Things Aren't Always as They Seem

I have done my fair share of boasting lately.

“I have a housekeeper who washes and irons everything for $15 a week!”

“I don’t have to work outside the home!”

“I lost 10 pounds!”

Two years ago, given this vision of my life, I would have seen this as the most stress-free I could imagine. Now that I’m here living it I see how that sneaky stress worms its way into the most blissful of existences.

I did not expect or even hope for stress free living in Uzbekistan, but I did expect a lot less without the responsibilities of teaching every day.

Last Monday started out nice until Doug and I were about to walk out the door and I could not find my badge to enter the Embassy. (In all, I have two passports - one diplomatic, one tourist plus copies - an accreditation card, an "I don't speak Russian; go easy on me because I'm with the Embassy" card, and my Embassy badge to keep track of.)

During my piano teaching years I lost something roughly once a day. It infuriated me. I often went ballistic (not publicly). It affected me as well as everyone around me, especially Doug. I hated it. It really affectred me deeply. This morning I awoke from a dream that I lost my purse on a Tashkent metro. I was really wound up inside even though I knew it was a dream. Since we moved to Virginia, that has all but ceased. It has been like a new life and I have relished it.

The morning I could not find my badge I expected those old feelings to come rushing back. They did, but I did not react as emotionally as I did previously. I was confident of where I last had it and where it may be. Long story short: I found my badge within a half hour. Problem solved. Except the viruses of worry, defeat and failure were crawling around in me.

The next thing that happened was I went to the Community Liaison Office to purchase Halloween party tickets. While I was there the woman in charge shared her concern of my storytelling in English since there would be so many Russian and Uzbek speaking children attending. She thought that perhaps a translator would be a good idea. I froze. I don’t speak good enough Russian to do storytelling and yet to tell with a translator would take hours of practice to make sure it flowed smoothly. I walked away worried that my first impression in storytelling would be mediocre if they insisted on a translator. I also felt that backing out would give me an equally bad reputation as would digging in my heels and proclaiming “My way or the highway!”

The worms were crawling in and out and around my mind and heart.

I headed for the gym.

I tried to calm myself by simply looking at the facts. I had my badge; it was misplaced, not lost. All I was obligated to do was to keep my word and tell spooky stories at the Halloween party. I was prepared for that. I am capable of negotiating and these people are reasonable. It was this prayer that really helped. I have been praying it for a month or so now. Some of you may be familiar with a scriptural passage that lists the fruits of the spirit: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, gentleness and self-control. I add a few of my own: mercy, pity, empathy. I ask God to help me to live in, practice, develop, reflect and demonstrate each of these (where appropriate) as a first, automatic response to everything that comes my way in my thoughts, words and deeds. That’s a tall order but I think God can handle it.

Lastly, when I got home, I sat down to write instead of grabbing a book to escape. I wrote to you, my few faithful readers because it truly gives me great pleasure. It is difficult (especially since I raised the bar and promised pictures and, hopefully, audio - which I can't figure out yet) but it is extremely rewarding in the process and accomplishment as well as in each and every rare comment I receive from you. Thank you.

Lately I have had a few recurring dreams with a twist. I often have dreamed of driving in a car and, as I drive, the car mutates into a skateboard, say, or an animal. It gets more and more difficult to drive and make forward progress. Last night my car turned into a shopping cart which began to fall apart when I had to cross a rickety passage of some sort. What was different last night was there was a woman nearby who came over and helped me carry my shopping cart across the passage.

There are many people who like to interpret dreams. Some would say my driving the car is my making my way through life and its paths. Others would say it is analogous to my sexuality and waking sex life. Hmmm. Let's work with the former interpretation, shall we? I look at this dream and see that, while I am moving along in my life and things get difficult, I can depend on and even expect help from the Embassy community here in Tashkent. That’s comforting. Carl Jung had a theory that every character in your dream was a facet of your own persona. Therefore I could see this dream as my figuring out how to help myself.

I regularly dream of being in a bathroom and people can see me. There is either no door or someone has come in on me. These dreams are very upsetting. I get enraged at the people who won’t leave me in private. I'm embarrassed. Well, I just had a dream in which I needed to use a public bathroom and there was a long line. I went away for a while then returned. The line was still long. It was then that I noticed that there was another side to the bathroom with several empty stalls. I went to the first one; there was no lock on the door. I went to the second one; the lock was misaligned and wouldn’t secure the door. I went to the third; the door closed but left about a five inch gap between the door and wall. On and on this seemed to go until I decided to skip it.


I like that, in that dream, I was more in control. Hopefully that’s a good reflection on my life right now. Outwardly, it doesn’t seem like I’m in control. I have to depend on others for transportation, translation, advice, directions and all sorts of things. Inwardly, however, I am holding up well. I may fall to pieces for a few minutes (this has happened twice, both times in the morning first thing on a Monday) but I get myself in the gym on the elliptical and start praying and within the hour, I’m fine.

And my dreams remind me of how much I miss you. About two weeks ago I dreamed that I was in St. Paul for two days. I was frantically working out a way to see everyone in that short amount of time. That, of course, was impossible so I was mixed with feelings of elation in seeing some of my friends and regret in missing out on my only chance to visit with some of you. I think that is close to what is going on within me. I am glad of this opportunity; I love my life. I'm also a little uneasy. A future post will tell you exactly what I miss (and do not miss) about living in our United States of America.