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. 

rabbit rabbit (good luck for a new month)

good morning, my dear friends,

i have come up with a term which i am enjoying thinking about at this very moment in time: curated memories. being immersed in the world of sociology, history and memory studies for the past four months, the idea of memory as a construct is not new. in many cases, we remember what we choose to remember in the ways that best suit the narrative that we create for ourselves and each other. i've been thinking about art and performance as a platform for the curated memory: the selection of certain events and stories to be presented in a way that emphasizes different characters and aspects - distorting reality in some ways, and making it more truthful (whatever that means) in others. while i don't mean to correlate this blog to any type of artistic outlet, this blog post aims to highlight the past three weeks in ways that will allow future me (and you should you randomly look at this blog in 10 years) to acknowledge some of the difficulties that have arisen this month -- to think about my time here in a more honest and holistic, rather than idyllic or romanticized fashion. here it goes....

january was a hard month for me. the most difficult in recent memory, actually. with so much anticipation about the future and so much work to be done in the present, i found it difficult to focus. being away from my friends and family felt more acute somehow, once routines began again and we all delved back into work and daily life. i've felt distanced by others and i've simultaneously been pushing away and isolating myself. research has been going well, progress is being made, and yet it still feels fuzzy and abstract. my plans for my life post-france are anything but solidified, and the desires of wanting to control my future are impeding some of my experiences in the present.

i don't know, perhaps you were one of the many people who woke up on january 6th (the first monday of 2014) and were dreading it with all your might. the idea of going back to school or work, dieting, having to "make good" on all of those new year's resolutions you drunkenly scribbled on a cocktail napkin at 11:45pm on dec 31 at the urging of your NYE date whom you wanted to please, was daunting and both under- and over-whelming at the same time. maybe you were the complete opposite and sprung out of bed that monday excited about the potential that this new year contains, ready and thirsty for the next steps. and then, there were people like me - those who found themselves in between mourning a terrific year, meaningful holidays, and wonderful experiences now in the past. and yet, you know, all the while,  that the world will be just as good, if not better in the upcoming months as long as we acknowledge and take ownership of our role in making it great.

i am not one to create new year's resolutions. i am one to plan and work and plan and work and plan and achieve what i set out to achieve. the fact that my future is so unclear is not unusual for someone of my age and place in life; however, it's an uncomfortable and vulnerable place. it's interesting, something that i've noticed as a cultural difference between france and the united states takes place with a primary interaction with someone. in the states, one usually asks within the first two minutes, "so, what do you do?" - here, that's not the case. in conversation with one of my friends here, she reminded me that it's not what you do -- it's how you do it with, with whom, and for what reasons. as much of my identity to this point has been linked to academics and academic success, it's scary to think that my life will turn onto a path with which i am unfamiliar and, very likely, unequipped. i guess that's the point though, right? we become familiar and we adapt.

so, with the first twelfth of 2014 completed, i vow here in front of you all that february will be different and with a renewed spirit of exploration and creativity and with meaningful and pure intentions. the halfway point of my journey here in strasbourg was just recently celebrated and it's exciting to think that, two years ago, i wrote on this very blog that i wanted to come back to france after graduation. although i had envisioned my return and living abroad, the past four months have brought me into a world that i couldn't have imagined and creating the environment to continue to thrive here is on me, and me alone.

in thinking about the narratives that we choose to create and, equally importantly, those which we choose to share and present to each other, i thank you most humbly for holding me accountable. i received a letter the other day from an old friend, and in it she enclosed a picture that i drew for her about eleven years ago. it was the two of us in front of the eiffel tower and the caption said, in my fifth-grade handwriting, "send in 2014 - just in case we get lost." aside from being shocked and moved that she kept it, i couldn't help but smile at the poignancy of this smudged little note. january was a moment of feeling lost in the fog -- some moments of clarity and moments of obstruction -- and it's comforting knowing that there's something or someone(s) to be there once the fog clears.

i will update with adventures in paris and new york later this month. until then, i am sending you all my love,
doria