Embracing Impermanence…

Three years ago, almost to the day, I wrote a post about a list I’d found online: 10 Things That The People Who Love Their Lives Do Differently. (You can read the post here.) In that post I talk a lot about not knowing where I would be in two or three years. I had no idea if I would still be in Dublin, and I learned that it didn’t really matter. Nothing about the future is guaranteed so why let worrying about it ruin the present?

And now look, here it is, three years later! I’m still living in Dublin, though I came very close to leaving it for Paris. And even though thoughts of it don’t send me to my xanax bottle anymore, I still don’t like to think too much about what the future may hold.  However, I am now allowing myself to consider buying a place here and I will be applying for Irish Citizenship once I qualify at the end of the year. Those are kind of, sort of “permanent” things and yet, the item on the list I feel compelled to write about today is that people who love their lives embrace their impermanence.

When I was a newly-minted expat in Dublin, I was full of anxiety and panic that I’d made the biggest mistake of my life. It wasn’t until I embraced my impermanence that I was able to fully commit to and enjoy life as an expat. I feel that, by its very nature, the expat life is a life of impermanence. Most of us don’t move to our new country thinking that this is where we are going to live for the rest of our lives. I don’t think most of us know how long we will be where we are. I know I sure as hell didn’t. I still don’t. And embracing that instead of fighting it has made all the difference. It allowed me to focus on the present, on the moments. And bit by bit, day by day, I put together a life in Dublin that is rather lovely. If I had allowed myself to continue to fret about the future, about my impermanence, I doubt that I would still be living in Dublin nearly five years after I arrived.

But one doesn’t have to be an expat to embrace their impermanence. The impermanence referenced in the article is, of course, our mortal impermanence – something we all have to contend with. But, just as with my expat life, it’s how we contend with it, how we embrace it, that can make all the difference.

There is a lovely quote that I’ve had pinned to the magnet board in my kitchen for a few years now. It gives me a good reminder when I start to take myself too seriously or let stupid things get me down. I really wish I knew who to attribute it to but the best my research could do was verify that is was not Richard Gere, Keanu Reeves or Christopher Walken:

None of us are getting out of here alive, so please stop treating yourself like an afterthought. Eat the delicious food. Walk in the sunshine. Jump in the ocean. Say the truth that you’re carrying in your heart like hidden treasure. Be silly. Be kind. Be weird. There’s no time for anything else.

Expat or not, this is something everyone needs to remember. There really is no time for anything else. 

 

To Dublin, with love…

I was supposed to be living in Paris by now. My boss is based in Paris and, though I can work remotely from anywhere, all signs pointed to this being the time for me to make the move. It was nearly done and dusted – just needed to dot some i’s and cross some t’s. But for reasons I both understand and don’t understand, that final i couldn’t get dotted and my move to Paris evaporated.

I’m not going to lie. It hurt. I was nearly there, and then I wasn’t. And in between all that there was six months of emotional ups and downs as my boss and several others did their damnedest to make it happen for me. By the time I got the final FINAL word (and that word was “no”), I was utterly exhausted.

So, it looks like I’m staying in Dublin. And that isn’t a bad thing. But, in my mind, I had already relocated to Paris so when that notion went bye-bye, Operation Re-embrace Dublin commenced.

Working alone, on my living room sofa, has left me quite isolated over the past year. One of the reasons I wanted to move to Paris was because I would be able to divide my work time between home and the Paris studio.  But now that I am staying in Dublin, I have made a very conscious decision to really “be” in this city, to get out and spend time doing the plethora of things Dublin has to offer, to do things I had put off because I wasn’t sure if I’d be staying and also to go out and spend time with my people – the friends that I’ve been lucky enough to make while living here, but that I’d gotten into the habit of seeing very rarely. (I’m a hermit by nature, don’t judge.)

The day after I found out Paris had fallen through I went out and bought three things: a new living room rug, a new vacuum cleaner, and… a fiddle. The first two I really needed but it didn’t make sense to buy if I would be moving. But the fiddle? Well, that’s something I’ve wanted to learn to play since I moved to Ireland, yet something always stopped me. But now, fuck it. I’m going to learn to play the fiddle. I’m three lessons in and I’ve mastered “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star” and have moved on to the “Newmarket Polka”. When I play, it sounds like I am killing cats and my poor neighbors probably want to turn my fiddle into kindling. But I love it. I suck, but I love it.

My hermit-y nature means that I’m usually fine with not venturing out much but I’m actively putting a stop to that as well. Sitting on my sofa, I could just as easily be living back in Buffalo. But I’m not in Buffalo, I’m in Dublin. And I’m going to start making more of that, and really seeing and exploring the things this city has to offer. A couple weekends ago I took myself to the Little Museum of Dublin, a quirky place in a Georgian mansion right across from St. Stephen’s Green. I’ve been meaning to visit it for about four years now. I loved it. And last weekend a friend and I went to the breathtaking Caravaggio exhibit at the National Gallery of Ireland. It was utterly not quirky, but sometimes one really just has to get their art on, and this exhibit did it for me. It was amazing. So, look at that – two distinctly Dublin museums in as many weekends. And so many more to go.

And then there are my friends, my people. When I moved here more than four years ago, I knew no one. Now, I have a lovely circle of friends but, as I said, I’d gotten in the habit of staying home rather than going out to spend time with said circle. Last Thursday evening, I had to go out. There was a Women in Animation Ireland event and I’m a committee member – I had to be there. I planned on going, having a much-needed glass of wine and leaving after an hour, maybe two. But then something happened – friends that I had not seen in a really long time showed up. And you know how it goes – everyone takes turns buying the next round of drinks and before you know it, you’re stumbling home at 2:30am.

At one point during that evening, I realized, rather immodestly, that of the five people sitting with me, I was directly responsible for all but one of them being a part of this group. Two I had hired back when I was in my first job as a Producer, convincing one to relocate from Scotland and the other from London. Two others I’d met at previous Women In Animation events – both were just getting started in their careers in Dublin and I actively endeavored to help them get work. They are now both working with the studio where I had that first Producer job. Spending this unexpected time with these five people just drinking and talking about stupid stuff was, in a word, fun. And in another word, needed.

And then a couple days later, I had a Girls’ Day Out with two of my very best friends, not only here in Dublin, but in my life. We started at a pub at 1pm with cocktails and prosecco and didn’t finish until nearly midnight at my house with doritos, beer and warm white wine. Amazing on so many levels. And again, fun and needed.

Both of these events were something I really needed in the wake of my Paris debacle. I needed to be reminded that I have people here. Amazing, funny, supportive, fun people. And I love my people.

I still don’t know what the future holds for me, but Dublin feels more and more likely to be part of it in the long-term. I qualify for Irish Citizenship in November, and I am absolutely going for that. Some people collect magnets, I collect passports (and magnets, actually). I’m even kind of, sort of thinking about buying an apartment or a cottage or something here. That would require adulting on a level I’ve yet to do in my life, but there’s something about the idea that keeps calling to me.

So far, Operation Re-embrace Dublin is proving rather promising. Right now, I am where I am, and more than happy to be here.

 

 

 

 

Deadly…

Back in 2013, when I was still very much a newbie to all things Irish, Aidan McAteer, the director of the series I was producing, casually asked me if he could take me to lunch as he had a project to discuss with me.

That project was DEADLY, an animated short that got released online yesterday – just in time for St. Patrick’s Day. You can watch it here.

As the writer and director, this project was Aidan’s baby but he brought me on board as producer because he wanted to submit it to the Irish Film Board’s Frameworks scheme and he needed an experienced producer in order for the project to be considered.  Me, being American, had no idea what a “Frameworks” was and when it was explained to me I was a bit dumbfounded. In a nutshell, the Frameworks program awards selected Director/Producer/Studio teams a not insignificant amount of money with which to make an animated short film.

That’s the Irish Government.

Giving us money.

To make a film.

This was my first glimpse into a country and a government that actually respects the arts and understands how the arts and artists are an essential part of any functioning society. Ireland is, rightfully, tremendously proud of its literary and artistic heritage. Any country that spawned the likes of Oscar Wilde, Samuel Beckett and James Joyce (to name but a very, very few) has every right to be.

There is even a tax break here known as the Artists Exemption, which yours truly is able to partake of. There is an application process and you have to prove that you do indeed earn your living as an artist (in my case, as a writer). If accepted you get a (not so) fancy certificate that proclaims your work to be “generally recognized as having cultural or artistic merit”. Nice bit a validation there, right? But more importantly, having this exemption means that the first €50,000 I make per year from writing is EXEMPT FROM INCOME TAX! A tax break like this means that more artists can actually afford to be artists.

Back in my native country of America, in this age of the orange He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named, the very existence of government entities like The National Endowment for the Arts are in jeopardy. And so I, more than ever, realize how very lucky I am to live in a country that wants me to be an artist, that encourages me to be an artist, and that has made it possible for me to make a living as an artist.

Now back to DEADLY.  Aidan, myself and a tireless bunch of fellow artists worked their tails off to get it done on time and on budget. Aidan even managed to convince Academy Award winner Brenda Fricker to be Bridie’s voice. DEADLY premiered at the 2014 Galway Film Fleadh (festival) where we won the Don Quijote Award for Animation in a Short Film. And we went on to gather a rather impressive amount of other awards including Best Short at the inaugural 2015 Irish Animation Awards.

It was a labour of love for Aidan and myself. It’s a beautiful little film of which I am immensely proud. Go on, give it a watch. Hopefully you’ll find it deadly.

Winter is coming…

It has been three months to the day since my last blog post – the longest gap I’ve ever taken since I started writing it over four years ago. It’s not that I haven’t had anything to say – I’ve had PLENTY to say, perhaps too much. And so I’ve been biding my time as I try to form coherent thoughts.

I have been beyond upset and outraged at the dumpster fire that America has become in only three weeks. What Trump has done so far does not affect me personally, but so what? I think that is what saddens me most – the complete lack of empathy from so many people. As long as their precious lives are not impacted, then you know, whatever.

But that’s not how I roll.

I don’t care if it doesn’t directly impact me. If it’s wrong, if people are being oppressed, if rights are being trampled, if laws are being broken, I am sure as hell going to say something. Shake your heads and laugh at me, call me a “snowflake” or a “libtard”, tell me I should get over it all you want – doesn’t matter. I truly don’t understand how so many people can just look the other way right now. Caring about others doesn’t make me a snowflake, it makes me a good person.

I don’t have any kids and I’m not a teacher, yet I worked tirelessly against Betsy DeVos’ confirmation. Because I care about all children and teachers whether I know them or not. And I saw many of my teacher friends get really involved and engaged in the effort to oppose DeVos.

But what about the issues that don’t directly affect your job? Will those same people, for instance, oppose the dismantling of the ACA because without it people like me (a freelancer with pre-existing conditions) will have no options for affordable health insurance. Teachers have health insurance and repealing the ACA won’t have a huge impact on you  – so, will you just sit back and say “not my problem” or will you remain engaged? I fought for you, will you fight for me?  I’ll be very interested to see how that plays out.

I am truly heartened by the expat community here in Europe who are actively engaged, despite the miles between them and their home country. We are speaking up and speaking out. We are making phone calls, and donating money and marching. And even though we do not live in the United States anymore, WE VOTE!

Yesterday, one of my Paris friends added me to newly formed Facebook group called “The Resistance Abroad”. Amazing! Just because we are far away, does not mean that we aren’t ready to fight, that we won’t remain engaged and informed and action-oriented – that we won’t do whatever it takes to make a difference and take our country (yes, it still is our country) back.

Call us snowflakes if you like, but, as I saw in a meme recently, know this:

WINTER IS COMING.

Apocalypse Now…

Okay, maybe “Apocalypse Now” is overstating the situation a bit, but not by much. And also – FUCK!

The thoughts have been swirling around my head at the speed of light since Tuesday night and breaking them down into cohesive, cogent sentences is proving illusive. But “FUCK!” pretty much covers it, I think.

I was going to do a long, detailed post about everything that is wrong about what happened on Tuesday, but I realize, with most of my readers at least, I am preaching to the choir and those facts don’t need to be reiterated here when others have written far more eloquently about them.

But I do still have a few things to say, however incoherently…

First off, I am so effing lucky to be an expat. Later today, I get to fly back to Ireland – a country that has its own problems, sure (repeal the 8th!) but at least they didn’t elect a Cheetoh as leader of the free world.

I also realize that I am witnessing these events from a place of privilege. I’m a straight, highly educated, white, upper middle class woman. Okay, that last one is a tick against me but still, if I am scared what must other, more marginalized folks, be feeling right now? I want to give them all a hug. I want to tell them that it’s all going to be okay – even if I have serious doubts about that.

To quote my BFF-in-my-own-mind Lin-Manuel Miranda, “Love is love is love is love is love is love is love is love, cannot be killed or swept aside.” So…

Muslims – I love you.

LGBTQ people– I love you.

Immigrants – I love you.

Women – I love you.

People of color – I love you.

Hispanic people – I love you.

Poor people – I love you.

And I will do whatever I can to fight for you during what I fear is going to be a very dark time.

You (we) are the ones who can make America great again.

Not Donald Trump.

Expat or Immigrant?

A couple days ago I read an article about the difference between an expat and an immigrant and it really got me thinking. I wrote a post three years ago about the immigrant experience versus the expat experience, inspired by my visit to the Titanic Museum in Belfast but that was more about the immigrant experience in the time of my grandparents – before the advent of the the internet and all its connectivity.

As mentioned in my previous post and in the online article, an expatriate is defined as “a person who lives outside their native country” while an immigrant is defined as “a person who comes to live permanently in a foreign country.” Not much of a difference. But even historically, expats have had positive qualities attributed to them while immigrants were labeled as uneducated, undesirable and worse.

And now today, in the age of Brexit and that human cantaloupe running for President of the United States, it feels like more than ever, “immigrant” is a four-letter word. I, as an expat, have been told I am brave, that I should be commended for pursuing my dreams, that any country would be lucky to have me. While immigrants from places like Mexico, Syria, Iraq, Afghanistan and Poland are accused of being criminals and terrorists, and assumed to be uneducated, lazy and looking for a handout.

Why am I considered different? I guess because I’m a white, highly educated, professional who comes from an upper middle class family in a country not considered “undesirable”.

Let’s break that down, shall we?

• I’m white – so the eff what? Skin color is not an indicator of character. I know lots of caucasians who are disgusting excuses for human beings, hiding behind the privilege that their skin pigment affords them.
• Highly educated – yes, I am. I’m very lucky. And you know what? A large percentage of these immigrants everyone is so scared of are more educated than I am. Doctors, engineers, professors and the like are among those fleeing the war in Syria. And those from countries like Afghanistan, where education is harder to come by? Something tells me they that the education they get in their new country is not going to be wasted, but appreciated.
• Professional – yeah, whatever. I make cartoons, big deal.
• Upper Middle Class – here I am, lucky again that I wasn’t born into poverty. Which means that my parents could afford to get me a good education, which made me the professional I am today. Domino effect, anyone?
• My Country – ugh. That sorry excuse for an Oompa Loompa is making it really hard to be proud of where I come from. America is losing its stance in the world, and honestly, I’m not entirely sure this is still a positive.

I’m not quite certain what my point is with all of this and I apologize if this post is less coherent than usual. I guess I’m just so troubled by the images I see of the suffering of these immigrants, not to mention the words and actions of those filled with nothing but hate and racism toward fellow human beings, that I needed to say something.

I feel the need to acknowledge that I am living the expat experience, not the immigrant experience and I am aware of the privilege, deserved or otherwise, that it gives me.

Angels in Disguise…

Be not inhospitable to strangers, less they be angels in disguise.

                                                                  – W.B. Yeats

This quote from an Irish poet is painted above a doorway in the legendary Parisian bookstore Shakespeare and Company. It’s also on the canvas bag I bought from said bookstore and took with me just now to the grocery store, which is how I found myself randomly thinking about it today.

I’ve always loved that quote but it’s taken on new meaning for me since becoming an expat, especially an expat who has to do pretty much everything on her own. When you are by yourself in a new country, it’s amazing how uplifting random acts of kindness are and how demoralizing random acts of asshole-ishness can be. But I’m not dwelling on the assholes today.

Today I’ve found myself reflecting on complete strangers who were indeed hospitable to me. There have been so many both before and during my expat life. But these are the moments that crept into my mind on the walk to the grocery store today:

• At a Starbuck’s in Manhattan Beach a couple teenagers asked my friend and me if they could pay for our drinks as part of their “random acts of kindness project” for their church.
• On a cold November morning at the University of Michigan I was heading home for Thanksgiving and doing the twenty minute trek with loads of luggage from my dorm to where I parked my car. I had one of those ancient wheelie suitcases that you dragged behind you with a loose strap like an unwilling dog on a leash. The stupid thing kept tipping every five steps until a woman saw me struggling, picked the suitcase up and walked it all the way to my car.
• On my second day ever in Dublin, I was on the main road in Ranelagh, completely, utterly lost looking for the apartment I was supposed to be viewing. Two different people actually pulled their cars over to the side of the road and helped me find my way.
• On a bus in Reims, France I had no idea where my stop was. The bus map was completely in French and my bus phobia didn’t help matters anyway. An extremely stylish French woman told me how many stops I had to go and when the stop was coming up she signaled the driver and asked him to wait her. She then got off the bus with me and made sure I knew how to walk to my destination from the stop.
• When at a dingy bar in Santa Monica to see a band, a lovely Aussie girl gave me and my friend her extra passes so that we could be in the front row. That girl, Brooke, became a dear friend and after that night in Santa Monica adventures in London, New  York and Hawaii followed, as well as a friendship that has lasted nearly fifteen years.
• When at an American Expat Meetup in Paris, the people were far from welcoming. Except for one person – Caren. As I was about to leave, Caren introduced herself and started a conversation with me. A friendship was started that night and, through Caren, I’ve been introduced to many other lovely people in Paris that I am now lucky enough to call friends.

In all of these instances, I was the stranger and these people were most certainly not inhospitable to me. Most were just quick moments that, despite their transience, have remained with me even years later. And some even developed into friendships that I treasure.

Expat or not, the way a stranger treats you really can make a difference in your life. I hope that at some point, I’ve managed to treat a stranger with a kindness that stays with them in much the same way these have stayed with me.