The Year of the Grown Up

Lundi, 2 janvier

Over the course of the past twelve months, I've taken some big steps into the Grown Up World: chief among them, starting my first real job. But there's still a lot to be done when it comes to truly adulting (if using that word is still acceptable?), and it feels like 2017 is the year to do it.

That's right, folks. It's New Year's Resolutions time.

First up? Eat my fruits + veggies and walk my ten thousand steps. One of my resolutions for 2016 was to "take better care of myself" and a year later, I'm honestly not sure whether or not I have met that goal. Why not try again in 2017? This isn't a resolution to start working out three times a week or stop eating sugar (LOL), because I have little doubt that those are the kinds of resolutions that wouldn't last long. Instead, I'm going to try to keep up some of the healthy little habits that make me happy: trying to eat fruits and vegetables with every meal and hitting the 10,000 step mark on my Fitbit at least five days a week.

Find a grown-up place to live. If you are a person who loves me, then I have probably taken advantage of that fact in the past few weeks and peppered you with endless questions about housing that, really, only I can answer. Do I want to live in a studio? I need to have a washing machine, right? DO I REALLY NEED TO BUY A COUCH?! And so on. This panic is due in part to that fact that while I've enjoyed my shared residence, I think that it's time for me to find something of my own. In my current place, with flatmates moving in and out every few months, it is hard to feel like I am not another temporary intern. Having my own place will help me feel more settled and give me a little corner of Brussels to call my own. Unfortunately, having your own place takes work and five consecutive years of living in university dorms did little to teach me about things like paying for utilities, installing curtain rods, and hiring a lift to move furniture in through the living room window of an apartment. (Apparently in cities, this is a thing people do ... what?!) And having your own place in a foreign country means that all the utility-paying, curtain-hanging, and furniture-moving has to happen more or less alone.

Become financially literate. It's a fact that while women put more of their paychecks in savings than men, they ultimately wind up with less money in the bank by the time they retire. Not if my mom has anything to say about it! She has taken to texting me daily investment tips from my grandfather, who knows more about this stuff than the rest of us combined. While I have always been Ebenezer Scrooge pretty good at not spending my money, the next step to successful savings is understanding and making smart choices about how to invest it.

Stay ... literarily ... literate. One of my favorite goals for 2016 was to read more books. There is nothing that I love more than curling up with a good book, but it had become so easy to curl up with a movie on Netflix or a series of 30-second cooking videos on Instagram that I was no longer prioritizing books. With the help of my home library's online catalog (shout out to Fairfax County Public Libraries for being hip with the times), I managed to turn that around. Getting back into my true bookworm state was so refreshing and one of the accomplishments I am the most proud of! Some of the titles that stuck with me from the past year for various reasons were The Nightingale (Kristin Hannah), The Goldfinch (Donna Tartt), and At the Water's Edge (Sara Gruen). My most recent obsession is the Maisie Dobbs series by Jacqueline Winspear, as something about this 20th century lady detective fills the Downton Abbey-shaped void in my heart.

This year, I've gone a step further and created a GoodReads account to help me track my reading! Visit my profile to connect and see what books I'm loving! 

Prioritize quality. This is perhaps the most important resolution on my list. When I say quality, I'm not talking about expensive clothes and nice purses ... well, not entirely. I think that part of becoming a grown-up is figuring out what you consider to be a worthwhile investment -- of your time, money, caloric intake, and so on. For me, prioritizing quality in 2017 means allotting the time and money to cook quality meals (at least on the weekends). Spending less of my screen time scrolling through Snapchat articles on my phone and more time reading real newspapers. Taking a few precious minutes to sit down with breakfast and a cup of coffee in the morning instead of scarfing down crackers on my way to the office. And hey, maybe there might even be a nice purse somewhere down the line.

Cheers to a great new year!

An Afternoon Tour of Amsterdam

Vendredi, 9 décembre

Several months ago, I took an impromptu trip to the Netherlands with my friends. We wound up skipping over the big cities and instead spent our time petting wild horses in Nijmegen and sitting on the (very cold) beach in Domburg. It was a blast, and I detailed all of it a blog post appropriately titled "There's More to the Netherlands than Amsterdam." At the time, I wrote about how I'd never much been interested in Amsterdam: from the Red Light district to the seedy coffee shops, there just was not much about the Dutch city that I had ever found appealing.

Fast forward to December, when I got the opportunity to travel up to Utrecht and Amsterdam for a work event with the Dutch Fulbright Commission. After a morning of meetings, I decided to spend the afternoon on a free city walking tour. I think I may owe Amsterdam an apology...

What the Presidential Election means to this American Abroad

Dimanche, 13 novembre.

It wasn't supposed to be like this.

Wednesday was supposed to be a good day. I was supposed to wake up bright and early to celebrate with Americans abroad as the seemingly inevitable results trickled in. I was supposed to spend the day at an outreach event, speaking to Luxembourgish students about study opportunities in the United States. I would have sneaked glances at my phone, pausing to retweet quotes from Clinton's seemingly inevitable victory speech, to like images whose captions boasted of the work of Nasty Women, and to dash off quick texts to friends abroad with a series of patriotic emojis. It would have been a long day, but it was supposed to have been a great one.

But that didn't happen. Like many Americans abroad, I  slept fitfully on Election Night -- dozing off for 45 minutes before waking up to look at the news and check in with family. I panicked briefly when I woke up to find that my home state of Virginia was proving closer than anticipated and fell back asleep once certain that it had, in fact, stayed blue. When I finally got out of bed at 4:00 a.m., it was with a growing sense of dread that I refreshed Twitter and watched the results come in. An hour later, what I had envisioned as a triumphant celebration felt uncomfortably like a vigil. I sucked down coffee and made small talk, laughing too loudly at feeble jokes while keeping one eye on the CNN screen. Too close to call. Too close to call. Until suddenly, it wasn't.

As an American who has been living outside of the U.S. since the early chapters of this crazy story, I now feel more out of touch with my country than I ever thought possible. When a reporter asked if I had lost friends during the election, I admitted that I couldn't think of a single close friend who had expressed support for Trump. I have since identified a few likely suspects on my Facebook news feed, but the overwhelming majority of the people in my life were, albeit perhaps reluctantly, with her. I doubt that I am alone in this. Whether intentionally or subconsciously, we surround ourselves with those who share our interests, personal beliefs, and political convictions. (Don't believe me? Check out this study from PRRI, which found that white Americans' self-reported social networks are 91% white.) For most Americans, this bubble is briefly punctured -- by yard signs, television commercials, and bumper stickers that force us to acknowledge the exclusivity of our normal interactions. In my case, however, this bubble has only been strengthened by my geographic separation from the States. As an American abroad, the only social contact I have with Americans is my (often virtual) interaction with a select group of friends and family. Even now, I remain baffled by Trump's popularity, as I can find little to no evidence of it in my own social network.

With an indefinite job contract and no immediate plans to leave Belgium, I have received a lot of messages and comments within the past few days from friends, family members, and coworkers about my future. "So I guess this means you'll be Belgium for the next four years, huh?" "Please look for a bigger apartment so I can come live with you." I get it. Trust me, I get it. I have never felt more tempted to raise a particular finger, shout a particular word, and peace out of my country until the next general election. But leaving is not how you affect change, just as quitting is not how you win. In the words of Slate's Will Oremus, "Don't move to Canada ... move to a swing state." Moreover, what these friends may not realize is that while renewing their passports and hopping on a plane may seem like the easiest way to avoid negative consequences of the next four years, being an American abroad under a Donald Trump presidency is going to be hard.

As the token American in many conversations, I am often called upon to defend such trivial things as my country's affinity for fast food, our monolingual culture, and our insistence on mixing peanut butter and jelly at the lunch table. Even when the topic of conversation remains lighthearted, this task is not always fun: one of the darkest days of my year in Luxembourg was the afternoon I spent trying and failing to explain s'mores to my disgusted European housemates.

Americans abroad now face the daunting task of explaining much more than strange food pairings. When asked about the election over the course of the past year, I have done my best to defend my country, promising everyone that the hateful rhetoric spewed by campaign supporters, surrogates, and not infrequently by Trump himself is not representative of the American people. Now, I am faced with irrefutable evidence that it is. This realization feels like a betrayal, and an embarrassing one at that -- like a beleaguered wife realizing the spouse she has publicly defended for years has been keeping people locked up in their basement the whole time. ("Oops! Guess I didn't know him as well as I thought.") And it has already begun. On the morning of the election, one of this year's English Teaching Assistants asked, in tears: "What am I supposed to say to the Syrian refugees in my class?" Another friend texted from France, where she is teaching in a secondary school, to ask how she was supposed to discuss election results with her students when she could hardly process them herself. The following day, when I met a hijab-wearing girl in my hotel in Luxembourg City, I hesitated when telling her where I was from. Would she ask me about the election? About the anti-Muslim policies proposed by the now president-elect? And if she did, what would I say?

And this brings me to what I feel like I need to get off my chest.

One of the most devastating parts of this loss for me was the fact that instead of electing its first female president, our country seems poised to take a giant step backward with regards to gender equality. I do not look forward to the consequences of this election when it comes to reproductive rights, maternity leave, and equal pay and treatment for women. However as a white, heterosexual, Christian, I am aware that I belong to a privileged demographic that is likely to suffer the least over the next several weeks, months, and years. While I feel confused and betrayed by this week's results, I truly cannot begin to imagine the levels of hurt, frustration, and fear being felt by those of a different color, religion, or sexuality.

Over the past few days, I have seen a handful of messages -- even in my little bubble! -- encouraging Democrats to begin the process of healing by remaining respectful of and tolerant toward the opposing side. One viral image touted the "beautiful, inspirational people" who supported candidates on both sides and ended by arguing: "Don't think less of people because some of their beliefs don't align with yours, and don't lose quality people in your life because you chose hate over love." And I'd just like to say ... hold up. I agree that we should respect one another, despite our differences, and I am sure that some otherwise pleasant people cast their votes for Donald Trump on Tuesday. For many of these voters, including those who saw the Republican nominee as the solution to a changing economy that has left their communities behind, I am willing to believe that Trump's inflammatory comments about Mexicans and Muslims were the last thing on their mind as they cast their ballots. But impact is more important than intent. In choosing to support a man whose political campaign was based on messages of hate and intolerance, voters implicitly endorsed his agenda and sent a message to the populations he has marginalized: "I do not care enough about you to vote against a man who has demeaned your humanity and threatened your existence." If that's not choosing hate over love, I don't know what is.

So what am I going to do? For the time being, I'm going to stay in Belgium. (And once I get a bigger apartment, you're welcome to come visit.) I'm going to spend the day in my pajamas and I'm probably going to watch Kate McKinnon on SNL and cry a couple more times. But then I am going to do my best to foster positive change in my country by donating my time and money to organizations that will continue to fight for the rights of women and minorities, no matter who is sitting in the Oval Office. (Want suggestions? This article from Jezebel has a few.) I'm going to let my congressional representatives know how I feel when it comes time for them to vote for or against upcoming legislation. (Want to get in touch? This interview with former staffer Emily Ellsworth explains how to effectively make your feelings known.)

And when it comes time to do this whole Election Day all over again, I'm going to work as hard as I can to ensure that it turns out the way it is supposed to.

Autumn Colors in Parc de Woluwe

Mercredi, 2 novembre.

Hello from Brussels, where I'm in the midst of a mid-week weekend, as the Royal Library of Belgium has been closed in honor of All Saints' Day and All Souls Day. (But tell me more about how it's the Americans who don't have a separation of church and state, okay Europe?) Though I'm a little skeptical about the secular origins of these vacation days, I've been taking advantage of my first time off to catch up on things like fresh air and sunshine and I have to say ... I. Am. Loving. It.

Located in the suburb of Woluwe-Saint-Pierre, the Parc de Woluwe is one of the city's largest parks, filled with over 180 species of trees -- the vast majority of which have burst into color over the past couple of weeks. So what better place to spend a November morning off?

 

... Three Months Later

Lundi, 11 octobre.

I moved to Belgium three months ago.

And, for all intents and purposes, promptly forgot about this blog. (Whoops!)

In my defense, it has been a busy three months. In the last ninety days, I started a new job, moved into a new house, spent a week visiting family in the U.S., went on my first business trip, organized my first major work event, and bought two new pairs of sneakers. (Shout out to Nike, official sponsor of my descent into European-ness.) The whole thing has been a whirlwind of faces and names and forms and numbers and in a way, it's surprising that a whole year hasn't passed by without me knowing it.

But if I'm being honest, the real reason behind my radio silence hasn't been the number of things going on in my life, but rather the lack thereof. While the past three months have in many ways been a wonderful tornado of change and professional development, they've also been, well, pretty uneventful. Since moving to Brussels, I've spent most of my time working and going about the unglamorous business of daily life. And while I've developed a pretty efficient grocery shopping schedule, that doesn't exactly make for a riveting blog post. Of course, I am beginning to make friends (and plans that don't revolve around groceries), but it's slow going.

It doesn't help matters that, as an employee of the Fulbright Commission, I'm constantly reminded of exactly what I was up to a year ago. I can't deny that those adventures -- a house full of friendly housemates, weekends spent hiking and exploring castle ruins -- felt distinctly more exciting, interesting, and blogworthy. In comparison, my life in Brussels is like 70% work, 30% Netflix ... and who wants to read about that?

Nostalgia, personified.

As things begin to feel a little less strange and I begin to feel a little more Belgian, I promise that this blog will become more of a priority again. Stay tuned for posts about moving to Brussels. my day trips to Flanders and Wallonia, and -- everyone's favorite topic -- the experience of an American abroad during the 2016 presidential election. (Just kidding.)