India Inspired Self Reflections

Part 1: Homesick? 

After a week of being in India I've heard all of my co-workers express their extreme eagerness to leave and return to their loved ones back in the States and Australia.  The typical reaction would be to agree, but I cannot because I'd be lying. Instead I get an uneasy feeling which fluctuates from gratitude to sadness; gratitude that I lead a flexible life that allows me to travel half way around the world with minimal impact on my responsibilities and the people in my life, and sad that I seem to be emotionally deficient in the eyes of my peers and lacking in 'loved ones'.  I felt exactly the same way during the November all-staff meeting at Hospira.  Our site manager asked how we'd feel if a 'loved one' received a Hospira drug in the hospital in order to inspire pride and care in ones work.  My immediate thought was, that's easy because I'm alone, I don't have any 'loved ones.'  That, of course, is completely untrue, but I found it exceedingly sad and disturbing that my initial reaction was to think of myself as completely alone in the world without people to care about, or people who care about me.

Anyway, both emotions originate from the fact that I live alone, nowhere near my family, and that I don't share my colleagues' enthusiasm for going home because I pretty much make wherever I am home, and whomever I'm with my family.   People always seem shocked that I don't miss anything or anyone, and can't relate to how I live my life largely free of material objects and close family members.  I keep myself free in this way because I'm extremely independent and I want, above all things, to be a world traveler.  It would be folly to build steadfast roots anywhere that hinder my ability to leave home whenever I'd like.  Indeed, I've always been  uncommonly independent. In eleventh grade I was selected to attend a week-long government training rally called 'Girl's State' in Albany, NY in no small part because I was the only candidate excited to make the trip.  It seemed odd to me to hear that others girls were unwilling to travel away from their familiar territory; I couldn't wait to see novel places and meet a group of diverse people.  This independence culminated in  my urge to move out of my Mother's house and support myself from the age of 17, working two jobs throughout my senior year of high school.

It's not that I don't miss certain things and people, because I definitely do, particularly my dog Charlie, home Eden, co-workers at Hospira, and the guys I spin with at the YMCA; I have many friends and feel truly blessed for having each and every one of them.  These people constitute my family.  I used to feel profoundly guilty that biological family somehow always got left out of the assessment, but I realized that it shouldn't surprise me as I've lived at least one time zone away from where I grew up for over seven years.  In that time I've become accustomed to not seeing them, therefore missing them is not a sensation I usually experience.  Granted, at anytime I'd give my right arm to see my beautiful and funny Sister, her three amazing children, my loving Father and Step-Mother, and my tough-as-nails yet selfless Mother; but since these sensations are always with me, it doesn't come into my consideration of missing home while traveling.  Thankfully they would never expect me to miss them in such a way, they know better, that I was born to be a wanderer and love regardless of our proximity.  I take great comfort in knowing that they support and love me no matter where I am physically.

Even still, I struggle with society's preconceived notions of how people should always want to be near their family, and often need to reiterate to myself that I'm just not like most other people, that I am different.  Most importantly, I need to let those feelings of guilt and self-resentment go and learn to embrace and love the strong person that I am; I was never meant to fit the typically mold.

Part 2: Some Things Never Change

Back home I struggle with the fact that I’d rather do my normal night routine of Dinner, Walking Charlie, Reading/Meditation, Pogo.com and Dessert.  It sounds boring I’m sure, but it’s a ritual I treasure to the point of addiction.  Often I’ll refuse to make plans and/or flake on tentative plans with friends, or allow them to come over but implement a strict time limit in order to keep this ritual sacred.  During the trip I realized that I’ve brought that addiction half-way across the world with me as I opt to spend my nights alone in my room with a Sudoku puzzle and ThinkThin bar instead of having dinner and drinks with my co-workers.  Perfect example, Thursday was a lot of peoples’ last night in Vizag so a group got together.  Now I’ve come to really love these people, but those feelings pale in comparison to my urge to go straight to my room, put on my robe, turn on the perpetual Harry Potter movie on the WB, and play Sudoku while eating my dinner and having a cup of tea.  This complete aversion to nighttime social functions has bothered me on and off for the last year or so, and as such I have often contemplated its origin. 

I’ve assessed that the probable root cause of my obsession is, paradoxically, my extreme extroverted Type A personality.  I spend 90% of my day with people; I love people.  I love interacting with them, watching them, listening to them inconspicuously, contemplating their inner thoughts and surmising their motivations; I even like to try and influence them using positive thoughts, like trying to put a smile on their face simply by visualizing them smiling.  Consequently, when I’m around people I emit massive amounts of energy and I rarely stop talking.  It’s due to this hopeless extroversion that I overwhelmingly prefer to keep my nights solitary; I simply need a couple of hours to recharge my batteries and enjoy quiet and solitude.  I once explained it to my friend this way: 'It’s not that I don’t want to be around you, it’s that I don’t want to be around me anymore, I can only listen to myself talk for so long before I begin to get annoyed and need to stop.'  I realize how insane that sounds, but when one is as self-aware as I am, it comes with the territory.

I did, at least, go down to say good-bye to my new friend.  Tomorrow night someone else is leaving, and I promised not to eat so much at lunch so that I’d be hungry enough to go out to dinner with her.  I can, at least, amend my schedule occasionally and definitely when I make a promise or commitment to a friend.  I never allow myself to break a promise without severe consequences.  Regardless, altering this habit requires an unusual degree of effort.  Perhaps someday I will change, but I love myself too much to keep beating myself up over my natural inclinations; instead I choose to accept my preferences and seek friends who understand and do not judge my behavior.