Why I'm afraid of America

I leave for the US in 26 days. In case it's not apparent enough by the fact that I have a countdown this far in advance, perhaps it's worth mentioning that I have this countdown at the ready every second of the day, so should anyone choose to ask me if I'm excited about going to the US, I regurgitate that day's countdown number to them.

I hadn't originally intended to visit the US at all, but Mom's graduating from grad school and asked me to come cheer her on as she dons a cap and gown for the first time in almost 30 years, this time with shorter hair and a much higher GPA. Her grad school's in Minnesota, and then I'll roll over to New York and see all my NYU friends, and then it's down to Maryland to see my Maryland friends, and of course Dad, who will be holding the 26th Annual Pig Roast on September 1st (just my luck that I missed the 25th anniversary blowout).

This isn't really blogworthy, as you've probably noticed. The actual purpose of this post is the next few sections, to share with you a sentiment that you may not have experienced if you've never lived abroad-- especially in a developing nation-- or if you have, that I hope you can relate to, else I am crazy (what else is new?).

There's several reasons why I'm nervous about my return. The first is the most menial, and it's not really something I'm dreading: culture shock. Since my starting point on my Tour o' America is New York City, I expect that there will be some adjustment difficulties, especially regarding my plan to travel into Manhattan 12 hours after I get there and take a Metro North train to visit my Great Great Aunt Lolly. There's tons of cars and people in Tbilisi, of course, so what I think will freak me out the most is the tall buildings. I also heard of another volunteer who, while in America, attempted to cross the street the Tbilisi way-- wherein you move through traffic one lane at a time, standing in between lanes while traffic speeds by-- and got confused when the American drivers screeched to a halt instead of continuing on their way. I've also heard of two or three volunteers who were overwhelmed when they first set foot in an American grocery store; most Georgian grocery stores aren't much bigger than my bedroom. Volunteers in America have also been known to stare in awe at things like circular door knobs and gallon-bottles of milk.

Like I said, it's not really that which concerns me, since it seems easy enough to get over, and people can laugh at my idiocy, so it'll bring joy to others. What I'm worried about is the fact that I've been experiencing my friends' and family's lives in America via email. It's all well and good to hear about the various stuff they've been doing, but it doesn't really register as strong as it would if I were living there (what's more, things that I count as new news in my mind turn out to have happened weeks earlier and are no longer interesting to those I communicate with). The problem with this is that I'll step off the plane and I bet I'll expect to see the same world I saw when I left, like it's been on pause. After all, I'm the one who left. How much could have changed?

It doesn't help that 2006-07 has been an especially change-filled year, either. Since I sat down on the train to staging in Philadelphia on June 13, 2006, the following has happened: three of my friends have moved away from where they lived for most of the last 10 years, my family moved out of the house I grew up in, my stepsister had a baby, my mom moved out of the state, my dad and my stepmom have separated, and I've lost my dog and my boyfriend (only the former of which died).

Will I get into a car and accidentally drive to my former house? Will I wait for my dog outside Mom's house when I arrive? Will I call up my friends to go out on a Wednesday afternoon, assuming that they're on summer break when they're actually at work? Will I tell old jokes and reference anecdotes that they stopped talking about months ago?

Probably. I'd like to clarify here-- since apparently every post I make that doesn't contain a joke in every other second is viewed as a mental crisis on my part-- that I'm not too worried about this, either. I just thought it would make an introspective post, and would thus fulfill my introspective post quota for the next six months or so.

I just want to take this opportunity to apologize to my friends in advance for being out of touch, and for bringing up old stories too often, since that's the latest common ground I'll have with you. I apologize in advance for using the occasional Georgian phrase instead of English, and for starting too many conversations with "In Georgia..." I apologize for showing the same disinterest in domestic American news and stories as you'll show in my Georgian stories. I apologize for thinking of the salary of my counterpart teacher when you show me the new cell phone you've bought; that'll wear off when my service finishes, I think (and I'll be due for a New Every Two! thanks, Verizon!). And finally, I apologize for assuming that you've had as much spare time to think about me as I've had to think about you.

I also apologize for my new taste in crappy Russian pop, which I will make you listen to.