share stories with people who are genuinely interested.

  6/ Cultivate a Sense of Self-Awareness

  As tempting as it may be to compare things you’re doing back home with similar situations on the road, keep in mind that people generally don’t appreciate a comparative experience. For example, if you’re eating at an Italian restaurant with friends, and someone compliments the food, reconsider before saying, “This is good, but it’s not really how they make it in Italy.” It doesn’t take much to turn people off, as there’s a fine line between sharing and undermining. Be sure to see where you are and be sensitive to those around you.

  The Last Flight

  San Francisco, CA

  ALEXANDRA

  37.7749° N, 122.4194° W

  The sun had just made its final descent behind the horizon line as our plane touched the ground. The rear wheels screeched on the asphalt runway before the front touched down, and the air whooshed around the wings as the flaps flared up like preening peacocks on display. After nearly a year on the road, we were back in California, back to where it had all begun. I held David’s hand, and he squeezed mine gently. We both turned our heads to look out the window at the lights on the runway and the dark hills rolling in the distance. We were home.

  How many flights had we taken in the last year? How many times had we snugly secured our packs to make them look as small as possible and nestled them into the overhead compartment? How many different types of beverages were offered, and how many varied types of airplane meals gingerly wrapped in foil caps with plastic bottoms had we consumed? How many languages had we heard the safety information in? Transit had become as much a part of the fabric of our lives as the travel it facilitated, and the thought that we wouldn’t have another flight coming up any time soon was disorienting. At its core, the path ahead felt so clear: we would move back into our same apartment, start working again, and continue our life together. But wrapping my head around how things would ultimately unfold felt nearly impossible. So much had happened in the last year. Our time away had been richer and denser than any other period in either of our lives, and each day had been ours alone. Apart from one day in Thailand, we had been together twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, the entire time we had been on the road. I had a hard time imagining going back to a routine in which I didn’t experience everything in lockstep with David. As we continued our amble down the runway, I held David’s hand tighter.

  “Here we are,” I said.

  “Here we are,” he replied. Neither of us had to say anything more to understand we were feeling the same way.

  The plane pulled into the gate, and the ding of the release signal unleashed the flurry of activity that always happens at the end of a flight. People eagerly sprang from their seats, gathering belongings and lining up to get off the plane. We didn’t share in the sense of urgency around us. Part of me wanted to stay on the plane and continue onward. The line began to move, and before too long, it was our turn to stand, get our backpacks, and leave the plane. For most people, this was just another flight, another normal day in the routine of life, but for us, this flight was the end of a remarkable chapter.

  David’s sister and her wife were picking us up at the airport, and we were going to get Ethiopian food together on the way home. It was surreal to be back in the world of regular plans and coordinating schedules. We walked through the terminal, and the weight of my pack on my back was oddly comforting. I wanted to remember everything, even the way the carpeted floor of the terminal felt under my feet. Now that we were back, I couldn’t believe I had thought I was ready to come home at some points during our trip.

  We followed the signs for baggage claim and arrivals, and as we descended on the escalator, we saw David’s sister and her wife waiting for us, large smiles spreading on their faces once they picked us out among the crowd. Seeing them again, I felt suspended in time. It was as if we had just said goodbye, but also as if we had not seen them for years. It will be this way with everything, I thought. Time had gone quickly, and time had gone slowly. What mattered was that we had had that time, and we would have this time now. This was the next chapter, the next adventure upon which we would embark together, and just as we hadn’t known what the trip would be like, we equally didn’t know what this next phase would bring. Maybe in a way we were still traveling after all.

  ARE WE THERE YET?

  David

  Anticipating some bumps as we landed back into our life in San Francisco, we committed to not making any major decisions for at least six months. This served to be a good choice because within days of being back, Alexandra expressed a lack of enthusiasm for the city. The ballooning tech scene grated on her, the rampant homeless encampments were depressing, and the very high cost of living made rooting seem i
mpossible. I was also disappointed with how the city, especially my neighborhood, had changed while we were away. This movement had been well on its way when we left, but taking a year off made its rapid pace that much more obvious. I felt the tech industry had priced out the soul of the city. San Francisco had gone from a city that, to me, embodied America’s open frontier, where I would meet someone doing something wild and different almost every day, to a homogenous tech bubble filled with rich kids chasing fleeting trends. So many of the things I thought I loved about home seemed to be lost in the past. Luckily, most of the people we knew felt very similarly about what was happening, which helped us get over the shock and make sense of what was changing faster: us or home.

  The shock of returning did eventually wear off after about six months. Although our observations and feelings toward the things that turned us off remained, we were able to engage with the city in a new way and start to envision a sustainable life here again. We were a part of the city again. Accepting the negatives and becoming accustomed to the cultural norms, we were able to more clearly see the larger picture and all the incredible parts of the city that still remained. That’s not to say we didn’t still question moving from time to time, and almost did at one point, but as time went on, we no longer felt like outsiders. We were home—happy and enjoying our life in San Francisco once again.

  Chapter 10