First week in France, language, football and staying in the present

22/10 - Since arriving in Cherbourg on Wednesday, I've had ideas for writing topics. The ideas stewed in my head, ready to be put into words. But when my fingers touched keyboard, kind of like right now, there isn't a hot, burning desire to complete the task. I run into a wall, and the effort of reaching that particular summit just hasn't been worth the effort lately. It's not because I'm depressed. No. I think it's less complex than that.

The move to Cherbourg simply hasn't been that exciting.

Cherbourg is basically the French version of Poole, England, my old home. I live shockingly close to the oceanfront and the harbor. I am within walking distance to grocery stores, museums, parks, soccer stadiums, outlet stores and an indoor swimming pool. The weather is just like Poole, in that it may rain in the morning and be sunny the rest of the day, or vice versa. I also expect the ground to be frozen solid in the winter like it was in Poole and Bournemouth.

And, of course, I live within walking distance to the ferry that connects to Poole.

The fans at the A.S. Cherbourg soccer game on Saturday night were dressed similarly to British chavs (think tracksuits), and they sang the same, unimaginative song repeatedly throughout the contest, until Cherbourg won 2-1. However, French fans seem to be more physically fit and easier on the eyes than the British.

There are plenty of shops, restaurants and cafes in the center of the town, and there is a farmers market on Tuesdays. Just take a seat at the "big fountain" and do some people watching. Just like in Poole, you'll see some seedy people.

The only major difference is the fact French is the primary language here. Therein lies the challenge of living in Cherbourg for a non-French speaker like me. For the first time in my life, I really am foreign. I'm living in a place where I don't speak the language, and that immediately separates me from most of the people here. I feel different, like another species. In some ways, I feel separated from the rest of this society because of my lack of proficient ability to communicate effectively.

Having said that, I have not once felt the kind of anxiety and discomfort I felt during those first few days in Poole, overwhelmed of the fact I now had a student loan to worry about and had uprooted myself so completely. I have not had that distressing what-the-fuck-have-I-done feeling. In fact, Cherbourg feels like home already. My jetlag dissipated quickly, and the loft in which I sleep, under two skylights, is delightfully comfortable. I already know more French today than I did last week.

Though I know more French already, I am still highly uncomfortable and awkward when speaking it. It is much more difficult to speak than Spanish, and there's a part of me that doesn't wish to butcher this complex yet beautiful tongue. This is because, in my opinion, Spanish words are read and pronounced similar to English words, and the sounds of the alphabet are relatively similar; in other words, when we read words in the two languages or speak them, we already know how the letters sound by themselves and how they combine to make a word. Not so in French.

Earlier this week I lost my cool simply trying to tell a grocery store clerk, "Je ne parlais pa Francais bien." In English, "I don't speak French well." I got flustered and felt shame afterward. But, in the days afterward I relaxed and do not feel as flustered to say a simple sentence in my third language.

This is my street. Rue Emmanuel Liais.

26/10 - I am still having trouble finding inspiration to write. I feel like Spiderman when he realized that just because he has superpowers doesn't mean he has to force everything else in his life to the side for the sake of fighting crime. He noticed his powers fading, most likely because he didn't have a passion for it, at the moment.

I took a step back with the blog because the passion isn't there at the moment. But, I have confidence that it will return, just like Spiderman's did. 

Perhaps it's because I'd rather not write about unspectacular, mundane, everyday events such as exploring my city, having coffee with friends or visiting the indoor swimming pool a few blocks away from me. Granted, that pool is incredible. It is on the second floor and has glass walls which have views of the harbor and the city, and the water is completely clear and has a proper depth. 

Writing about the pool, I am also obligated to write about the style of swim trunks I am required to wear. In France, trunks are short and tight...not quite "budgie smugglers" as they say in Australia, but so short that they remind me of short boxer-briefs. A pool official approached me after entering the pool in basketball shorts, and she informed me that next time I need trunks. But I digress. 

I do, however, want to write about philosophy. After discussion with friends and more reflection, I have realized that I am in Cherbourg for a reason. This is where I am supposed to be; it is no fluke. I cannot change that fact. It is futile to attempt to understand why I'm here. The simple truth is that I just am, and we are hopeless in an attempt to control what happens to us in life. We are careening along through life, powerless to the chaos of the unknown future. 

If we spend too much time attempting to understand why something happened in the past, we forget to live here and now. The act of comparison between one's own decisions and another person's actually hollows one's own situation. We made those decisions for a reason, and the only thing we can do is to simply accept that fact and move forward into the future. The past should stay in the past. 

So, I live in France. It doesn't matter why I'm here or how I got to this point; that information is irrelevant. What matters is simply that I'm here, right here, right now.  

French visa, eve of travel and lost passions

10/8 - As I stepped out the front door on Friday to go to the library, I noticed a familiar FedEx envelope sitting on the welcome mat. I instantly knew what this meant.

Momentarily distracted from my original purpose, I picked up the envelope with a growing excitement. My heart rate quickened. This was it. I had prepared myself for the possibility that my visa application would be denied. So, as if the French Consulate knew what I would be thinking when I saw the envelope, they had placed my passport into the envelope open to the page where this visa is found.

The visa is tinged with green, and my surly, unshaven mugshot dominates the left side. Finally, a concrete answer. I felt a sense of relief. It's official: I'll live in France! Outside once again, I punched the air, jumped into space and let out a loud cheer to break the silence of the neighborhood. And while driving to the library I let more joy burst from me in the form of excitable yelling and more cheers.

I leave for France on Monday. The idea is suddenly that much more real. I will use this opportunity to build self-respect, humility, vulnerability, work ethic and, hopefully, a more complete understanding of myself. There will be much more focus on self improvement this time around in Europe, but that doesn't mean there won't be travel involved as well. It will be stupid to pass up an opportunity to fly from Paris to Lisbon, Portugal round trip for $36.

In other news, I took the Foreign Services Officer test last week. If nothing else, I know what to expect for the next test. If I did in fact fail it, I cannot retake it for a year, so that will give me plenty of time to catch up on the reading ans studying. Discipline will come into play here. Also, in an effort to understand the job more, I scheduled an appointment to meet with the Diplomat in Residence of the Northwest in Berkeley. But since she was out sick, I spoke to her on the phone. The gig sounds fantastic.

10/10 - With just a week left in the United States (Shit, it still doesn't feel real), my parents took me on a road trip to Yosemite National Park to remind me of what I'll be moving away from. I haven't been to Yosemite since probably high school when I hated hiking. In fact, I'm a completely different person now compared to 10 years ago (imagine that?), so this road trip was a blast. 

This time in Yosemite we hiked North Dome, a 10-mile trek to the cliff directly opposite Half Dome. It was a stunning view, but the hike itself was deceptive. The first couple of miles were flat and easy, but the final mile to North Dome was steep, slick and rocky, because the only surface was the larger-than-life granite cliffside. I knew the hike would get much more difficult! 

My parents also took me to Hetch Hetchy Reservoir, a part of Yosemite where few guests visit. It was great how silent the lake was; next time I return to California I'd like to hike that whole trail around the reservoir. But this was another reminder of the features of California, and everything it offers. People all over the world would kill to live here, and sometimes us native Californians take it for granted. And as for Yosemite...how have I not seen more of it? Why did I never have the interest to explore it? That park is incredible.

13/10 - Not only have I lost the passion for sports writing, adding to this blog has lost its fun as well. It has become a tedious chore, a task born out of habit. It no longer provides joy or entertainment, simply an obligation to other people. 

It was pointed out to me today that I write without passion or emotion in this blog, essentially just documenting a chronological order of events during my life. So, I will step away for a couple of weeks in order to explore myself and what I actually want and need from this upcoming year and my life. Writing, obviously, is nothing more than a hobby for me at this point.

I currently find myself back in Visalia just a few days before the flight. It seems appropriate that I'm back in this area, the sight of recent revelations and reformations. During lunch today, a friend asked me, "Mike, what are you?" in response to me saying, "I wouldn't be shit without my parents' help." I pondered an answer for a moment. 

"I'm a recovering asshole," I said.

During the year in Porterville, I moved away from common courtesy, manners, etiquette, respect and empathy. This trip to France will take me back to basics. I must understand others before expecting others to understand me. 

Most of all, I need to rediscover the joy I once found in writing. Putting my thoughts into words used to be automatic. I used to be inspired to write by everyday life. Lately I haven't felt the strong urge to write, maybe because I burned myself out. This will be the final post until I become settled in Cherbourg. 

I'll end the post here. Suddenly, the story of my car being towed away in San Francisco while I was away for 20 minutes doesn't seem so important anymore. That isn't the kind of inspiration I need to reignite my love of getting these words down.

Call this an intervention.

Reflection

19/9 - Today was my final day with the Recorder. I ended it on a high note by apologizing for my actions and behavior over the past year. Through my reflection I've realized how much of a jerk I've been to some people, and I feel awful. Now is the time to make things right.

I'll move out on Wednesday. This neighborhood has been a great place to live. It's now time to leave. In fact, these final few days kind of feel like my final few days in Poole; it's bittersweet.

20/9 - It turns out I had to make amends with my roommates as well. They had been upset with me because I'm such a messy person who doesn't clean up after himself, and they had been looking forward to my exit before we cleared the air. Tonight we ate dinner together and enjoyed each other's company. Though this isn't an excuse, I could blame the fact I'm an inconsiderate roommate on the fact I'm an only child. I never had to share anything, and I always had my own room. Could it be that I can't read people as well as I think I can because of this?

Today was another day of reflection about myself, as well as making amends to other people I've wronged. As a result I feel much more calm and happier. The year should have turned out differently but it ends on a high note. And the biggest lesson from today is that I need to take all of the mistakes I've made and turn them into lessons to be used later.

23/9 - After reflecting on the interactions I've had with women in the past 6 months, I shocked myself by realizing how much of an ass I've been in almost all of them. How had I not noticed it until now? Several apologies resulted from this revelation; whether I hear a response is up in the air.

24/9 - I visited the French Consulate again on Thursday, but after giving them a letter from my parents, they now want financial information from them as well. It was annoying at first, but how will that help? Let's just get moving and get this new information.

Thankfully, to make up for the consulate disappointment,  all of my stresses vanished with an hour-long ride on a Ducati Monster on Highway 1. I hadn't felt ecstasy and pure, high-inducing joy like that since February on my old Ducati. It was incredible, a ride that left me feeling emotionally drained.

25/9 - With those apologies came positive results, which was quite pleasantly surprising. The ego must be shelved in order to move forward. There's a part of me that is disappointed this whole transformation and enlightenment didn't happen six months ago, but it's happening now for a reason. I have to accept that and embrace it.

With just a couple more days in Porterville, I'm ending this on a high note. It's the beginning of a new chapter in my life, one in which I am more aware of myself and my faults, and what I need to do to fix them. The transition for Europe will also be smoother because I already know what to expect.