Birthdays, far from home

It was my birthday today. Though it slipped by in disguise as any other day, what with a normal routine and work and chores, and husband gone at work as well. I've already learned not to have expectations of people, events, and the like, as when you do it seems more often than not you come away disappointed. So I try to just take things as they are and expect nothing more.

I went into today not expecting much. I knew I would carry out a normal routine. I figured not many people would say anything. And husband and I are planning a weekend trip for it all, so I've been looking forward to that more than anything.

And yet now I feel incredibly sad.

Maybe it's the pregnancy hormones. I suppose it could always be that.

I grew up loving my birthday. Every year it felt special and important. I felt for one day I mattered to so many people, and I was also happy to be able to share my birthday with my younger sister. Even when I entered those ever-so-fun teen years, and the birthday parties melted away, my friends always made sure I had a good time. They celebrated with me, as I would with them. Our special day mattered to each other.

And I'll never forget the year I turned 21 - the year one of my beloved dogs had to be put down just days before. The year my family was supposed to come down and have a special birthday dinner with me (for my sister and I) and then being completely heartbroken when they couldn't. My two best friends (one of them now my husband) reassured me right away that they would take me out for my special birthday dinner instead, as if it was matter of fact. We had a lot of fun that day, and I'll never forget that they were there for me when that could have been the worst birthday I've ever experienced.

Yes, the birthdays became less exciting over the years since then, but this year it seemed to disappear completely, and I suppose I wasn't prepared for that. Even with few expectations, I'm finding it hard to see that it even mattered at all.

I think being an expat has made it worse in some ways. Most of my loved ones are in the US, a day behind, and aside from my parents and the few who seem to grasp the time zone difference (I know, it can be really confusing unless you've experienced it yourself), special days seem to occur the day after they actually occur for me here in Japan. So tomorrow, isn't really my birthday, but some will think it is, in the US. You can't really argue with that, it is that day, there, but where am I? I'm not there. I'm 4,000 miles away.

And as each year goes by, I find myself becoming more and more dis-attached from "home." Events happen, relationships continue, daily life happens as it always does and I'm absent. It seems that the longer I'm absent, the more absent I actually feel. I feel less and less engaged, part of that world, part of those circles. And yet it still hasn't been long enough here for us to form a good sense of community - not that we don't have good friends here, but it shifts and changes so much, and we feel will change again drastically in the next year. We haven't quite found that "settling" place yet, even though we feel more at home here in Japan right now than anywhere else.

So I suppose this is just something else to accept as part of this life as an expat - knowing that there are likely others who feel the same, and that it's not as if I'm always the best at remembering birthdays either.   And besides, with a little one coming, I'm sure birthdays will be more fun and exciting again. I want them to experience that special feeling I always had as a kid, or really, mostly up until this year. Birthdays are important, as they celebrate one's life and the milestones they hit along the way. We should celebrate them and look forward to them.

As for me, I know I'll have a fun weekend with my husband, my best friend - and I do wish for a moment that I could be in the US, even just for a day, to celebrate with others and feel that love and warmth again, but it's just one more thing to deal with, accept and live with, with the life we chose. It's not always easy, but I know in many other ways, it's still worth it.

Here's to my 26th. It may have gotten off to a bad start, but I've always been known to finish strong.

Life of an Expat

I've been rather neglectful of this blog, due to other projects, such as work, my Surviving in Japan blog, photo blog, and other ideas in the works. Time is exciting, albeit full, as I rush endlessly between everything. Full of adrenaline, yes, and enjoying everything, of course, but a lazy Saturday afternoon seems the perfect time to take a short break and write about some recent thoughts.

I am by no means yet experienced at expat life. The end of July marked two years in Japan - my first real experience abroad. I've experienced some of the best times, such as marrying David, and the worst, as I was ill for six long, cold months. Everything pushes me out of my comfort zone on a regular basis, and I find the idea of my self challenged as often. And another concept of expat life has snuck up on me this year, forcing me to think about serious issues that I had not thought to consider before.

My great-grandfather passed away a few weeks ago. My typical take on death is to rejoice the legacy of a beautiful life well-lived, and the hellish journey at an end, only to slip into a place most of us only dream about. Death isn't something I'm well-accustomed to in general, and I feel that words, no matter how well-intentioned, fail to resonate in any meaningful way to those hurting the most. Of course, some may consider any words a reassuring gesture, and so I, along with most others, say them anyway.

Yet with this death, and subsequent funeral I was (obviously) unable to attend, I felt at a loss. I was not in the midst of it all. My life has become so completely separated from any life I had in the States before. Everything in my life carries on in typical fashion, work, deadlines, projects, etc. A moment's pause to say a few words feels almost out of place. My emotions are out of place. I find myself unable to completely conceptualize this event. I'm not traveling with my dad and sister in the car - traversing miles, over mountains and through long stretches of farmland to Eastern Montana for the funeral. I don't see the sad, yet thoughtful faces of my extended family around me, meeting after a long period of separation. Nothing transpires in my mind and I sit here helplessly, wondering, what can I do or say? It feels hardly real to me.

Around all this time, I discovered my mom needed a serious surgery. Of course, in her typical, positive, half-glass full way, she reassured me everything was "no big deal" and that she would be fine. The shock of it left me in a state of incomprehension, and my body seemed to go into self-protection as I found myself fully convinced everything would be fine. As it turned out, it was, though the doctors had been much more "realistic" about it all. Once I knew my mom would be just fine, I went into panic mode. What if something had happened? What if the surgery had gone wrong? What if the results were opposite of what they were? Any number of things could have happened, and do happen to people every day. And I'm here, across the ocean, 4,000 miles away. What could I do?

Along with this is a family wedding in the near future. One that we didn't expect I would be able to attend in the first place. With various difficulties, financial and otherwise, I find myself confused and hurting over feeling as if I cannot be involved in such important events - simply because we live across an ocean.

Am I angry we live in Japan? No, of course not. We are building a life here. This life excites us and reassures us we have a purpose to live. Yet at times the struggles of living far from family transpire into emotional stress. The knowledge that no, we can't just jump on any flight back to the States at a moment's notice. Life has become more complicated in that sense, that we cannot predict it, and we have no control over the events that occur. When things go wrong, we want to be there to help and assist, or say our last goodbyes, hold a baby for the first time or kiss and hug the happy couple as they begin their new life. So how does one acknowledge and accept that they simply cannot do all those things for their loved ones back home? How do expats and their families cope with this life of loss and struggle and community, with such great distances between them?

It seems that anyone who lives abroad for any great length of time must face this issue at some point or another, even if they lack familial attachments or come from an unconventional family. Not only do I deal with the issues that accompany being an adult child of divorce, but now I combine those with the realities of an expat lifestyle. I accept it all as part of my life, even with the difficult emotions that tag along. This is my life - the life of an expat.