One Crazy Week

It’s déjà vu all over again. It’s Tuesday morning, and I’m aboard the Blue Star Naxos ferry, bound for Amorgos, a Greek island in the Aegean Sea, roughly a 9-hour voyage from Athens. I say “déjà vu” because almost exactly one year to the day I was riding this same ferry, also headed to Amorgos, also feeling equally bleary-eyed after waking up around 5:00 to make it to the port in time for the 6:45 a.m. departure. As I write, the sun is rising at my 9 o’clock, the blue, rippling sea spreads out in front of me, and various other ferries and cargo ships are docked just off the coast. Our huge boat cuts through the waves as I avert my eyes from scanning across the hull to my right, leery that the rocking and listing of the railing in relation to the horizon that I can see – but thankfully not feel – will begin to allow some unwanted queasiness to invade my stomach. I’ve had a chocolate croissant and cappuccino already on board. They were a delight going down. I don’t want to see them come back up.

 

As I said, the boat is a huge sucker. Seven decks in all. I’m perched on the top deck. It’s for us “economy class” folks – steerage is how we would’ve been called in the olden days, I think. But, it’s fine for me. Higher class tickets come with lounges and comfy seats on which to spread out inside. I’m better off outside, where I can feel the breeze, get some sun on my face, and breathe fresh air - I mean, “fresh” isn’t quite true, as the sea air is mixed with the cigarette smoke of 100 other, mostly Greek, passengers out here on the back of the boat with me. A family of three has joined my 4-person table along the railing. Mom and Dad are smoking like chimneys.

On Amorgos, like last year, I’ll be meeting former Munich teacher friends, David and Mameaw, who holiday in Greece every year and have settled on Amorgos as their summer home away from home. They’re currently living in Bergen, Norway, and have been on holiday for a week or two already. They’ve been keeping a spot on the beach warm for me until I arrive.

 

Alright, let’s back it up… to roughly a week ago to be exact… to a time that feels light-years away…

 

The purpose – the reason – I’m in Europe again, isn’t for another crazy, whirlwind adventure like the 11-week one I enjoyed last summer. I’m here to work. In the spring, after an exhaustive search and interview process, I accepted a job as primary (elementary) librarian at Metropolitan School Frankfurt in Germany. On June 26th, last Monday, with six suitcases and my cross-country skis in tow, I boarded a Condor Airlines flight and set off for Deutschland once again. Four years after making a similar journey, and teaching commitment, to Munich. Tricia and Casey saw me off at the airport, then I said goodbye, shed some tears and walked through security and into my new life. Just like Munich, the farewell was bittersweet. Equal parts excitement, sadness and sheer terror.

 

And although I’ve done this before, moved my life and career across the ocean, I really wasn’t prepared for what awaited me when I arrived. The week quickly became a mashup of wonder, excitement, stress, anxiety, homesickness, loneliness, and short-lived regret. A thick soup of emotions that, for the first several days anyway, I failed to find the right utensil in my drawer to fully and gracefully slurp up.

 

Right away upon the afternoon of my arrival last Tuesday in the Frankfurt-adjacent village of Bad Soden, I was whisked away by Suzy, a member of MSF’s relocation team, and brought to the town hall to begin my residence process and to Commerzbank to open an account. The appointment at the town hall was a breeze, but because very few things are easy in the bureaucracy-loving country of Germany, of course the bank appointment wasn’t. After waiting, and waiting, we sat down with a young, female banker and were summarily told that I do not yet have sufficient paperwork to open an account. “Why not?” Suzy questioned in German, and from there it was a heated argument – think the comically harsh German you’ve no doubt heard uttered, or mocked, at some point in your life. An argument of which the only thing I could understand was Suzy asking, “Are you sure?” and the banker shaking her head vehemently and barking out, “hundred percent.” Opening the account could wait, Suzy assured me as we shirked out of there, and she wryly told me she has another plan. “We’ll take care of it later. Allles gut.” Clever girl. I trusted Suzy – she’d done this a few times before. After saying our goodbyes, I had the rest of the afternoon and evening to myself. I wandered the village – very cute indeed - eventually sitting down for dinner at what I thought was a traditional German biergarten but what turned out to be a Greek restaurant. Oh well. I didn’t mind. Good beer. Good food. Then back to my hotel for what ended up to be a good night’s sleep all things considered.

 

The next couple of days is when things got rough. It’s almost a blur as I write this. While my new school had put me up and paid for a 30-day hotel stay in Bad Soden, they hadn’t helped me secure an apartment prior to my arrival, as had been the case in Munich. That meant a feverish search for a suitable apartment and neighborhood in which to live. I say “feverish” because – like Munich – the rental market is crazy in Frankfurt. Crazy. A place listed on the main apartment search website one day is taken down the next because within 12-24 hours the landlord will have already received 20 or more inquiries from interested parties wanting a viewing. One can’t really prepare and plan ahead of time. One must dive in headfirst, frantically search the listings then hope that a place that looks good will still be available for a showing perhaps even that same day. It’s nuts. And – c’mon, you know my tendency toward high anxiety – it wreaks havoc on my brain, driving me into a fit of worry and panic that I won’t find a place, or even worse, I’ll get stuck in a place I don’t like. A place I’ll regret I chose. Yep, it’s slightly irrational on my part. Of course I would find a place, and of course I’d make the best of it no matter where I ended up. Things would be just fine, but in a moment like this it’s hard for me to use that calm, rational logic. My brain just turns into an ugly mess of “what ifs” and “but thens” and “I can’ts.” It ain’t pretty.

My biggest stressor really wasn’t the “apartment” per se, it rested more on the neighborhood. I had visited Frankfurt once while living in Germany four years ago, but it was a very brief visit. I didn’t know the city. Other than things I’d read online, I had really no idea which neighborhood would be best for me. On top of that, I wasn’t even sure I wanted to live in the city proper. Frankfurt has many villages on the outskirts of town, most of which are an easy train ride or bike ride into the city center and to school. After spending a year in Starnberg, on the outskirts of Munich, I had fallen in love with village life and the ability to easily hike or bike into the countryside. I wasn’t sure what I wanted. If you know me well, you know I’m not afraid to ask questions and I’m not afraid to reach out to people for help and advice. So that’s what I did. I talked to Suzy and Andrea, my onboarding support people. I hooked into future colleagues from my school, including my principal, the librarian I’m taking over for, some other teachers on their way out, and a mixed bag of other staff members who were kind enough to lend me their opinions. This, however, rather than cementing a couple of good thoughts in my head, actually made matters worse. “Live in the city,” I heard. “Live in Bockenheim. It’s a super cool part of town, very central to everything.” “No, live in Rodelheim,” others told me. “It’s close to the city-center but also very close to school.” “I would never live in Rodelheim,” Suzy told me. “It’s ugly. And not safe at night.” “Live in Bad Soden,” said Andrea. “It’s a great little village with everything you need, and only a 20-minute S-bahn into the heart of the city.” “You wanna live in Bad Soden?” another person would ask. “Way out there? I’ve never even been out there? No one from MSF lives out there.” “Bad Soden is great,” said my principal. “We live out that direction. A lot of staff members live close by. It’s my favorite town in that area.” It went on like this, basically a different thought from almost everyone I talked to. It didn’t help. I suppose I gained some good information along the way, but at the time the so-called help of my new colleagues seemed rather useless.

So, starting Wednesday, the apartment search began. After a long stroll through the Rodelheim and Bockenheim neighborhoods I’d heard about, my first showing, with Andrea, was a place near the train station, in a newly developed part of Frankfurt - a neighborhood with high rises, wide streets, slick office buildings, but lacking in green space and devoid of any character. I hated the neighborhood and apartment immediately. An easy “check this one off the list” type of place. Andrea understood. I don’t think she cared for it either. Then later that afternoon Suzy took me to a beautiful place up the hill in Bad Soden. This place I liked. It had tons of natural light, huge windows, and a grand, wide balcony overlooking the rooftops of other village homes. The problem was it was 15-minutes walk from the train station. That meant any trip into the city would involve 15 minutes of walking, at least 20 minutes of train riding, and the requisite wait time at the station that always seems to occur anytime one takes public transportation. It was too much of a journey, I concluded. I told Suzy it probably wasn’t the right place for me.

 

The next day – Thursday – I went back into the city, exploring Bockenheim again, this time with an actual address to check out, an address to an available place I had alerted Andrea to a day earlier. I was to get a showing later that day. I hadn’t fallen in love with Bockenheim when I’d checked it out yesterday. It felt busy. And rush, rush. And the parks I did see didn’t impress. This time, with slightly fresher eyes and less jetlag, the neighborhood looked cool. I found a narrow street that was alive with people, sidewalk cafes, pedestrians on their way to work, children on their way to school. I liked it. I could see myself there. But… upon inspecting the exterior of the apartment, I could tell that the balcony and apartment windows faced out toward a back, dank, dirty parking area. Not a view I wanted at the end of a hard day’s work each and every day for the next two years. Following the disappointment and surety that I didn’t see myself in that place, I went south, across the river to look at another neighborhood I’d heard good things about – Sachsenshausen. It indeed was a cute neighborhood, busy and bustling, but with an easy escape to quieter, tree-lined, leafy blocks. The biggest downside of Sachesenhausen was it would take quite long to get to work, and apparently very few people from MSF lived in that part of the city.

 

Side note – here’s the thing about finding a place near other teachers from MSF. During my time in Munich, my entire social circle was teachers and staff members from school. That was it. Period. I didn’t hang out with locals (other than local teachers). I didn’t attempt to delve into the German social networks. My possie was teachers. And it was great. I loved it. There were enough of us to make it work, and we all depended on, and embraced, one another for hangouts and outings and time out on the town. I didn’t need to mix with Bavarian locals. My teacher friends were enough. But, this isn’t Mucich. This isn’t MIS. Will the same be true in Frankfurt? Hell if I know, but I do want to try to live somewhat close to where other teachers live, in case it is. I’m alone after all. I need people. NEED THEM!!!

 

Following my trip into the city, I began to really question whether I wanted to live there. I just wasn’t feeling it. But… was it my anxiety and jet lag and worry that was making the city feel overwhelming, or was I truly more cut out for village life? I wasn’t sure. Village life worried me, too. Would I feel too isolated? Would I get bored and lonely and tire of endless train rides into the city? Hot damn, holy cow, for crying out loud, I had not bleeping idea! The “turn my brain and body parts into pretzels” part of the experience had begun to set in. That afternoon I looked at a fully furnished, 6-month rental dead center in the middle of Bad Soden, two blocks from the train station and just above the oh-so-cute pedestrian square. I call it my “Ted Lasso” apartment. Step out the front door and I’m immersed in village life, people to call me a “wanker,” pubs to grab a pint, markets to buy my apples and peaches, outdoor cafes to enjoy a coffee and kuchen. It was the perfect place for me, Andrea said. Bad Soden is great, she continued. I was just a stone’s throw to the S-bahn, I could move right in without the need to shop for furniture and after six months, if I hated it, I could move. Seemed like a good piece of logic to me. I looked at the apartment. Despite not having a balcony, it was great. Small, but light-filled, and with huge windows in every room. I could see myself there. After looking at it, I wanted it. In that moment (note the foreshadowing phrase “in that moment”) I wanted it. Desperately. I didn’t want anyone else to lay their hands on it. I texted Andrea. Do what you can to secure this place for me, I told her. My search is over. Lock it in! “Great!”, she replied. “I’ll reach out to the agent.” 

What follows in this post doesn’t reflect my finest hour. I’ll warn you now, but I’ll also try to spare you all the gory details. Ha! I can sort of laugh about it now, but in the moment, it was shit. I was in the shit. And it sucked! If you’ve read my posts before, you know I don’t necessarily shy away from sharing personal details of my story, personal details that sometimes include my struggles with anxiety and depression. I share these stories because it’s somewhat cathartic to write about my mental health struggles, helpful to know people are reading this, learning more about me, and getting to know me fully. It’s not always easy, in casual conversation afterall, to say, “Hey, did you know I sometimes experience depression? Wanna hear a really awesome story about how I felt like total crap this entire last month?” So, writing about my life, warts and all, allows me to communicate that message out to the people in my orbit, without having to vocalize it in person. I also have this belief that it’s good for us to hear about the issues others are facing – our loved ones, our friends, colleagues. We see the shiny happy Facebook posts and Instagram stories. But, we also know that’s no one’s entire story. To know that we’re all going through crap at various moments in our lives, and to know that we’re all in this together (cue High School Musical dance number), and that with each other’s support and by hearing each other’s stories, that we know we have the tools and the resources and the safety net of loving, caring people around to catch us, to make it through to the ends of those dark tunnels we sometimes have to crawl through in life.

 

As I’m sitting here on this ship, seeing the sparkling blue ocean, the various Greek islands dotted across the horizon, the joyful people embarking on a fun-filled holiday, I’m happy. I want to communicate that message, too. My depression and my anxiety are a part of me, but they don’t define me. They make life a real challenge at times, but those feelings are also fleeting. They’re not with me all the time. So, I can have an extremely stressful week, feel a ton of anxiety and depression-induced regret-filled homesickness, but days later I can feel like myself again. Feel happy and grateful and looking forward to my vacation, seeing friends, enjoying life and then eventually coming back Germany to begin an exciting new chapter in my life later this summer.

 

But, before I was able to get to where I am now, I had to get through the muck. The shit. Like I said, it wasn’t pretty. My anxiety and sadness peaked Thursday night, while laying in bed, after being convinced just hours earlier that the furnished apartment in Bad Soden was the place for me. Regret starting seeping. Regret for choosing that apartment, but much worse, the larger regret of choosing to come to Germany. I wanted to go home. In bed, at 2:00 in the morning I began looking for an off-ramp. Could I just pack up, cut and run, and get the hell out of here? That’s what I wanted to do in the moment. In moments like this it’s very difficult for me to think rationally. My brain just doesn’t function normally. I can’t see the larger reality, the bigger picture, the knowing that what I’m experiencing is temporary, that I won’t feel this way for long. I do tell myself that. It does help to calm me down. But, deep down, I don’t fully believe it.

 

The night passed – like a kidney stone – and I woke up Friday morning feeling better. A little bit, not a lot. I was still terribly and painfully conflicted about where to live. I called Andrea and explained to her the strategy I had conjured up in my restless state the night before. I’d pass on the Bad Soden place. I’d head off to Munich to visit friends, then to Greece, and I’d pick up the apartment search later in July, later when I had more time to relax, explore the city, get my wits about me. Andrea, to her credit, didn’t accept that answer. She was patient with me and took the time to talk me down. She gave all the reasons why taking the 6-month lease in the village would be a really good option, and that if I chose it I’d be done and I could go off on my travels with the peace of mind in knowing I had a home base secured. She made a strong case, and in her calm, kind way put me at ease and made me feel 100 times better than I did when our phone call began. The money MSF pays for Andrea and Suzy’s services was well worth it for that conversation alone. “OK. I’ll take it,” I told her. She said the landlord would hold it for the weekend, and we could sign the contract on Monday. Whew! What an effin’ relief. I could breathe again. It had felt like two days since I had.

 

OK… this post has truly outlived its usefulness, and if you’ve made it this far, I applaud you – or I question your life choices. Whatever the case, Friday was the beginning of the climb out of the pit. My weekend was great, and I’ll summarize the high points here. -- I spent Friday night at the end-of-year MSF staff party, at a biergarten along the Main River, meeting and laughing with many future colleagues. (This was a true shot in the arm.) -- On Saturday I trained it to Bad Homberg to take in a grass court Wimbledon tune-up tournament that’s one of many around Europe prior to “The Championships.” I didn’t pay to watch the matches, but they had chairs set up outside on the grass, in front of a large screen projecting the play. --- On Sunday I met a future colleague, and member of the neighboring community, at the amazing Café Merci in the center of Bad Soden. (This was another shot in the arm.) -- Monday I went for a very long walk into the forests and fields outside of Bad Soden. As amazing and beautiful as the Germany I remember. -- And on Tuesday, before flying to Athens, Suzy took me to a couple more registration appointments.

 

That’s it. And now, here I am, about 4 ½ hours into my Greek island vacation. Thanks for reading. Truly. Thank you. If you could comment below, with your name if you wouldn’t mind, I’d be extremely grateful. Or send me a message, telling me you’ve read this. I never really know who’s read my posts and who hasn’t. Just a quick text or DM would mean the world.

 

Onto the next adventure. Beach and sun and “local cheese salads,” here I come!