9: Adjustable

“You know when you get the feeling that you are exactly where you're supposed to be?” She glanced up from her gold-plated watch, her eyes wide, beaming at mine.

Me: “Like...when everything seems to fall in place--even the things that shouldn't?”

With a grin, “Yes! It all just syncs up?”

(Me:) “I felt that way...er...a couple of times in Korea.” I shrugged my shoulders.

“Oh…”

*

Depression and anxiety and me were once the Three Musketeers. Old time pals (minus the chocolate nougat). When I read my archived poetry starting from age fourteen up to eighteen, it’s obvious: I was a disembodied, oft-vexed youth. Images of wells and darkness, and overly-serious philosophical speculation were my bread and butter (in Korean: ‘putt-uh.’). Moody was my middle name.

Then, I discovered meditation. And marijuana. And nutrition. (Oh, and I tried Prozac for a while. And Wellbutrin. They were okay. Not interested in pharmaceuticals, though.)

Just like my sensitivity to bright lights, noisy booms and bangs, and others’ emotional states--in sum, a fragile, rather attuned set of nerves--I understand my moodiness is largely genetic. (No really--I’ve seen my DNA report!) Now, at twenty-four, I am reminded just how significant environments are in this equation. By environment, I mean the people I love, the air I breathe, the rivers and lakes into which I might plunge on a sunny day. (And the quality of local Thai green curry, of course.)

According to the Internet, about one in five young teenagers suffers from depression (and I would guess just about every teenager has some anxiety...how could you not?) As I’ve adulted for the past three or four years, mine has been extremely well maintained. (A multi-tongued, multi-eyed beast kept sleeping in a remote mountainous cavern.)

And now? The earthquake two weeks ago (a 5.8, their largest ever recorded) must have stirred the beast. (And perhaps Typhoon Chaba, which struck two days ago, contributed?) But seriously, the stress of my new life in Korea is a bit much for me. At times, I am immediately reminded of what it physically feels like to be depressed: achy, unmotivated, restless, stuck.

Typhoon Chaba

And so? My heart has drifted elsewhere.

It knows: this is not where I am supposed to stay for long.

*

Hers was frequently the first voice I heard each morning: “Hola-hawm-nee-dah.” In a soothing, Siri-esque, chirpy resonance, the Elevator Queen (aka elevator robot) spoke Korean as apartment dwellers entered and exited her sacred space. (I swear it sounded like “Hola,” but who the hell knows.) (And sacred, because she was the only one allowed to speak.)

As I descended from the sixteenth floor, I glanced the only way one can in an elevator: awkwardly (at my shoes, at my phone, at the door). Or, when I was alone, I spent a moment observing infinity, as the four mirrored walls faced each other, creating the classic reflection inside a reflection inside…

And as I walked to school to teach, I thought which classes I had today. The class names were inspired by desirable human traits. “Responsibility? Elegant? Truth? Patience?” (It would be a full day, no doubt!)

(Note: one of the classes was named “Legend.” One can dream…)

*

I believed I could beat my moodiness with the right recipe. Like I wrote above, for several years, I did just that. In Denver, I spent a lot of time outside. I exercised every day, zipping through Denver neighborhoods on my beloved blue bike. I meditated twice a day, every single day. I cut out gluten, dairy, and sugar. I let my feelings be known to others. I connected with people I love dearly.

And now, in Korea, the concoction doesn’t sizzle the same. Of course, moving to a new culture can disrupt anyone’s happiness in huge ways. It requires building new friendships, adapting to new subtleties in interaction, different weather, different cuisine, etc., etc.

But this feels a little different. The combination of not connecting strongly with too many folks, the high-stress teaching gig, the humid, often grimy weather, and other factors...it hasn’t been the somewhat low-key, fun adventure for which I had naively hoped. (But in these ways, it hasn’t been boring!)

*

“Okay, class, let’s review the homework. Daniel, where is the refrigerator?”

“The refrigerator is in the kitchen.”

“Aah, almost! You said ‘kitchen.’ It’s ‘chicken.”

“Teachuh!!”

Pleadingly, “What, class?!”

Agitated, rebellious jumping up and down. (Their favorite word error was pronouncing ‘chicken’ when reading ‘kitchen.’ (I never let it go.))

*

Several days before I took my first sick day (I get a measly four a year!), a co-teacher presented me with a beaded bracelet from the Philippines. It was handcrafted by women who directly benefit from its craft, so I knew there had to be some love in it (that, and it was a gift from a friend). It’s a string of beads representing the seven chakras, purportedly balancing its wearer. (Calling upon its grounding powers, it has encircled my left wrist every day to work since!)

On the bracelet’s small clear package, above the blurb about the craftswomen, is inscribed the word “Adjustable.” As I picked the beads out of the bag and first read Adjustable, I immediately thought the co-teacher had given this as an ode (either jokingly or seriously) to the classroom names. I pointed this out to her, and we laughed.

*

I get to school. In a quiet flurry, I enlarge workbook pages, adjust syllabi, and gulp a large quantity of chilled water and stale air. (Is it just me, or is the air quality piss-poor in this building?) Just before classes, I scroll through inspiring photos on the Internet. (I think, “I’ve got this.”)

Every day with the children--all eighty plus, all seven ages in between--requires from me a gamut of character traits. I can’t just be really really Patient. I can’t just be really really Compassionate. The daily mini-human mayhem demands I am, above all else, Adjustable. Maneuverable. (Snot-on-my-hands, gum-in-my-hair, ink-on-my-nose-ABLE!)

Of course, I didn’t expect it to be otherwise. (The title of this blog alludes to this: I knew I would need continuous pick-me-ups!) The price of abandoning comfort, and calling upon my weaknesses (extroversion, bright lights, city-living, loud noises, poor air quality, and managing versus playing with adorable children), has indeed been decently high.

After much deliberation and sleeping on it like a mother raven incubating her (soon-to-be-ravenous) descendants, it’s clear to me I will need to cut my contract short. To do otherwise would be failing to listen to my body and innate wisdom. As much as I could make it work, and as much as I could harness the powers of a positive attitude, I also know myself. To stay would mean a devolution into shitty moods and un-Elegantly bad habits. It would mean Zombie-mode at work (and the kids deserve the best from me!).

So, I will Adjust my plans. Korea? Sadly, our lease is now over in December. I’ll move out. Eventually, we’ll both move on happily.

October 7th-21st, 2016