On getting used to things

On Monday, I talked to my low intermediate English students about a few of the uses of "used to." One of the phrases we talked about was "getting used to." The conversation got me thinking about my more than a year and a half in Morocco, and about all of the things I have become used to as well as the things I'm still working on getting used to.

For example, I've gotten used to shopping in Morocco, although it has only been in the past few months that I have felt myself become comfortable with this. Up until then, I was expending large amounts of energy listing the things I needed, trying to figure out where I could find them, thinking about going shopping, planning shopping trips, going shopping, and searching for the items I needed.

I've gotten used to being surrounded by people who look and talk differently than I do. This has become so normal and comfortable for me that I suspect I will feel a little strange when I return to Nebraska this summer and find myself surrounded by white people in shorts and tank tops. It will, at first, feel like a novelty to be able to understand virtually everything the people around me are saying.

I've gotten used to most of the sights, sounds, and smells of Morocco. I've become used to the way meat is sold in marchés, as whole animal carcasses hanging in front of the vendor's stalls. I've become used to seeing pedestrians, bicyclists, donkeys, and cars sharing the roads with each other. I've become used to seeing herds of goats and sheep almost everywhere, including in town.

I'm used to not having a car. I'm used to taking taxis and trains. I'm used to walking much of the time to get where I need to go. I'm used to paying in cash. I'm used to living in an apartment. I'm used to seeing hungry cats and dogs on the streets and (usually) recognizing there's not much I can do about it. I'm used to handing out all of my extra change to beggars. I'm used to having a maid.

I'm used to Turkish toilets. I'm used to bathrooms never having toilet paper and often not having soap. I'm used to peeing almost anywhere, including outdoors, sometimes just a few yards from a herd of goats and sheep.

But I'm still getting used to some aspects of the culture, like the gap between "says" and "is." I think I could live here for the rest of my life and never be entirely used to that. I'm not used to the fact that I can't just go out for a walk anywhere I want to. I'm still not used to having to get up in the middle of the night to attend my classes because they are scheduled in the evenings – central standard time.

I'm still not 100% used to the uncertainty brought on by the decision to move here that T and I made nearly two years ago. I'm still not entirely used to the vast distance I have put between myself and my friends and family. And, now that I'm thinking about it, I don't think I'm completely used to the ways in which I have changed since moving here. The "new me" is more tolerant of bugs and germs, more tolerant of uncertainty and of things not going according to plan, but the new me is also more dependent on others and less sure of herself (I didn't even think that could be possible).

I'm guessing, based on all of the reflection I just did, that I learned a little more from my lesson than my students did.

Season of happiness

I'm a fan of "happiness" season– mostly because it's more grammatical than "relax" season. I am, however, a little confused about how it lines up with the more traditional seasons of spring, summer, fall, and winter. The scarf suggests that this is more of a cold-weather chocolate, but the bright green color on the scarf suggests spring. (It also suggests that the packaging designers couldn't be bothered to come up with a new layout for each of their limited edition flavors.)

Any guesses about what season will come next?

No wonder

All this time, I thought I was taking relaxing baths with de-stressing lavender oil. And then yesterday I noticed my lavender oil actually has distressing properties. No wonder I've been so stressed out!

Six Moroccan cities

In response to popular demand (i.e. votes from two or three people), for your viewing enjoyment, I have put together a slideshow of photographs of six well-known Moroccan cities that I have visited.

As always, please to enjoy.

The cruelest month

I think April forgot to take her medications. One day it is warm and sunny outside, and we are all sitting in the sun drinking tea, and the next day it is raining or sleeting and cold enough to kill a kitten.

This morning, I woke up to a good one or two inches of real snow on the ground. It wasn't a surprise, since yesterday evening it became very, very cold, and there was a howling wind blowing snow around when I went to bed. But it still seems unfair to be living in Africa and to wake up to snow in mid-April.

Compassion and stupidity are not mutually exclusive

When I was in high school, I was driving home one winter night and suddenly came upon a dog standing in the middle of the paved country road. I instinctively put on my brakes. My yellow Chevy Celebrity slid on the black ice that covered the road and then slammed into a ditch. My little sister, who has a knack for being a passenger when people get into accidents, was very shaken up, as was I. Neither of us was hurt, but the car was essentially totaled. (And the dog, I might add, was unharmed.)

After that little accident, my dad tried to nudge me toward having learned a lesson. He wanted me to say that, should I find myself in a similar situation again, I would just hit the animal. People's lives are more important than animal's lives. But I really dislike lying, and I knew that I would do the exact same thing again, regardless of the consequences. That was many years ago, and I still think I would do the same thing now.

I have a soft spot for animals. Living in a country like Morocco can be difficult for people like me because animal welfare isn't as much of a priority here as it is in a place like the United States (although I have to say that, in the U.S., we are a little hypocritical with our love of animals).

I have remarked several times that it's a very good thing I'm so allergic to cats and dogs. My allergy prevents me from having the option of rescuing any of them. I know myself well enough to know that if I could take in a stray cat or dog, I would take in many more than I could practically handle.

That's what I said, anyway. Until last night.

What I did on Easter

Zaouia d'Ifrane, revisited, this time with T and our friends Brian and Sara.

One-way ticket

Last night, T helped me buy a one-way ticket to Nebraska for early June. The nature of the ticket (i.e. one way) is indicative of the uncertainty in my life right now, and it feels strange to know that 1) I'll be flying without T (we hope he'll join me somewhere and sometime in the U.S. later in the summer; we just don't know exactly when/where), and 2) I don't know if/when I'll be coming back to Morocco. You would think that, after so many uncertain springs in my life, I would be used to this feeling by now, but I'm not. Not at all. I suppose that, for some people, this sense of openness may be exhilarating, but that's just not my personality type.

Maybe I should focus a little more on what I do know about my future. I know that I will spend a couple of weeks in Nebraska with my parents. I know that I will take a road trip with my dad to Bowling Green, Kentucky, near the end of June, and that I will stay there for my clinical internship until early August. I know that, after that, I will need to get myself down to Dallas, Texas for my sister's wedding. But what's beyond that? I don't know.

For my sister, August 11 is a day of joy and anticipation, the day when her new life starts. I am very, uncomplicatedly happy for her. But at the same time, I see that date looming in my own future like a sharp cliff. I don't know what's beyond it. And again, even though this feeling might be familiar, it's quite uncomfortable and disconcerting.

Future, here I come! As soon as I can figure out where you're hiding…