Out of Orbit

I am leaning against the doorframe that leads out onto the roof. I am holding my sketchbook against my chest, under my leather jacket; I was protecting it from the light rain drizzling down. The tile surface of the floor and the walls of surrounding buildings are glazed with wetness. I have just come back from the café that has become my little refuge; it reminds me of Berkeley, the way it’s decorated with funky pictures, some jazz or pop music playing in the background. My heart is thumping in my chest; I clearly need to exercise more, though luckily I’ve started going to zumba classes with a co-worker.

I notice the pretty array of gauzy lights; all of Nazareth surrounds where I live: dull orange and hazy yellow stars they are. I live on the top floor of a building; below it is my office, and on the first level is where my landlady lives with her family, and their dog, named Za’atar (za’atar is the spice thyme), who always barks no matter who walks past.

For the first time in a long time, I really want to go home. Luckily I will be in two weeks, for Christmas.

I’ve made some really great friends here, and I don’t know what I would do without them, but it’s been a long time since I’ve felt rooted anywhere.

I essentially haven’t lived in the same place for more than a few months since the summer of 2012, when I drove across the country from California with a good friend. I was in New York for the winter, a kibbutz in Israel for the spring, traveling the next summer, and now I’ve been in Nazareth a full three months, plus a few days.

I see my co-workers going home to their families, or my friends in their circles, which although I visit and feel very welcome, I don’t quite feel in orbit. I feel like a neutrino floating through time, accumulating electrons of exciting experiences, and learning a lot, gaining energy, but at the end of the day, I’m still like a spinning globe without a line to follow. My center of gravity comes and goes.

I am doing what I came here to do. I am improving my Arabic, and I have a great group of co-workers and good friends I can rely on, but still, I keep wondering when I will feel at home. Not just in New York, but anywhere, really. I feel like I’ve been wandering the world ever since I graduated college, even if I was living in a place for a few years.

I don’t think it entirely has to do with figuring out a career path; I’m planning on attending grad school next year to study translation. So it’s not like I don’t have a goal.

I’ve read articles that say 20-something-year-olds (at least in America) change jobs and cities frequently.

But the paradox is, why do we keep uprooting ourselves if we want to feel grounded?

Travel has always been a passion of mine. I love to see other places, learn about new cultures, and meet new people, but on the other hand, traveling can be wearying; not just physically, but also for the soul. And even if you stay in the same place for a while, it can still feel like a weight after such a long time.

It’s not just your belongings and your body that you move; it’s your mind, constantly having to adjust your behavior to a different culture, a different language. Being lost in translation half the time…which I am actually mostly okay with (being lost in translation). For me it’s like a game, figuring out what’s happening in a conversation based on the words I can pick up; it’s like connecting the dots (deciphering meaning) between fast-moving targets (words and phrases).

And when I don’t understand, I can use my imagination. ;-)

Travel has not just improved my language skills. I have learned to be independent, to not be afraid to make friends with strangers, to try new foods, to be okay with not knowing the directions to an unknown place, etc.

I am very grateful for this year I’ve had in Israel. I’ve learned not just a new language, but developed relationships that I hope I will have for the rest of my life, in sha Allah.

But still, there is a part of me that is waiting to take root. Maybe it will happen in grad school, or maybe not. I don’t know.

But until then, like Peter Pan, my star is pointed in this direction: Straight on til morning.