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On Finding New Rhythms

We’ve now been in Lebanon a month. A month.

It feels like six. I don’t know how it works, but if you split your time between continents it does the bizarrest things to the felt passage of time.

And while things in week four are far easier than they were in week one,  I still feel like I’m in the throws of transition. Maybe it’s like adjusting to new babies: at a month in you’re only realizing how whack things are and still have no idea how to adjust them, nor the energy to even think about doing so. (So I hear, anyway.)

I’m starting to notice that the hardest part of long-distance moves is developing new rhythms. The old way was just so natural. I knew my on-the-way-home grocery stop would exactly 12 minutes. I knew what roads to avoid at what time of day. I knew where to hide during a break so that I could be alone in my head without being interrupted.

But then the familiar left, and with it, all sense of rhythm and instinct. And I find myself flustered, and bumbling, and frustrated.

I don’t know when I can reliably take a shower, because it requires me to be to be home during at least 2 hours of government electricity (which is off half the day, though I never know which half). I don’t know when to do laundry, because it requires about 3 hours of government electricity, and I have to be home if we (surprise!) go dark in the middle of the load. Braving the grocery store (and the roads that get us there) is still a pretty big event, and difficult to force ourselves to tackle at the end of already-exhausting days. (Did I mention the work week is 6 days long here?)

All of this means I’m eating a lot of junk food, which exacerbates the felt lack of norms and rhythms.

I’ve moved enough to know it won’t last forever. It’s counter-intuitive, but trying harder doesn’t improve things any faster. It only frustrates things and makes me (even more) miserable.

So instead of berating myself for another week of lame dinners, missed blog posts, and destroyed-house-ness, I’m trying to go a little easy on myself and make time for things I enjoy. Today I’m stirring myself another cup of nescafe, enjoying the clouds and rain and cold (the upsides of this transition), and lingering a bit longer over Order of the Phoenix.

This is hard for me to do. I feel like it “shouldn’t be that big of a deal” to get through everyday life. I feel irresponsible for taking a break when there is so much to be done and so little I’ve accomplished. But I also think a little breathing room can go a long way.

I’m guessing I’m not the only one in transition right now. Which means I’m likely not the only one berating myself for not getting the “new” just right yet.

So maybe it’s time for a glass of wine and a soak in the tub, or a small dive into whatever helps each of us feel most feel like ourselves. The stopping helps. Really. It releases tension, for one. But there’s also something about the space in a stop that gives room for things to fall into place, which is a significant step toward new rhythms.

If you’re in need of one, take a stop with me, will you? I’d love to hear how it goes.

Saint Frank Coffee, San Francisco

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This time last year, on a whirlwind trip to the states, I flew out to San Francisco to surprise one of my favorite people. For the previous three years or so he’d been conceptualizing a coffee company that would emphasize relationships from the growing of the beans to the presentation of the beverage. And just the week before, Saint Frank opened its doors for the first time.

I’d wanted to make it out to San Francisco since they’d moved there from Texas several years before, but our brief visits stateside never allowed it. But here was this split-second of a chance, so I took it. His wife, Lauren, and I conspired behind Kevin’s back, and I rolled in on a late-October Thursday to congratulate my friend.

The year since has been an amazing one for Saint Frank. They’ve been written up in everything from DWELL to Bon Appetit and repeatedly named in lists of the top coffee shops in the US. So in celebration of this amazing year, I’m going to share why else I love Saint Frank (besides my love for its founder) and (finally) post these photos that have been dying to claw their way out of my computer all year.

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The first day, I sat at a far table along the main bench and watched the steady stream of patrons file through. Some were there to work, some to meet a friend, but all were commenting to one another about the coffee, whether they were comparing it to intelligentsia or rightfully oozing commendations for the alfajores (a to-die-for dulce de leche shortbread sandwich cookie).

If I had to choose one coffee shop for the rest of my life it’d be Saint Frank. Because I could definitely live off their pastries and cappuccino for a while. Until I die of diabetes of course. But it’d be a lovely go until then.

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But Saint Frank’s excellence is not the only reason to love them. The best thing about Saint Frank is that they’re up to great good.

From bean to cup they emphasize relationships, connection, simplicity, and service. In short, they value humanity. They look at everything from the neighborhood to the coffee industry and say, “What could be more lovely here? How can we bring that about?” And not just for the sake of being awesome, but for the sake of the people and communities they serve.

Read more about their story and their farmers, if you’d like. And next time you’re in San Francisco, visit them at their Russian Hill location (on Polk street next to Crunch Fitness). The cappuccino will change your life. And tell Kevin hello for me, will you?

P.S. Isn’t their natural light just the best?

The Weekly End

This week I’ve been battling a bit of Beiruti Belly, an invisible ailment brought on by some bionic bacteria in the water here, making itself known through a cycle of stabbing stomach pains, massive stomach gurgling, and then, um, a severe toilet experience.

The first time I had it I was on my back for 5 days straight. (Well, when I wasn’t on the toilet, that is.) After that first time it just kind of comes and goes as my body adjusts to its new normal.

Don’t feel sorry for me, though. I not-so-secretly love sick days, which are some of the only times I allow to binge-watch whatever I want and all-around indulge myself in whatever I feel like. It makes the misery a sweet one. I fancy myself Lewis-esque in this respect (liking sick days), though he made much better use of his time in bed than I do as he was a better chap all-around and also without an iPhone.

How do you feel about sick days? Love? Hate? It’s complicated?

Anyway, here are some goodies from the web this week:

A person “being born” into something doesn’t make their thoughts irrelevant, even if that thing is privilege.

Where we go wrong with expectations, and how we might go right instead.

Lovely editions for book shelves (though of course I’m partial to these from my friend Dana).

Several failed female reading groups (non-fiction) have me wondering if this might be a good alternative.

Also from Joanna, 12 Words Even Smart People Get Wrong. (Yes, you want to read it.)

Life will never be “balanced.” Instead of worrying about that, consider thinking about it like this.

And in case you’re wondering, mosquito traps like this are a total waste of time.

 

Hope you’re having a great weekend!

The View From 3 Weeks In

Home of Hope
September 30th we stepped off the plane into a cool evening and a new life.

As we walked into the office the next morning, a kid was kneeling against the wall in the directors office with his hands behind his back. The workday was bustling around him, but he didn’t move.

Seeing that the scene had our attention, the director nodded in the boy’s direction and said, “He’s being punished.”

“How long will he be there?” Brady asked.

“Another 20 or 30 minutes.”

Uhhhh… Cue internal alert system: Don’t look shocked. Act normal. Poker faces everyone!!

He continued, “Everyone hits them. They get hit on the street, hit by the police, hit by their parents. We don’t hit them. So we have to do something else.”

I’m culturally adapted to the near east. Where “working” meaning being physically present regardless of what tasks are or are not completed. Where people won’t tell you no, even if the answer is a flat no. The operating by “wasta” (favored relationships) and mediators. Where everyone has been at the losing end of someone’s need for power and later made sure they were on the winning end. I get it.

You know what I’m not culturally adapted to? Life with kids without families. Specifically, kids who’ve had enough bad stuff happen to them that either they don’t have parents (victims of the Syrian War, for example), or the court removed them from their parents. And not in some American I-left-them-in-the-locked-car-for-three-seconds way, but in a the-father-killed-their-mother-in-front-of-them or tried-to-sell-them-to-pedophiles kind of way.

Turns out I’m not so acclimated to that.

And of course, if you put 30 boys used to defending themselves on the street in the same room, they’re going to start knocking each other around. And, being the protector of all the kids, you have to discourage this. And let’s just acknowledge that time-out isn’t going to cut it for a 13-year old from the streets. So you figure out another way to make them not want to do it again.

That kid limped out of the office, and my American sensitivities made it hard to watch. But in a world where there are no privileges to take away and where violence is a normal part of making it out alive (even at eleven years old) and where they didn’t have the opportunity to be enculturated into healthy norms, what do you do?

And while that punishment is different in severity from the world of my upbringing, it’s also different in severity from the world of his upbringing. In the exact opposite direction.

The challenges of family-less-ness don’t end with discipline issues, of course. You know all those little things you just “catch” from your parents? How you talk to people you don’t know, for example, or how to carry yourself, or how to puzzle through everyday decisions? These kids are entirely without.

My hope is that one day they will no longer be without. That one day there will be enough adults that these kids can have lots of good examples and be able to spend one-on-one time with people who care for them. But for now, we’ve got what we’ve got and, like all of us in every situation, we’ll do the best we can we what we have.

I’ve been re-reading the Harry Potter series, and last night I got to the part after the Triwizard tournament where Harry is beat up and exhausted in every way possible, and yearns for sleep from his hospital bed. He has no parent with him, of course, because they were killed when he was young. And then this happens: Harry’s best friend’s mother “bent down, and put her arms around Harry. He had no memory of ever being hugged like this, as though by a mother.”

It’s this exactly that they don’t have. Someone they trust to hug them like a mother. One day, I hope they will.

Until then we jump in. Bandaging kids who cut themselves, deeply, on purpose. Providing activites so they can have something to do during the day, and dreaming up ways to accomplish the impossible.

Except I can’t help but think it might just be possible.

The Weekly End

Beirut sunset

The sun sets at the end of our first week here, and there is so, SO much to share.

In short, we’re adjusting well to the Fall temperatures and great food, and not-as-well to the near-non-existent internet and the rough realities of the kids here. All transitions take time, though, and I think we’re doing pretty well for it being only the end of week one.

While computer internet is pretty tricky, I’m able to keep up with the outside world a bit on my phone. We do have 3G on our phones, which Brady clocked as being about 80 times faster than the landline.

Here are a few things I enjoyed from the internet this week… though they may in fact be from a while ago. That’s kind of how I do things. If you ever email me you know this. (Yikes!)

  • I’ve been thinking about this all summer, so it was fun to hear that it’s been on someone else’s mind.
  • I’d love to take this free Stanford Online class, but it sounds like too much for my internet and schedule right now. Would anyone want to take it with me when it’s offered in the future?
  • The awkward turtle makes an appearance on this exploration of cultural hand gestures.
  • And put away your pumpkin spice haterade long enough to try this for me, will you?
  • And my friend Sarah is back to blogging after a (too long) hiatus. She uses a lot of grown-up words and references wine a LOT. You’ll especially love it if you’re in the throws of motherhood, but it’s just as fun if you’re not. Last week she wrote about banning her kids from the digitals, and the challenges of a highly sensitive kiddo. But really it’s the way she does it that’s so great. Welcome back to the blogosphere, Sarah!

And with that, I’m done wrestling the internet for the day.

 

Good Morning, Beirut.

IMG_7867.JPGThis morning I awoke inside a new life.

I’m brain foggy and only a tad travel-weary (the USA-Beirut itinerary is much shorter than the USA-Muscat one we used to take, even though the time-zones are a mere hour apart), but it’s cool outside, and there are trees, and in the evening church bells echo through the valley.

Definitely a different life.

I’ve also begun hearing the stories of the kids here. All rough; some tragic.

Unfortunately, the internet is even sketchier here than it was in Muscat, which is really saying something. Hopefully I’ll discover some work-arounds soon.

Anyone know of a good offline blog editor for iPad?