body language and home

Okay, so the real reason I haven't written in a few months is that... I admit it... I've fallen for London.

Is it home? I don't know. (Probably not, although you never know.) Do I love it here? Yes. I love the long spring days, the feeling of being at the world's doorstep, the unbelievable plethora of amazing art to see and watch and hear, the level of debate and concern about what's going on in the world, the stained-glassed windows on the buildings on my street, the open-air markets in Hackney, the wonderfully creative programs on the radio right now, nearly midnight on a Monday...

And when you feel at home and comfortable, you tend to notice things just a little bit less, and feel less of a need to comment on (or criticize) your surroundings.

I realized this when, the other day at the office, a new American volunteer walked in and introduced herself. She entered the room chest held slightly high, a big beaming smile, a sort of here-i-am body language, and gave everyone a big wave.

And my own body, involuntary, recoiled. Not in horror or shock, but a kind of confusion. It was a moment of cognitive dissonance. I've adjusted, physically, to being here-- or so this moment taught me. More loud, typically American, body language was momentarily unfamiliar to me. And in a split second, I realized it shouldn't be unfamiliar, and placed it. But there was this moment where I couldn't tell whether the culture she was coming from was my culture-- and then somehow the memory kicked in that it indeed was.

Amazing how adaptable human beings are.

(And amazing how much of a simultaneous blessing and burden it is to keep moving from place to place and culture to culture... and keep readjusting. I'm not sure how much longer I can keep this routine up.)