The phenomenon of uselessness.

"He's a really useful engine, you know
All the other engines they'll tell you so
He huffs and puffs and whistles
Rushing to and fro
He's the really useful engine we adore"

My mom: What are they saying? "Useful engine?!" Sounds like some sort of totalitarian government propaganda. Teaching little kids to be "useful" and teaching them to be "really useful engines"...

 (that's a damn fine 'merican right there)

Me:  It's a fictional train, mom. I think it'll be ok.

 I sit in my upper story apartment staring at tree tops, with the ground far below, the washing machine even further below , and I have no idea what to do with myself. All my usual areas of inspiration have fallen flat. My zeal for teaching (along with the onset of visitors and "summer") has been dampened. I am having trouble finding meaning in the every day tasks and absolutely no resemblance of fulfillment in anything else. Does that mean that I have forsaken all homemaker-y tasks? No.  Are my children clothed, fed, and washed? Yes. But am I needed? So they tell me. Am I useful? Doesn't feel like it much.

What does that even *mean,*to feel "not useful?" I have never experienced this before! What is that?!

I can't quite put my finger on it. I don't know that I can say exactly really (you come here for the fine sentence structure, no doubt). Perhaps this is just what happens, and no one tells you about it. Perhaps this is just the way it feels to be completely and utterly humbled. Completely and utterly useless as a newborn baby (with a driver's license - living proof, right here... ok, and I can also use a computer, so more like a 2 year old maybe? oh, they grow up so quickly!), but still very necessary. Is that possible? To be both of those things at the same time? And for that to be a "good," a "step in the right direction"? Where I am supposed to be? Goodness, that seems a stretch.

It's hard, you know? So many stumbles and little moments of failure. So many cultural missteps and language fumbling's. Always trying and coming up just a hair (or entire cow hide) short of success. Your confidence is shot. Your self worth takes a hit. And then you burn dinner. That is your day, your week, your month.

Your year.

A whole year...

...And still having trouble with conversions apparently.

 Because 2 kilos of carrots is very different from 2 lbs. of carrots. And lemons. 

2 kilos is about 4 lbs. 

Of each.

4 lbs.

Making lemonade out of lemons, and all that. 

And carrot cake. Lots of carrot cake.
And laughing about it, which I have yet to do.
(showing you this picture and admitting *this* is way harder for me than writing this entire post. Oh Pride, you lovely little lynch pin)

I never would have thought, had you asked me last year, that all of  this is something that I would ever say. I have done nothing for the last 32 years but carefully mold and construct my life, education, talents in America. This is what we all do. We grow and build our lives within our own culture, with what we know, learning from those around us. And now, in many ways, I am starting all over because what they don't tell you in life school is that all you have been taught and bothered to teach yourself, along with any expectations, don't always transfer so well. Don't always show up looking the same when you welcome them on your exciting European doorstep. *That* I could have predicted, expected even, heck, I've been living it! The starting all over. The way it has made me *feel,* I could not. Someone who has bundled up all her experiences and talents and hopes into two big bundles and carried them all this way, and it's all of a sudden just junk. Some of it practical, some of it whimsical, some of it really silly, but still... junk.  Because it just doesn't translate. At least that's how it feels. (if I throw in the word "feels" does that make this last paragraph more or less dramatic? I'm going for less. Let's agree on less. "Don't say less." "I said less.")

Deep down I cannot ignore that little voice that is telling me that all of this is because there is a greater plan. A plan that begins with me being fulfilled and content and, dare I say, happy, here in Poland. A plan that is not being drafted by me. Not in the least. Good thing too. ;)

P.S. Every day Occasionally I will unload in fishwife manner share my feelings with Martin and his response is always the same. He says I should revel in my successes, find humor in the failures and pat myself on the back for how far I've come. That being here, in Poland, is a big accomplishment in and of itself, and that of course I am useful! Who else would wash the pots and pans (he doesn't "do" pots and pans)?! (and stop being so dramatic, Olivia!)
 I love him. But where I am right now, the only response I can think of is similar to this...

Clearly I am represented by the handsome blond man, Martin is the large giant man ( as he deserves), and all of Poland is the thin Spanish man.

I am laughing now. That's a good start.

P.P.S. I am dedicating this post to Jenny at "Mama needs coffee" who is an American living in Italy, because she sometimes feels like this too (and explains it in a much more candid fashion, but she's only been in Europe 5 months, her sense of humor still exists). So this makes me less weird and for that she deserves a link back.