Culture Shock

The reality of leaving hit me in waves, periodically rising suddenly out of seemingly mundane circumstances-taking my last bus ride, walking past certain streets, hearing Indian music, working at our charity shop, or simply having dinner with my Indian family. During my last Sunday night in Sept, these waves came in abundance and the "tide" rose leaving me overwhelmed. I didn't fight or ride the waves, I was knocked over-such was the loving affirmation of having 80 Indian friends gather to say goodbye, shower me with gifts, and tell me what I mean to them. I came not knowing anyone, and left with a community of friends; it was not easy to leave, I miss them. पास इन जेसुस' नामे

(i kept a blog during my year there: www.ben-inlondon.blogspot.com)

My first few weeks back I felt like I was in a fog, knowing I was somewhere familiar but not sure what lay ahead. It honestly seemed like a holiday at first. Whenever you travel, you take some comfort in knowing that the cultural tensions do not need to be completely resolved since you'll be returning home. I was not going to return to London and once again I was in transition with lots of questions: where would I live? where will I work? who will be my friends? Plus the culture seemed very different. We have a new president, new policies. I am surrounded largely by white people instead of immigrants. Everything seems big-a group of Americans each the width of the escalator, a huge red Mustang roars down the streets in Philly, a mansion is off a main drive in Chattanooga, the roads, shopping carts, lanes, rooms. Though I lived in London, most of the culture shock came from living among the Indian community and their emphasis on relationships, hospitality, service, an uncompromising unity between their faith and their whole life. I had become accustomed to an Eastern mindset and perspective on things which added some confusion in returning to the States. It was hard not to be critical as I walked around and observed my country which would need to become home again.

I was more fragile than I realized as I coped in returning. It was easy enough to answer "Hey man what did you do over there?" It was harder to answer "how was your time? how are you now? what is next?" I had to pause and emotions bubbled up-both joy and sorrow. The demands of life kept me on the move as I tried to find work, a place to live and reconnect with people who had supported me to go. When I was still, when I went to bed, when I sat in the airport terminals reality's tide swept over me and I admitted I was not as strong as I thought-that I still had questions about the future, was afraid of new risks and decisions, and felt very alone. Yes I spoke English still and though whatever accent I had faded, my aspirated "t"s and British vocabulary still stood out as I struggled to remember basic words. I felt like an immigrant in my own country.

I had attended a church before leaving to London which would have been the most natural place to connect. But after spending most of my time in London largely isolated from the Christian community, especially any peers, I felt awkward, a little out of place-like a long lost sibling having to relearn how to be part of the family. Like anyone in transition, it was and is hard to start over again, to find and build a new community of friends and learn to call a place home.

As soon as I could, I went to the mountains. I definitely missed those while I was away. It was refreshing to hike in the sun, see God's creation and be alone again and pray and unload my thoughts and fears. The shock wasn't over and questions, risks and fears were still there but I felt more courage as I went back knowing that friendships would come, that a job would open, that I would find joy and rest soon and that Seattle would slowly become home again.