June 13 – 15, 2016
After a long layover in Quito and a delayed flight into Houston, I’m now sitting in first class on my flight to Boston. I no longer know what time it is, or which time zone I’m in. All that exists is the supremely comfy first class seat and a very solicitous flight attendant who serves me lemon sorbet.
I expect the sense of time dislocation to disappear, as it always does, when I wake up the next morning.
It doesn’t.
Instead, I feel disconnected from my physical surroundings, as if I don’t know where I am. Intellectually, I know I’m in Boston. The weather is cooler and less humid. My body is confused by the sudden reversion back to jeans and sweatshirts. There are real streets, the tap water is drinkable, and I no longer have to use a separate waste bin for my toilet paper.
I know and feel all these things. Yet at the same time, I feel as if I could walk out the front door of my boyfriend’s new apartment and be back on the beach in the Galapagos. I am trapped between worlds, as if I’m trying to co-exist in two separate locales at once.
There’s a word to describe this feeling: liminal.
According to the online Merriam-Webster dictionary, “liminal” is defined as:
1: of or relating to a sensory threshold.
2 : barely perceptible.
3 : of, relating to, or being an intermediate state, phase, or condition : in-between, transitional
Definition #2 is out, because I am obviously perceiving something. I cannot tell if I’m experiencing a sensory threshold or an intermediate phase, but whatever it is it’s disconcerting.
I push it away, focusing on dinner, on work, on preparing for the next leg to Ireland.
Running errands helps solidify that I am in a new place. The imposing Tufts campus looks nothing like what you’d see in the Galapagos.
Nor does the Modern Museum of Renaissance, just down the street from the apartment.
Snuggling with Beeze, my boyfriend’s cat, helps as well. He’s delighted to be loved and adored; I am in need of a kitty fix. It’s a match made in heaven.
By the second day, the feeling of co-existing in two spaces is fading. It still catches me at odd moments; I seem to know where I am now, but find myself daydreaming of being back in the Galapagos instead. It’s not an active desire; I know I want to be here, and to head out to Ireland soon. But something about the Galapagos is keeping this liminal feeling alive.
My last day in Boston is filled with work, meetings mostly and emails. As the hours tick away before my flight, I once again experience a feeling of timelessness. It lasts all through the taxi ride to the airport, and carries me onto the plane to Ireland.
We land on a rainy tarmac in Dublin, and just like that the liminal feeling is gone. It’s grey and raining – definitely Ireland. Something has switched over in the last few hours; I now *feel* that my time in Boston and the Galapagos are over, and a new adventure is about to begin.
“Lost in Transition”, to borrow somewhat from a Murray/Johansson movie…
Humans, from back when we were more prey than predator, need a certain baseline, a “grounded state”, to help us perceive changes in the environment and protect ourselves. Rapid transition in environment removes the baseline and confuses us. “Jet lag” enhances the phenomena, moving directly from the Galapagos to Boston with only tiring jet travel in-between. Something similar to Jamais Vu.
The Galapagos is about as far from your normal baselines as anyplace in the world — island, no common language, desert/volcanic environment, etc. It appears that Ireland is a more “homey” environment than Boston at the point you were in your travels.
The experience does leave an introspective question. As years go by, the body appreciates “change” less & less, and becomes more dependent on a comfortable baseline. Your “baseline” seems to need some things found only in larger cities, but you also appear to be comfortable in the Galapagos “village-like” setting…
Mom and I have been arguing off and on about whether I’m a big city girl (Mom’s opinion) or whether I like the country (my opinion). The truth is probably somewhere between the two – I like towns, such as Puerto Ayora in the Galapagos. Population about 15,000 – enough to have theatres, movies, transportation, culture, etc, but not so big as to feel vast and unmanageable. I like small villages for the community aspect, but since I don’t drive, villages and hamlets and all the rest are probably out for long-term living.
I had not considered that Ireland might feel more homey to my body than the Galapagos, but in retrospect that makes sense. I’ve been here before, the terrain is similar to the Pacific Northwest, and theoretically we share the same language. (Although some of the Irish accents out here are pretty thick!)
People are a bit too diverse and layered for simple labels — we are “many things”, “things” that evolve with time and experience, though they do narrow considerably as the experience-base broadens.
Needs and wants are also a bit like icebergs — the smaller, above surface portion being of the “conscious” type, and the much larger and generally unseen portion being below the surface.
A brief example is being in a “vocal group”. Above the surface, we have accomplishments, harmony, being in a small and close-knit group, etc. Below the surface, we have the “why” those things are important.
A big city environment, for all it offers, can be a lonely place, lost in an endless sea of nameless faces — easy to be a “hermit” surrounded by the nameless.
Small towns, with everyone knowing each other also have complications. If you feed on other people’s approval, it’s as good an environment as center-stage on something like “The Voice”. Of course, one misstep, and (your) entire small world knows all the details…
It’s generally best, if possible, to gain experience in as many environments and locations as possible — large cities to small villages, near an ocean, river, lake, mountain, plain, forest, etc. As years go by, the “introspective” part when coming into a new environment is to test your comfort, and try to understand the why or why not of comfort.
Some years ago, I started researching innate tendencies — are we “born” with the notion of a comfortable environment. Photos of different environments really don’t provide enough information, though I did discover personally that the area around Delphi (Greece) felt extremely comfortable. As far as I know, I’m not Apollo or an Oracle, nor did I compete in the stadium or hippodrome.
Perhaps you’ll find something similar for yourself, then toss in “considerations” like transportation, costs, proximity to (grocery, entertainment, work, etc), and all the other factors that will change with age, experience, and the ever-changing environment…