bouger - (v.) to move, to shift

Hello, dear ones and happy March! I hope that the sun has greeted you, wherever you are, as warmly as it greeted me this morning. Spring is indeed in the air, and with it, much anticipation for change and growth.

It's been quite the month! In the past few weeks, my future has become much more certain which is at once liberating, comforting, and terrifying. It also provides the type-As like me with a definitive goal - something against which I can measure growth and divide up my energies and priorities. As promised in my previous post, I have made serious efforts in the past month to refresh. Beginning with the Fulbright mid-year conference in Paris, I was lucky enough to receive feedback on my research thus far from incredible academics who I hope to one day call my colleagues. To say my work here is independent is, well, a gross understatement. With little guidance from anyone, it was important and necessary to hear that my questions and struggles are ones that will not dissipate with increased levels of education or years of experience, but are ones that define my profession. Learning that it is how and when to work through periods of uncertainty that distinguishes people in academia, not whether or not uncertainty presents itself, was immensely valuable and something that I know will manifest itself frequently.

February was also a month of transit and movement. The concepts of travel and transit have always fascinated me, and I appreciated the suggestion that I write about and reflect upon the opportunities and the freedoms with which I explore this crazy planet. My relationship to movement, as defined in its broadest senses, comes from a few sources: somatically and artistically, through the world of dance; historically, through the refugee status of my maternal grandmother and the constant wanderings of my father, as a child of the military; and, currently, by being a foreigner who loves to adventure and whose work involves delving into the histories of those whose movements were restricted.

I have now started the portion of my research that involves conducting oral interviews of North African Jews in Strasbourg. The woman with whom I spoke this past week is 73 years old with graying brown hair and eyes that shine with a delightful mixture of enthusiasm, love and a tiny bit of mischief. She is vivacious, brilliant, and has a laugh that is mesmerizing. Not to mention, she's a great storyteller. Throughout her interview, she would make the comparison between her life and my own "We grew up in a completely Jewish world, not like you in America," for example. Thérèse invited me to celebrate Shabbat with her family last night, and we were able to finish a conversation we started during her session about aspects of her life in Marrakech for which she is nostalgic. She mentioned being in close proximity to her family, the sense of community that existed in her neighborhood that somehow hasn't translated exactly to her life in France, her grandmother's cooking, etc. I asked her, too, what she did not miss about her childhood and she responded in one word: flexibility. She explained that her society was rigid, both within the Jewish community in terms of religious practice, and also within the broader Moroccan community with the restrictions placed on Jews and also on women. Thérèse was supposed to work as a nurse in Casablanca, but her father wouldn't let her live in a city by herself as a single woman, so she was sent to live with her sister, who had already immigrated to France, as she continued her studies. Throughout our discussion, Thérèse talked about her immigration to France not as a defining moment, per se, but as the beginning of her life independent from those who would limit her mobility and her freedom to be herself. Yes, she remains incredibly close with her family, but being able to pursue a destiny different from that which her father had foreseen and prescribed (he wanted her to be a nurse, she is a retired anthropologist) literally released her into herself.

In addition to being a shot of humility and gratitude (um, hello, it's an amazing thing to be able to decide to go to Luxembourg on a random Tuesday and actually have the opportunity to make it happen), my interview has helped me to think about how and in what ways the notion and desire of freedoms shifts as we grow older. At this point in my life, taking advantage of these opportunities seems like the right choice for a lot of reasons. And also, when I'm settled and no longer nomadic, perhaps the choice of where to make my home and build my family will be enough. I wonder in what ways our journeys of personal freedoms overlap and in which ways they are vastly different. If you would like to share, so would I...

In thinking about my remaining three months here on this continent (for now), I am on a mission to acknowledge, recognize, and create those moments that release me into myself. I don't know the forms in which those moments will present themselves, but I promise to share them with you when they do.

Until then, I am sending you my love,
Doria


P.S. -  In case you were curious, my friends, here is February by the numbers:

8,658 miles traveled.
   2 planes
   2 trams
   11 trains
   14 taxis
   19 buses
   33 subways
67 hours in transit.
2 countries and 4 states visited.
2 SIM cards used.
29 reunion hugs received and given.
0.5 matzoh balls eaten.
37 coffees consumed.
1 nose re-piercing obtained.
3 air mattresses slept on.
6 beautiful valentines celebrated.
5 live performances attended.
290583* calories burned from laughing.

*This number cannot be verified. But the number > hella.