At the beginning of winter/summer break every year, my Papa comes to pick me up from Willamette U and bring me home. These daddy-daughter road trips, driving the Great Skewed Triangle between Willamette U, Bend, and Poulsbo, allow plenty of time for talking. It was on one of these trips, during which I was learning some life lessons the tough way, that one of our heart-to-heart chats revealed some wisdom:
Papa told me, somewhat masked behind his large aviators, with high desert Oregon scruff whooshing by, “You’ll have what seem to be some of the hardest lessons, and also most euphoric moments of your life when you’re young. The older you get, the more mundane your life becomes, the fewer rollercoasters, the longer plateaus… Honey, you may think times are rough now because there’s little stability, but let me tell you, you’ll miss the action later!”
I feel like with all this good attitude oozing out of my pores the past few weeks, it was probably about time for my resolve to get tested. I indeed called upon this moment to make it though one hell of a roller coaster day... a day that included new friends, contentment, a feeling of belonging, but also corresponding stress, tears, mortification, and many curve balls to keep me guessing.
I rolled over to my usual 6:15am alarm, groaning, and getting up to finish the last bit of Arabic homework before stumbling groggily into the kitchen. My backpack was seemingly laden with rocks (aka books), and my favorite purple and silver Brooks running shoes dangled loyally from my bright blue carabeener. Walking out the door today, I knew it was going to be el yom majnoon khteir (very crazy day), and I had mentally psyched myself up for the hospital rounds, taxi rides, thinning wallet and the immense mountain of necessary patience. But I was a woman on a mission! If anything, today was going to be an adventure! I felt good and ready to take it on :)
After a3miaa class with Dr. Muna (in which we got to play arabic charades! SO FUN), I hailed a taxi and left for the Arab Medical Center, near the fifth circle. I picked up my chest x-ray, urine analysis results, and tuberculousis test (thrilling I know), and then stepped out of the hospital to hail another taxi. Next stop: King Hussein Park!
However, the taxi driver that pulled up practically knew no english, and while my arabic conversational skills are improving, I had crossed my fingers that Fate would send me a taxi driver who wouldn't need me scrambling to look up the word "park" in the dictionary, haha! Alas, it was not to be. But no matter! The driver was friendly and we pulled over and asked someone to point us in the right direction, and we arrived without another hitch. WIN.
Now, King Hussein Park is huge, and I began wandering around aimlessly looking for the Marathon Village to register for the Amman 10k race. Seeing what looked like big tents, I walked over and instead met Hanuda, a tall older man with a salt n' peppery 5 o'clock shadow, who's a local pottery artist and professor at the University of Jordan. His shop was open and he invited me in to share some coffee. Considering the social etiquette of Jordan, I've learned to never turn down a kind offer of friendship, no matter how tight the timetable (really, its safe to say that timetables don't exist here). Instead of valuing time as money, Jordanians value time as investment in relationships. For example, in a business context, instead of calling someone and directly/bluntly asking why a delivery hasn't been made on time, the inquirer always first asks about the wellbeing of the recipients family as well as have other degrees of small talk before breaking the issue at hand. And even then the issue is phrased in a way as to allow the person who's made a mistake to save face. (I'll discuss more about the differences in hi- vs. lo-context cultures in a moment...it interestingly enough relates to the political environment of the Middle East as well). In any case, no matter what someone has scheduled for the day, if Jordanians meet a stranger who needs help or direction, the following hour transforms into an amazing Q&A/exchange of life stories. While Westerners who value privacy could perceive such curiosity as rude and nosey, it's the way Jordanians show they care. And as it turns out, Hanuda decided he would even drive me over to registration so that he could save me time anyways.
After registering and getting my my race packet/cool gear, I walked to the circle by City Mall, and caught another taxi...this time back to campus. Least to say, I'm getting a bit worn out on taxi-riding. Sometimes it prevents me from going out on the weekends just because I need a complete break from heartfelt marriage proposals, and the primarily night-time slimeballs. In any case, I ended up sharing a taxi with this other random young guy who looked like a more awkward version of the Prince of Jordan, and the driver would not stop talking about his adorable 2-year old son. :) It was actually pretty fun ride, and I arrived back to campus feeling accomplished and content.
And then the day took a dark turn.
After class, I asked my good friend in my neighborhood to take my workout gear and running shoes with her to drop off at my house so that I wouldn't have to lug them to the evening orchestra concert. Assuming the best, I met her at the concert, and enjoyed drifting off in utter contentment to Chopin and the incredible guest pianist from Poland. A few minutes before intermission, I suddenly bolted upright in my seat, realizing that I had forgotten my x-rays, prescriptions, and medical information in a nondescript brown bag at McDonalds when I ordered a salad for dinner. Literally, my life and a full-day of medical exams and scrambling around Amman was in that bag. With the end of the concert, I turned to the girls telling them that I was leaving, when Erin turned to me and said, "What would you say if I told you that I forgot your stuff in the taxi..."
I froze.
"You're joking right? This is supposed to be funny."
She just looked at me.
And then, I started bawling.
Right there, in the middle of the auditorium, I cried, started laughing, and then cried some more.
The day before the 10k race, the race I've been working my ass off for, my 2-month old, beautiful, supportive shoes, that have been around the world with me, and I've obviously become oddly emotionally attached to...GONE.
Really, it was just the last straw in an incredibly high stress day...high stress couple of weeks I suppose.
And then I again remembered the brown paper bag sitting in McDonalds.
The shoes were gone. I realized I'd have to process and deal with the effects of that later. But at that moment, I had another problem to solve. Within a minute, I got a hold of myself, cleared my head, and got the bit in my teeth. It was business time.
Riding back to McDonalds, I couldn't help but wonder how such a good day could turn so sour, so quickly. However, when I got to McDonald's I was granted a significant reprieve. My nondescript brown Bag of Life had been turned in and held by the manager for the last four hours. Everything was in it. I had it back. I loved Jordan again. If I had to pick between lesser evils, I came out on top. Laying down on my bed tonight, remembering to breathe, I cant help but shift perspective and feel grateful for the outcome, despite some misfortune.
And so, as my father's words come back to me about savoring the roller-coasters of youth, I can only hope that I will be forever young, even if it means dealing with days like today once in a while.
However, the taxi driver that pulled up practically knew no english, and while my arabic conversational skills are improving, I had crossed my fingers that Fate would send me a taxi driver who wouldn't need me scrambling to look up the word "park" in the dictionary, haha! Alas, it was not to be. But no matter! The driver was friendly and we pulled over and asked someone to point us in the right direction, and we arrived without another hitch. WIN.
Now, King Hussein Park is huge, and I began wandering around aimlessly looking for the Marathon Village to register for the Amman 10k race. Seeing what looked like big tents, I walked over and instead met Hanuda, a tall older man with a salt n' peppery 5 o'clock shadow, who's a local pottery artist and professor at the University of Jordan. His shop was open and he invited me in to share some coffee. Considering the social etiquette of Jordan, I've learned to never turn down a kind offer of friendship, no matter how tight the timetable (really, its safe to say that timetables don't exist here). Instead of valuing time as money, Jordanians value time as investment in relationships. For example, in a business context, instead of calling someone and directly/bluntly asking why a delivery hasn't been made on time, the inquirer always first asks about the wellbeing of the recipients family as well as have other degrees of small talk before breaking the issue at hand. And even then the issue is phrased in a way as to allow the person who's made a mistake to save face. (I'll discuss more about the differences in hi- vs. lo-context cultures in a moment...it interestingly enough relates to the political environment of the Middle East as well). In any case, no matter what someone has scheduled for the day, if Jordanians meet a stranger who needs help or direction, the following hour transforms into an amazing Q&A/exchange of life stories. While Westerners who value privacy could perceive such curiosity as rude and nosey, it's the way Jordanians show they care. And as it turns out, Hanuda decided he would even drive me over to registration so that he could save me time anyways.
After registering and getting my my race packet/cool gear, I walked to the circle by City Mall, and caught another taxi...this time back to campus. Least to say, I'm getting a bit worn out on taxi-riding. Sometimes it prevents me from going out on the weekends just because I need a complete break from heartfelt marriage proposals, and the primarily night-time slimeballs. In any case, I ended up sharing a taxi with this other random young guy who looked like a more awkward version of the Prince of Jordan, and the driver would not stop talking about his adorable 2-year old son. :) It was actually pretty fun ride, and I arrived back to campus feeling accomplished and content.
And then the day took a dark turn.
After class, I asked my good friend in my neighborhood to take my workout gear and running shoes with her to drop off at my house so that I wouldn't have to lug them to the evening orchestra concert. Assuming the best, I met her at the concert, and enjoyed drifting off in utter contentment to Chopin and the incredible guest pianist from Poland. A few minutes before intermission, I suddenly bolted upright in my seat, realizing that I had forgotten my x-rays, prescriptions, and medical information in a nondescript brown bag at McDonalds when I ordered a salad for dinner. Literally, my life and a full-day of medical exams and scrambling around Amman was in that bag. With the end of the concert, I turned to the girls telling them that I was leaving, when Erin turned to me and said, "What would you say if I told you that I forgot your stuff in the taxi..."
I froze.
"You're joking right? This is supposed to be funny."
She just looked at me.
And then, I started bawling.
Right there, in the middle of the auditorium, I cried, started laughing, and then cried some more.
The day before the 10k race, the race I've been working my ass off for, my 2-month old, beautiful, supportive shoes, that have been around the world with me, and I've obviously become oddly emotionally attached to...GONE.
Really, it was just the last straw in an incredibly high stress day...high stress couple of weeks I suppose.
And then I again remembered the brown paper bag sitting in McDonalds.
The shoes were gone. I realized I'd have to process and deal with the effects of that later. But at that moment, I had another problem to solve. Within a minute, I got a hold of myself, cleared my head, and got the bit in my teeth. It was business time.
Riding back to McDonalds, I couldn't help but wonder how such a good day could turn so sour, so quickly. However, when I got to McDonald's I was granted a significant reprieve. My nondescript brown Bag of Life had been turned in and held by the manager for the last four hours. Everything was in it. I had it back. I loved Jordan again. If I had to pick between lesser evils, I came out on top. Laying down on my bed tonight, remembering to breathe, I cant help but shift perspective and feel grateful for the outcome, despite some misfortune.
And so, as my father's words come back to me about savoring the roller-coasters of youth, I can only hope that I will be forever young, even if it means dealing with days like today once in a while.
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