Displaced

Once again – nearing the end of my month-long work assignment far away from Seattle – I am grappling with a feeling that I have been displaced, that I don’t belong here, that I am not at home, that I am not home. It’s well-known that it takes an incredible amount of energy to travel, but it still takes me by surprise, particularly in these instances where I am traveling only to do the work that I do while at home in Seattle. I do not consider that my job is exhausting even when I am in my own space and that it would naturally be even more exhausting when I am supplanted in a new and unfamiliar location and culture until I am well into my time away. This assignment has felt vastly less familiar than my time in the DC-area. I’m sure this is due to the fact that I’ve spent time in DC, having attended both high school and college in the northeast. Also, I had very familiar visitors while there, and they not only helped the time pass quickly but they also made things seem more normal. In contrast, I have not experienced that sort of familiarity with things or people on this trip. I have never been to this area of this great country and it truly is different. Certainly, the climate is not what I’m used to: with lows in the mid-80s and dryness that is making my skin feel like it doesn’t quite fit me, I am once again reminded of what a wimp I have become after four years living in Seattle’s temperate climate. The desert landscape with one very distinct (and comparably small) mountain range is also an intense contrast from the mountainous and water-enclosed Seattle. But the people, too, are different.

Some of this is to be expected: of course, I will not find Alison to greet me at the office and competently answer my questions. And Jenn certainly won’t be meeting me for Cold Stone Creamery “lunches.” But the people just feel different to me. Like they know that I’m not from here and they look at me with funny expressions. (I’ve no doubt that this is me projecting, but perspective is reality… or so I’m told.) Even the interactions that I’ve expected to be reminiscent of “home” have been disappointing. For example, we were served by a woman who relocated to Santa Fe from Seattle a year ago. Rather than be excited about the connection with someone at least familiar with her homeland, she wanted nothing to do with me. Then today Faith and I met for lunch at Caffe Seattle. The only thing “homey” about it was the picture of the space needle behind the sink and the prices. When I finally did ask why the shop had its name, I discovered that no one associated with it has any association with Seattle. Rather, the previous owners (read six years ago owners) were from Seattle and were trying to capitalize on the coffee boom there twelve years ago.

But also, there is a lot happening to me on this trip that is unfamiliar. For one, I am sharing my space. This is not familiar to me, as I’ve lived by myself with my cats for more than three years at this point. Even as a temporary arrangement, it is a change from my norm. Additionally, I have lost another member of my family. I fear my return home only in that I will feel that loss more profoundly than I have yet experienced it. My space will feel different with the absence of Henry’s energy. It won’t feel quite so much like home. Similarly, the passing of Jinx causes even my home at my parents’ place to have a different feel about it.

And it has been expanding even farther than this. For those who don’t know, my car was nearly totaled on 8 July 2005 when a young kid driving his parents’ poorly maintained SUV ran a red light. I have not seen my car in just shy of two months. I miss my Emi and have yet to find a rental car that even begins to compare. When you drive only one car for several years, you form a relationship with that car. You understand how she drives and you know just how to work her. So not having her with me has been an uncomfortable experience. And, come October or November, I won’t have her with me with any regularity since my company is providing me a car. There are pros and cons to this: ultimately, I believe the company car will save me money in the long run; however, I have little to no interest in driving an automatic V-6 (read NOT fuel efficient) Chrysler Sebring Touring car AND I have to figure out something to do with Emi in the meantime so that I still have her when I finally quit my job.

My reflections on my own feelings of displacement have been accentuated by the fact that I am working in an area that is ripe with Native American culture. Seattle certainly has its fair share of native history, but somehow it feels more distant there than it does here. Here, people who work in the city live on the reservation. Poverty is close by. Many of the Native Americans with whom I’ve interacted have fought their on-going battles against alcoholism and other addictions. People have a certain “weathered” feel to them. Many of them seem tired.

Faith and I spent two days in Santa Fe last weekend to attend Indian Market sponsored by the Southwestern Association for Indian Arts – an event which apparently draws nearly 100,000 tourists to the city each summer. It was an interesting experience that was both refreshing and devastating. It was wonderful to see all of these artists coming together and displaying the work that is keeping their cultures alive. People were energized and happy and it was like Faith and I were permitted to walk through this massive family reunion, which was open to a variety of families. And yet, there was something so sad about the whole scene. I was overwhelmed by how these people – these cultures – have been displaced and oppressed so horribly. Watching these people barter with customers (Faith and I included) to sell their precious works for less than they were asking was difficult. And there was definitely the feeling that Faith and I were outcasts there. Many of the vendors and artists would not even grace our questions with responses. It’s been a while since I’ve felt so white.

I’m looking forward to returning “home” to Seattle. It will be nice to be back in a culture that is familiar, in my own space, and in my own car. But I am appreciative of this time away for what I have learned from it and what I have experienced here. It’s always nice, if draining, to be taken completely out of my element for some time. It helps me remember who I am.