The Transition Artist

I’m sitting in the Frankfurt airport on a 7-hour layover looking out a big window at all the Lufthansa planes. My flight got delayed 4 hours, and, being that it’s the holidays, all the others were full. So here I am sitting at a little table by myself, listening to the same announcements in German over and over.

The last time I was in this airport, I was jet-lagged out of my mind after a 10-hour flight from Houston to Frankfurt, waiting on a plane to Croatia with my family. I couldn’t keep my eyes open, felt extremely out of place, and was entirely too burdened by the big purple backpack I carried around as though it were my child (it weighed so much it might as well have been..). Now, I sit in the airport in a similar fashion, minus my family members and the jet-lag, and want to laugh at the Kate that sat in this airport 5 months ago.

Between now and then I have been on more airplanes that I ever could’ve imagined within such a short time frame, gotten comfortable living in Europe and constantly speaking in another language, and learned to pack much smaller bags. Wearing the same outfit multiple ways for multiple days is now something I pride myself on, to say the least…

Sitting here now, like I did just months ago, brings me back to the frame of mind that I had then. I remember wanting to hide the American on myself like it was some sort of embarrassing rash, as I got accustomed to doing anytime I traveled abroad growing up. In my deliriously tired state, not yet used to European time, I wandered around the airport feeling very much like an outsider. The funny thing, though, is that not much has changed about my circumstances, but I know there is something very different about me as I sit here now. My backpack is still heavy (and so big that apparently it serves as some sort of threat, because I’ve gotten “randomly” selected for security screenings twice now…), I still don’t speak German, and, the last time I checked, my passport still says U.S.A. So why do I feel so different? The only thing I know to attribute it to is growth.

I started this semester thinking that I understood, and, as I’ve written, was very clearly a clueless tourist. But instead of shedding this title and moving on to “learned, traveled European,” I’m simply a slightly more humble American. This past week, I went through my first little process of saying goodbye to Paris. I’ve left places plenty of times, but I’ve never felt so sentimental about leaving a city. I went back to museums I’ve already visited, spent more time (and money) than I’d like to admit doing Christmas shopping on the Champs-Élysées, and had a French “Christmas dinner” that I will never forget (seafood and steak Tartare anyone??). All of this has left me so full and content that, although leaving is a very bittersweet feeling, as I ate the last croissant and cafe creme I’ll have until next year, I felt only happiness as I thought about all that I’ve experienced this past semester, pleased to go home and spend Christmas with my family.

I’ve realized that being in a new place, learning about the culture there, and really allowing yourself to be present has nothing to do with whether or not I seem American or look like a tourist, but a lot to do with how I perceive the experience. In allowing humility in, and letting go of some of my pride, I’ve gotten more comfortable. I’m still an outsider in most of the places that I have been and will go abroad, but that’s okay. I’ve learned that being uncomfortable is a really beautiful thing. Acceptance and allowance of discomfort means something really big is going to happen; that maybe when the walls of pride are lowered enough, learning and growth can happen.