Existential Quandries
Last Thursday night was the final tap rehearsal of the year. I had informed my class a few weeks prior that we would be performing our dance number for the advanced class that meets immediately after ours. As I had said it in a way that implied that this was a typical occurrence, no one pushed back. The two ladies that survived my first semester of beginners tap performed to Garth Brooks’ “Wrapped Up in You”. We are set to double the class size in January.
After the advanced class as we meandered out of the dance room, making room for the belly dancing class, the instructor invited me over to the lobby bar for some Glühwein. He turned to me and asked if I have figured out yet what I am doing here. Part of the question was to suss out if I would be around to help out at the dance school next year, but for the most part it was a question of genuine interest – was I able to use 2017 to regroup as I had planned.
A year ago, I would have been able to rattle off my short- and long-term goals as well as the skill sets I would need to bolster in order to achieve my next steps. Instead, I turned to him, took a dramatic sip of the hot spiced wine, and said no. I have not thought about my goals or life direction in over a month. And there is something freeing about that.
The lobby of the dance studio is always dimly lit. It has four large tables against the far windows and a u-shaped couch in the corner near the door. The entire room is always chock full of parents and kids when I arrive to teach my class; by this time in the evening, only the couch is still in use. The chest-high bar is long enough for four high, uncomfortable stools; we occupy half of them.
We commiserate about how difficult 2017 was on each of us. He has some rough times working out gigs; I have had some rough times finding housing. We both have had our share of personal conflicts; fortunately, only minor ones with each other. He relates his past of switching careers before finding a path that worked for him; I interpret this as his acceptance of my lack of direction.
I share that I have no intention of leaving the country at any time soon. My visa renewal process starts in less than a month; I will be working with a new office here in Erfurt, and I have no idea what to expect. The previous office in Gotha stated that I should have no problem – getting the first visa is the hard part; renewing should be easy. If renewed, I assure him that I will be around for some time.
The opportunities I have been afforded here have been beyond expectations: the four internships, teach tap, playing uke at festivals and bath houses, being asked to do voice work, selling cake and coffee at a theater, etc. I explain that most of this would have been impossible had I remained in the US or in Corporate America. However, this does not mean I do not lie awake at night questioning what I am doing here – that still occurs.
He questions me as to what I want to do next. I reiterate the poorly-translated “see where the wind blows me”. I am in no rush. At some point money will become an issue, but I have some time before that happens. But I did have an interesting run in a few days prior.
I was hanging out the local microbrewery and ran into three Americans, who were all studying for their masters in politics at the local university. The two from Oregon had previously spent two years in Ethiopia as a part of the Peace Corps. As I relayed my origin story, the wife did a hard-sell for me to look into joining the “Response” section of the Peace Corps, as I had more than ten years of corporate experience. This not only allows you to have shorter assignments, but also lets you choose where you are sent.
As the party moved from the microbrewery to a local’s apartment, she continued to tout the benefits of shaking up one’s life and giving one something to write about. I had never considered the Peace Corps; I guess I am now. (Side note: the apartment’s owner is from Schmalkalten; he knows the owners of a brewery there; he’s going to put me in touch for an internship.)
As I wrap up my “possible next step” story to the tap instructor, he looks unimpressed. I guess he was imagining some grander insight and greater vision.
I end out 2017 with no direction but infinite paths available to me. I still have no idea what I am doing here, but there is no where else I would rather be. I still feel like I may be missing out on activities back in the US, but I have never felt so present in the moment as I do here. But I don’t tell him this; it’s too hard to translate.
