Fish out of Water

I think Jamie and I had been married for about a year before she ever saw me in khaki shorts. It just wasn't part of my wardrobe. I had also never owned a pair of sandals, and I certainly wasn't the kind of guy who wore Hawaiian shirts.

This has all changed since we've lived in Micronesia. Here, I have four pairs of khaki shorts, about six Hawaiian shirts, and a pair of sport sandals, because frankly, it's too hot and humid to wear much of anything else. In the U.S., I would usually wear a tie when teaching, but here, even the thought of it makes me break a sweat. The only people that I've ever seen wear ties here are Jehovah's Witnesses. It's how I know to shut the curtains and pretend that we're not home.

In a few months, we'll be heading back to the United States, at which point it will be interesting to see if I can remember how I used to dress. My clothes are all in boxes in a storage unit, socks and all. When I put them on, will it still feel like an expression of who I am? Physically, I don't really think I've changed, but it will be interesting to see if the clothes still fit.

In my adult life, I've lived in Chicago, Los Angeles, southern Oregon, Michigan, Moldova, and a small town in northern Illinois. Each time I move, pieces of myself get left behind. I don't just mean the friends that I've made in each of these places, but rather, if ever there's something that I want to change about myself, what better time than when moving to a place where nobody knows me? Every new address is a blank slate.

Fundamentally, I'm the same person that I've always been, but every time that I've moved to a new place has provided an opportunity to refine how others see me, which ultimately affects how I see myself. Habits get left behind. The things I do for fun may dramatically change from place to place. In some cases, what I do for a living has also been vastly different, which also has a large impact on how others see me.

In Chicago, I was an ambitious and dedicated film student who also worked as a repairman for the telephone company. In Los Angeles, I was a musician and an aspiring screenwriter who worked miscellaneous office jobs to help pay the bills. In Oregon, I was a documentary filmmaker. In northern Illinois, I was a graduate student. In Moldova, I was a Fulbright Scholar. In Michigan, I was a freelance writer who also taught night classes. In Micronesia, I am a writer/college instructor who wears shorts, sandals and Hawaiian shirts every day. I might not have even recognized this person eight years ago.

The strange part, to me, is that only my family knows the whole story and how these pieces all fit together. Most of the people I knew in Illinois had no idea that I am a musician and have been playing guitar, among other instruments, for a very long time. On the same token, most people here have no idea that I hold a journeyman's license for low-voltage electrical work or that I directed a documentary seven years ago that was accepted into the Austin Film Festival. In some ways, these all seem like very different lives.   

With that said, I feel extremely fortunate that I have these opportunities to have such different experiences. Each time we move, much like the decisions that involve dividing our possessions into storage, donations and trash, I have the opportunity to do the same thing with the characteristics that define myself, to reevaluate what is important to me. For this reason above all others, I believe that change can be a very good thing. When you put yourself in a new environment, that which remains constant is yourself, but by leaving perceptions and expectations behind, you also have the freedom to grow into the person you want to be.

Life itself is a work in progress.