A Foreign Place

Thus far I have written only about being The Foreigner in a different country. Because of nationalistic tendencies to group together in a unifying culture--complete with food, music, religion, daily rituals, and the like--it is easy to feel lost and aloof from the crowd when unfamiliar with those things that have come to "identify" a group of people.

I have not, however, crossed the boundary of so-called "foreign territory." This phrase, so often used to denote uncomfortable places and situations, has a literally grounded feeling (territory) while retaining the right to be used in an emotional situation or state of mind. While I have long since returned from far off lands in Europe and Asia and returned to a now snow-covered Vermont, I find myself entering into "foreign territory." Of course, I am referring to G-Day: the day of liberation, new beginnings, and, well, gripping fear.

Oddly enough, the "foreign territory" to which I refer is not Postgradland but Indecisionburg. I'm not one to fear change, or the future, or even the unknown, and I've therefore had seamless transitions in most of my life. Three and a half weeks away from home before hitting double-digits might have been scary for other people, but for me the only difficult thing about it was the return home. With the exception of my (very justified) fear of getting lost in my high school building, my transition into big-scary-high-school-land was pretty anticlimactic. My high school graduation and subsequent move to college was, if anything, long overdue by my senior spring. I even embraced the prospect of transitioning between multiple living situations, languages, and schools for a full year, and I managed to get through it with but one (minor) panic situation.

I think I've decided that the reason why none of the (albeit minor considering my youth) changes in my life have phased me is because I've always known what I wanted the next step to be. My confidence in my decisions has ranged from warmly self-assured to dangerously stubborn, but that confidence has, nonetheless, driven me forward. From little decisions like, "do I buy this shirt?" to big ones like, "Where should I go to college," I am logical and decisive to the core. The most indecisive most people have ever seen me is pondering over a dinner menu. Place me in front of two dazzling desserts and making me choose between them is as heart-wrenching as it gets, folks.

Maybe that is why I feel so foreign in Indecisionberg. Postgradland will bring what it will, and I'll adapt to the changes as they come just like I have for every other situation. Figuring out what I want to do once I get there--that is the (so far) unanswered question. I know what I like to do, and I know what I want to avoid at all costs, so I'm hoping that I'll find my way out of Indecisionberg soon. If I can't? Well, I guess I'll just have to learn the language and add it to the list!

What I do know is that this will not be the last time that I find myself in the position of The Foreigner. Hopefully, come May, I'll have somewhere exciting and Foreign to go, and I'll return here to tell all of you about it.