Readjustment, part the first
I’m back in Chicago. I spent much of today dusting things and cleaning up the accumulated dirt that settles in on things after a summer away. (Plus there was a good amount of construction on my building over the past three months, and so the dirt and things sort of seeped in through cracks.)
I’ve unpacked most of my things, put my new things away, and in some ways it looks like I never left. But yet everything looks new, unique, and unfamiliar.
For starters, I know this will be funny to some people: I am now re-learning how to drive on the right-hand side. In New Zealand, they have these big blue signs with white arrows pointing at the driving lane anytime one goes around a median of any sort. (Similar to the U.S’s yellow sign with the black median and a squiggly arrow pointing around the right side of it.) I’m somewhat instinctively looking for those signs as a reminder and finding none. I’m switching on the windshield wipers every time I want to use the turn signal.
Everything looks bigger than before. The cars, the roads, the buildings. In New Zealand, things are smaller and — in some ways — more humane. The roads there are narrower, the lanes different to maneuver. The U.S. is louder than New Zealand. And Illinois is so flat.
There are things I’m more appreciative for, however. The familiar, missed feel of my bed and pillows. Light switches that switch *up* for on. The familiar smell of the winds off Lake Michigan. The comforts of my apartment.
I have so much stuff.
New Zealand is a first-world, developed nation. Yes, it’s small, and yes, it has a different lifestyle than the U.S. But what I’m most offended, really, is my own materialism in my apartment. As I was putting things away, I recognized in a different way just how much excess I own. Here I’ve spent two months with everything I need (save for a few books I wish I had brought with me) on the other side of the planet, and as I opened up the closets I couldn’t tell anything was missing from them. When I got back from India, I was offended by American excess in a different way; this time I simply see the excess and almost want to cry. It’s excess for the sake of excess, not for the sake of convenience or anything else.
And the size of things. The larger portions, the prevalence of gigantic SUV’s, minivans being driven around by single people.
I walked down the sidewalk and no one said hi, even to respond to my own “hi there.” In fact, I got dirty looks. The clerk at Walgreen’s when I went to drop off a couple photos for printing had the charm and personality of a stone. I remember this; but do I live like this? I suppose I do, and I suppose I will once again in the future, but right now it just sucks the energy out of me. I stopped by to say a few hello’s at the seminary, which restored some of my faith in Chicago.
I can’t turn off my racing mind. I feel like a stranger in my own country, and yet I was only gone for two months. I both anticipate and dread the coming days and weeks of my return.
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Daniel Ross-Jones serves as Minister for Youth & Young Adults at First Congregational Church of Palo Alto, United Church of Christ. Living in the San Francisco Bay Area for a time still measured in months, he is frequently getting lost and discovering treasures of a landscape very different from his Upper Midwestern roots. Green Jello Hotdish is a blog exploring the intersections of his days. 
