Centering Yourself When the Center of Your World Changes

I've found myself trying to find myself in the heart of a new city; in the heart of new countries. While the opportunities before me are wonderful and grand, there lies a certain anxiety within mehow do I feel like myself in this world that has never known me?

I think when you're studying abroad—or just being abroad, generally—there's always this push for more. Do more, see more, travel more, explore more; be and feel more. There's this idea that the time you have is precious and fleeting, and should be anything but wasted. The image this conjures tends to feel a little "one size fits all": travel on the weekends. Try all the restaurants, just not the tourist traps. Remember: You are not a tourist, you are a traveler. But be a tourist. Go see all the sights; go to the hidden bars and the most popular clubs. Don't think about home—it'll be there when you come back, and your opportunities end when you do. Say yes to everything. Say no to rest. Assert yourself as a new person. Remember, nobody here knows you. Nobody here knows you, yet.

These are the "one size" rules I pictured myself pledging myself to during my time away from home. Or, I tried to picture myself like this—it didn't feel like me. I think when you're studying abroad, the idea is to have the fullest experience possible. For many, the push for more is the idea of fulfillment. Fulfillment calls to me through another name—authenticity.

Orienting myself in a new country has been a quick and loving process, and, at times, disorienting. The world I knew is hours and hours away. The language I speak is welcomed, but not standard. The memories I have are reflective of nothing I can see before me. The idea of who I am may very well be at odds with the possibility of who I will be.

The uncertainties are strong, and at times overwhelming. In hearing the basis of an assignment for one of my new classes, I've developed a grounding care method for myself. The assignment was to describe a soundscape abroad, and compare it to a soundscape back home. The idea intrigued me, and I started thinking about my soundscapes without attaching my thoughts to the assignment. I started listening—really listening. I took in the sounds of the city; the chatter of a people in a language I do not yet understand; the patient trains and the quick-running patter of crossing the road. To me, this was a way to say, "Okay, I'm here—what else is? Where and what am I in relation to this new world around me?"

The idea of soundscaping followed me farther. In my second weekend abroad, I said yes to a group trip to Budapest, Hungary with my lovely housemates. It was intimidating and difficult to conceptualize—I had barely gotten to know Vienna. In finding time to myself, I was able to orient myself in the sounds - and sights—of the beautiful city before me.

Rainy January View from the Heart of Budapest

"I hear the taxis, the cyclists, the wet rain on the cold ground. A bus pulls up in front of  my building and screeches. The tram arrives slightly farther back. It chugs along the tracks as the cars move like wind. Everything comes to a halt for just a second, and never at the same time. A group of three friends converse with one another, and get drowned out by tires on the wet road, yelling strangers, and accelerating cars. The awning above me lets free a large raindrop, thankfully not on my head, large enough to hear its landing point. The bus hisses as it starts up again. The road quiets, but only briefly. The chattering of my own teeth could overcome the sounds of the city, but the tram starts up again and chugs away. It is a rainy January afternoon, and I find myself busily in the Heart of Budapest."

As an musician and an artist, I wanted to take my soundscaping one step farther. I took my small, unused notebook out to the small patio under the awning and messily sketched my view with pen. The goal was not perfection, or accuracy, or beauty, but rather to physically orient myself with my surroundings and the landscape before me—to get to know the unknown across from me. I then turned the page and wrote out a soundscape. In grounding myself in this manner, I felt as though I had connected with this great unknown; I felt as though I had connected with myself. I had realized what sticks out to me, what is important to me, what I cannot help but feel and hear and think. I can ground myself—center myself - anywhere, by just taking in and understanding the "scapes" before me.

I like this practice of "scaping", and I think I will take it with me wherever I go in this new world. Nobody here knows me, yet - I think it's about time I take the time to know myself.