TO BELONG OR NOT TO BELONG

11 March 2012
Where to start?

We arrived in Paris 3 days ago, after a week in England and what has been taking me by surprise is the sense of belonging I feel when I don’t belong. Here, in Paris, I drift along the streets completely at ease, as if, once any trace of familiarity is removed I am free to experience what “is” as opposed to what “was” and what I wish “could be.”

Perhaps it takes having been adopted, as well as having lived in two other countries besides the one I “grew up” in, to experience this sensation of belonging most when I have least attachment and expectation. And so it is that for 3 days we have walked the streets, the parks, the banks of the Seine with complete abandon to our surroundings and even as I write the word ‘abandon’ I am struck by the fact that the word has such different connotations.

For instance, to be ‘abandoned’ at birth, is to some degree or other the atmosphere of the adoptee and has such a different meaning, and feeling, than when one chooses to ‘abandon’ oneself to the non-familiar – and note the root of ‘familiar.’ 

There is something about being in a new place where one has no grasp of the language that both puts you back on your instincts and allows you to re-experience your ‘self,’ or perhaps even to experience your ‘self’ in an unfettered, and, therefore, more expansive way. It is this quality which I most cherish about traveling. Certainly I don’t cherish the dirty laundry that accumulates!

In countries other than my own- England – or the one in which I have lived for so long – America – I find I am not searching either for my self or for the comfort salvaged from the past. The England that I left when I was 19 has retained just enough of that era to tease me with false hope. That glimpse of what I have held onto all these years, whether it’s a pork pie, or the way only an English tree stands in a field, or the sound of ‘my’ language; the way clouds scud across the sky as if fleeing their origins, the bird-like cheeriness still to be found in a waitress or shopkeeper. These qualities pull at me as if to say, “stay, you belong here.” But they are gone in a second and that which remains is unidentifiably larger: it is all that England became without me. It has grown beyond me in ways that echo almost mockingly…”you are a stranger here.”

We arrived in London on 1^st March…a year to the day since we were last there. We arrived with massive jet lag on the heels of a stressful few weeks of deadlines and were taken in by our dear friend M, who asked nothing of us and gave us everything. We slept for 11 hours the first night before stumbling over to Tate Modern for lunch and then realized we had to leave for separate appointments and so saw no art. I find that unforgivable. But there you are.

So, today I leave you with a list of pros and cons that a week in England divided me between:

The Pros:

Friends: the one we stayed with, the ones who invited us to their new home at the Barbican for a curry dinner complete with camp chairs, and the ones in Primrose Hill, who in spite of their hectic schedules kept finding time for us.

Food: perhaps the one change for the better since I left England, when roast beef and Yorkshire pudding was the height of culinary achievement. Now, in London especially, it is the foodies’ paradise.

Taxis: What can I say? The London cabbie puts the New York taxi driver to shame. Some of the most hilarious and provocative conversations are to be found between driver and passenger in a black cab.

Nature: parks, gardens, fields, forests, the spring blossoms, late this year yet nonetheless a month ahead of NY. The enchantment of the English countryside still outweighs its cities.

Vibrancy: the energy on the streets is exciting partly because of its bustling diversity, its multi-ethnicity, which makes it feels like the melting pot moved here. And there’s a madness with which I identify, a sort of eccentricity that runs in my blood. You see it in the unique sense of style that refuses to be a slave to fashion but rather, informs it.

Humour: and yes, that is the English spelling, so bugger off Auto-correct! There really is nothing like British humour, a dry quick wit that even alcohol doesn’t seem to dull.  

Which leads me to the Cons:

Alcohol: the country seems to run on it with an almost frightening denial.

Chatter: perhaps a by-product of the spirit-soaked mind. There is a level of inane babble that is constant, infantile and suffocating. 

Values: Or rather, the loss of them. This country, which prided itself on common sense and economy – by which I mean one only bought that which one could both afford and take care of, is now a national trait of the past. The level of consumerism is gob-smacking.

Quality: when I grew up in England it really was about quality and not quantity. You might have only 2 pairs of shoes – one for everyday and one for ‘best’ as in Sunday’s and special occasions, but both pairs were of good and equal quality. Now the shops are filled with tacky goods at not so affordable prices.

I’m wishing now that I had listed the cons first, but the truth is that it is the cons that contribute to my sense of not belonging. If it weren’t for the pros, and really first among them is family and friends, I doubt that I would ever go back. It pains me to say that, and I can only hope that those of you, dear English family and friends, who may be reading this will not feel offended by all that I have said here. Instead I hope you will realize that it is all of you that keep England alive and well for me.

To be continued…..