Three whole months.
Basel’s streets are adorned with the idyllic yellow/orange leaves of Autumn. Herbstmesse (Basel’s Fall Festival) is halfway over and I’ve already had my fair share of Kartoffel Puffers (latkes), Magenbröt (a small piece of bread very high in winter spices & sugar), and low-key amusement park rides. I’ve also finished my German course and received a certificate of completion of the 1.1 Level (earning 90% on the final exam!).
While all of this has been going on, I’ve been taken over by nostalgia. Sometimes I get to ride the tram solo and I’m taken back to the days of living in San Francisco (I moved there when I was 19 years old and a junior in college).
I vividly remember taking muni for the first time and navigating the streets with a small moleskine journal that was unique in that it had pages for notes, a map of San Francisco, and public transportation information. I didn’t have a smartphone, in fact, most people didn’t back then. These were the days when I listened to music on my small orange iTunes mini, and Netflix sent real DVDs to your house.
I was both terrified and in love with San Francisco. I wrote bad poetry on muni, I made friends quickly, I cooked pasta and added nuts for nutrience. I was intentional about building community and found a job relatively soon after I moved. I loved going to an old Church that had a folksy worship band. I loved finding a Synagogue, whose Mishkan was shaped like an ark, for the High Holy Days. My Jewish Studies classes were blowing my mind. I was rocking the shit (and working really hard) out of my history classes, and I was navigating tense roommate relationships. It was a time of maturation, for sure.
For a very dumb and complicated reason, I only have access to the music that has been downloaded on my iPhone right now. And the songs that are downloaded on my iPhone happen to be albums and songs that I played all those years ago as a young adult. So now, taking the tram through Basel to go here or there, I am completely in memory-land.
And of course, the feelings of sadness, loneliness, and “lostness” come with that nostalgic territory. Because huge change and Autumn, for me, brings all of those feelings. When I moved to San Francisco, I began seeing a therapist regularly for the first time, and it was life changing and life saving. The imprint of depression runs deep, but so does the healing.
I remember putting on a Simon & Garfunkel record in my dorm room and staring at the ceiling, desperately wishing the earth would quake. I also remember the coziness of my therapist’s office and how her honest words both shocked and comforted me. I remember sitting on a low wall at Ocean Beach, the wind whipping sand in my eyes as I watched the sunset over the Pacific ocean, and feeling sad for no particular reason. I also remember accepting a ride home from services from a very kind couple on a particularly rainy day. I remember getting terrible feedback from a professor on a paper and crying, feeling as though my self worth was wrapped up in that grade. And the friend from class who walked me from the Humanities building to my dorm room and gave me a pep talk (while also talking shit about that Professor, which was deeply therapeutic).
So now, here I am in Basel, Switzerland. Sitting on trams, listening to music (albeit only occasionally when I am sans Rafael), wondering about my self worth, writing shitty poems, making friends, and investing in community.
After a two week hiatus, I convinced myself I should go to soccer practice.
And what do you know?
It was wonderful.
I almost cried how good it felt to move my body; to have the urge to stop running, but asking my legs to go one step further. And another step. And another step. To feel that competitive pulse push my legs faster until I reached the ball, to tease a teammate (and be teased), to make goals and good plays, to stumble over the ball completely and step on my teammates foot. All the while, looking around, feeling that communal endorphin rush, and seeing all of the women’s bright pink, smiling, and sweaty faces.
I wish San Francisco-Malka could identify her resilience. I wish she knew about Fußball. I am so grateful there was no earthquake. I am so grateful for my first and second therapists in SF.
I am so grateful for the cities where I get to learn and relearn strength and bravery and trust.
PS: I appreciate the opportunity to consecrate that moment in time when I've got the “sads” but in a place (and on a medication) that makes gratitude a thin, but palpable forest on my path.
Beautiful...
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