This blog is a culmination of many months of contemplation. In early 2012, I spent three months in New Zealand while on sabbatical as an academic professor at a religious liberal arts college in Michigan. I have known for some time that working at this school, and living in a community settled by conservative Dutch Calvinists (who still largely run the city) was a horrible fit for a free-spirited, hippie-at-heart, more spiritual than religious Oberlin College graduate like me. I have always lived outside the box and I have never been afraid to follow my own beat.
However, I found that after eight years in Holland, Michigan, that I was feeling more and more claustophobic. Typically an upbeat, positive, and go-getter type of person, I found myself increasingly negative in spirit and resigned to settle, just rolling through day by day. That has never been my approach to life and I became increasingly concerned during the past three years. I knew something was wrong, but I did not yet have the courage to ask the right questions. I threw myself into local church life, volunteering to teach classes and join community outreach. Although those activities are not negative things per se, I felt increasingly that I was constantly performing both at work and in the community. In a neighborhood filled with well-meaning stereotypical soccer moms who socialized through their churches and spoke about their children in neighborhood gatherings, I realized gradually that I had almost nothing in common with these people. I have lived in four countries, have a quirky but intellectual personality, and never wanted the typical suburban life with kids. I wanted an interesting life full of adventurous changes, constant learning, and risk-taking.
At first, I was reluctant to travel to New Zealand in 2012. Although I tried to emigrate to Australia in the 1990s in my 20s, I did not have enough points on the visa system to quality for a skilled migrant visas on my own. Fast forward 14 years, and I am now married to an engineeer whose skills are on the country’s critical shortage list.
When I arrived in early April 2012, I spent my first few weeks in a total daze. I had become completely enculturated in Holland, Michigan and its insular religious life. I felt completely dazed as I wanted down the massive hill from Frank’s home and to the shops below. During my second day there, I wandered into the nearby Countdown store and stared at all the Tim Tams and other foods that I had grown to love in Australia. I have never felt so out-of-sorts or even frightened. What happened to the woman who lived in Australia for two years on her own, managed her own apartment, job, and a car, and readily made friends? What happen to this person?
During one of my first few days in Wellington, I was afraid to even get on a city bus. I knew then that it was time to ask some serious questions about where I had been and what had been happening to me. As the weeks wore on, I would walk down the long Cashmere Avenue and hill to the next house where I lived. The view at night offered a complete paroramoic view of Wellington Harbour and the islands beyond. I often stood at one of the bends on the hill, looking over the city, and asked myself how in the world I had ended up in a place like Holland and Hope College. As the weeks wore on, my anxiety level went haywire and I dreaded the thought of going back.
When I started meeting friends such as Deepti and began to confide in them about my experiences in Holland, Michigan, I knew that I just couldn’t do it anymore. I did not fit into Holland or Hope’s Calvinist religious culture and I never will. Actually, I don’t really fit into any religious community. I realized in Wellington how unhappy I had been at Hope College amidst the rules and cookie-cutter suburban culture. I was spiritually dying inside, and at some points I even lost my passion for writing and reading. My whole experience at Hope has also nearly eradicated my religious faith, and I was not very religious to begin wtih. I knew something was very wrong.
In long talks with Deepti, I confided to her that I wanted to try again to emigrate, this time to New Zealand, which is a bit easier for emigration purposes. I then told Timothy, who was shocked, but open to my ideas.
Leaving this part of the world to come back to West Michigan was one of the hardest things that I ever had to do. My plane routed me back through Sydney and I had an incredible view of the Harbour. The plane was filled with Texans going back through Dallas. I was so incredibly down during the entire trip. My heart just wasn’t in the U.S. anymore and I was completely exhausted of its consumist, workaholic, and extreme culture. I cannot stand the religiousity of American culture and I hated the religious culture and insular nature of Holland. I spent my first week back in the U.S. in bed, sick from the summer heat and hearing the news of another mass shooting and anti-gay demonstrations. I came back to Hope in the fall and faced classes full of students with baseball caps and very little knowledge of the world outside Michigan. The sheer apathy, American insularism, extremism, and even nastiness of American culture was enough for me. I knew it was time to get out.
Despite all these thoughts, I am a person of action and determination. I am not the type of person to sit and complain. I will allow myself to complain a little, and then it is time for me to take responsibility and action to change the situation. I believe that I always have choices in a situation. But do I want to face the consequences of my choice?
To begin the process of making my choice, I have begun to purge. It was eye-opening for me to realize in New Zealand that first, no affordable home there could possibly hold the amount of clutter that we had in our home in Michigan. Secondly, I did not miss any of it! The only things I missed were a few more changes of clothes, my car, dishes, and a few pieces of furniture. The rest of it could have been dumped in the ocean. It was completely eye-opening an unexpected.
This is a blog about letting go. I have begun to realize that the process of letting go of material things in anticipation of my move is very much a spiritual act. As I let go of these things, I am also pushing off the spiritual and emotional barriers that have hindered my personal growth in Holland, Michigan. Every item donated, sold, or recycled is a step toward gaining my freedom and sense of self again.
To reach this goal, every week since July I have purged at least two items from the house. Thus far, I have removed at least five carloads of items to various thrift shops around Holland, Freecycled countless items for pick-up, recycled old metal and electronics to a local junk-man (Charles), and pitched whatever else could not be recycled or donated or sold.
With each item purged, I feel lighter and freer. It also gives me comfort that I am taking action, taking action toward getting my freedom back again. I want my freedom to pursue my passion for writing and learning, and for just being me. I want to breath again and live in a progressive community with others who share my values.
I am tired of the downward judgmental glances, religious expectations, insular Dutch ethnicities, and conservative politics of this area. I still don’t know how I ended up in this situation, and I guess it made sense at the time, but it is now time to move on. The material items that are weighing me down are the first things to go. I want a scaled down life in New Zealand where I am not working 60-80 hour weeks and live in a more healthful way. I want to be free to be me.
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