Some pictures of the new (empty) apartment!

500€/month with parking! Unfortunately, the tram runs from 5am to 11:55pm right under the apartment. Guess you can't have it all.

Looking Back

Last night, Peter and I went to his favorite bar Fregatt (again). I was sitting in the back where the band was playing, Peter was off socializing, and I was conveniently ease dropping on a group of girls, and two specifically who were clearly American. They dominated the conversation about their travels, what they were studying, and where they planned on going in the next few weeks. They gushed about all they had noticed, for example all American music they've heard in every country, "that's all like, from like 10 years ago."

The rest of the group tried to share their stories, which were promptly trumped by one of the two girls. "Oh yea, when I was there...," or "you were there for a week? I was there for like three." Alllll ego.

And then I remembered when I was 21, and traveling Europe. I'm pretty sure I talked like I knew it all, and that I would conquer the world based on the six months I had spent, "on my own." Turns out, I had no idea, and neither did they. I had no clue how well I had it. Everything was paid for, I didn't have to work, I lived in a great house, fantastic city, was getting $800/month in spending money, traveled every weekend with a fun group of girls, and had a boyfriend who was willing to drive me around everywhere. I was living the life!

A professor once started off class by explaining how good we had it as students. "You walk in to class at 2pm with your lattes, sit down, take out the laptops that your parents bought you, veg out for three hours, and then go drink away your weekends. You have no idea...life will never be this easy." Of course we all laughed hysterically. Jeeze, what's Dr. J's problem?

Turns out we HAD no idea. At least I didn't. Grad school came and went. That was a joke. And now, here I sit, and guess what...none of that stuff really mattered. Sure, you can impress yourself with all your travel stories, and where you went to grad school and spent $100k, but the truth is, no one else really cares, unless they are just as wrapped up as you are. I could have saved a lot of energy trying to prove how cool I was.

As the girls were preparing to leave, one said, "I'm studying accounting in Vienna, and then plan on going to grad school when I get back home."

So here's to the good 'ole days, when the illusion was still an illusion!

Life is a Highway

So I haven't talked much about the wedding, mainly because it was fairly uneventful. It was definitely the wedding I wanted however, no fancy decorations, a poofy dress, or 200+ people to entertain and feed. Why do people do that anyway?! Let's not fool ourselves, how many people really know 200 people? Our wedding had a total of 11 guests, myself being the only American! Well, I suppose Popcorn was there too, so I had some backup.

It decided to snow that day, which I actually didn't mind because it was like the forth time I had ever seen snow in my life, so it was still semi-charming. Plus I didn't slip and fall, so it was fine. We got there, all the guests had arrived, and it was awkward. Our friends we usually only see in drinking settings, and then there were the parents and grandparents. It was a strange mix, but that's a wedding for you.

As a side note, Peter had to choose a song to walk down the isle to. He chose "Life is a Highway," and needless to say, we were the only two that thought it was awesome. That song will invariably crack me up every time I hear it.

The lady who conducted the ceremony was sort of annoying. She wasn't genuine at all, and honestly, I didn't understand a damn thing she said. Therefore, this "marriage" may not actually be official. Hummmm...

Our translator tried to get a forbidden copy of the ceremony vows, but the courthouse refused. Typical. He did a decent job, but I didn't hear what he was saying and because I was trying desperately not to laugh. The woman then asked us to greet each other. What the hell does that mean? I went to high five Peter, but then he said that maybe we were supposed to kiss. Whatever, high fives are cool too.

Oh! I almost forgot! Adorable Peter's cell phone went off right in the middle of the ceremony. Best part, he actually looked at who it was before so kindly silencing his phone. Also, very typical.

It was a quick 20 minutes, went ended with three million pictures, all turned out less than fabulous, and then it was off to the best steak house in Budapest. We stuffed ourselves (Popcorn can attribute her large ass to that night), had a glass of wine (which I'm sure she also enjoyed), and we ended the night hanging with friends in the hotel room. It was the perfect day.

Also, we recently got the invoice for the wedding. 8500HUF. Yes, folks, that would be roughly $40. Dinner was slightly more expensive, but all in all, it was a financial success.

Change

Boy, I don't like change. I have spent the better part of my life trying desperately to make sure everything around me makes me comfortable. And then I got sick of it. Back in 2005, I took a chance and left my life, family and my three year relationship to live in France for six months. Not only did I think I was going to die over the Atlantic (like full on panic attack), I thought there was no way to survive without the comforts of home. Turns out I was wrong, like usual, and stayed almost two years.

Discomfort is really the only way to push your own personal limits, and trust me, the last few weeks haven't been easy. I've had to accept change in stride, which typically includes crying and feeling sorry for myself. Moving 8,000 miles away to a place that is admittedly (by Hungarians themselves) totally depressing, hasn't been an easy transition. I mean, all of their parks, songs, and monuments depict death and tragedy, which Americans can't exactly relate to. I digress.

So yesterday, Peter and I went to Kika, a better version of Ikea, and picked out a crib. Holy crap, did I have a meltdown. I was overwhelmed with colors, blankets, types of wood, and changing tables. Wait? Who's having a kid, and why the hell am I picking out all of their stuff? And why am I in Budapest and fat? And where is my grandma and niece? And then the tears began. It may also be attributed to the fact that I already spent $500+ on baby crap back home, and had to buy it all over again (whilst unemployed, which is a whole other can of worms I'm having to accept). Also, the stroller I liked out was of course $1,200, meaning it stayed right where it was. Apparently my expensive taste hasn't changed in the midst of moving.

Instead of letting the tears go on an on, I realized that it's just change...once again pushing my limits. And then I was reminded of an essay my professor gave me when I described my feelings at the end of graduate school. I will forever be grateful for him and his well-timed wisdom.

The Parable of the Trapeze
by Danaan Parry

Sometimes I feel that my life is a series of trapeze swings. I'm either hanging on to a trapeze bar swinging along or, for a few moments in my life, I'm hurtling across space in between trapeze bars.

Most of the time, I spend my life hanging on for dear life to my trapeze-bar-of-the-moment. It carries me along at a certain steady rate of swing and I have the feeling that I'm in control of my life.

I know most of the right questions and even some of the answers.

But every once in a while as I'm merrily (or even not-so-merrily) swinging along, I look out ahead of me into the distance and what do I see? I see another trapeze bar swinging toward me. It's empty and I know, in that place in me that knows, that this new trapeze bar has my name on it. It is my next step, my growth, my aliveness coming to get me. In my heart of hearts I know that, for me to grow, I must release my grip on this present, well-known bar and move to the new one.

Each time it happens to me I hope (no, I pray) that I won't have to let go of my old bar completely before I grab the new one. But in my knowing place, I know that I must totally release my grasp on my old bar and, for some moment in time, I must hurtle across space before I can grab onto the new bar.

Each time, I am filled with terror. It doesn't matter that in all my previous hurtles across the void of unknowing I have always made it. I am each time afraid that I will miss, that I will be crushed on unseen rocks in the bottomless chasm between bars. I do it anyway. Perhaps this is the essence of what the mystics call the faith experience. No guarantees, no net, no insurance policy, but you do it anyway because somehow to keep hanging on to that old bar is no longer on the list of alternatives. So, for an eternity that can last a microsecond or a thousand lifetimes, I soar across the dark void of "the past is gone, the future is not yet here."

It's called "transition." I have come to believe that this transition is the only place that real change occurs. I mean real change, not the pseudo-change that only lasts until the next time my old buttons get punched.

I have noticed that, in our culture, this transition zone is looked upon as a "no-thing," a noplace between places. Sure, the old trapeze bar was real, and that new one coming towards me, I hope that's real, too. But the void in between? Is that just a scary, confusing, disorienting nowhere that must be gotten through as fast and as unconsciously as possible?

NO! What a wasted opportunity that would be. I have a sneaking suspicion that the transition zone is the only real thing and the bars are illusions we dream up to avoid the void where the real change, the real growth, occurs for us. Whether or not my hunch is true, it remains that the transition zones in our lives are incredibly rich places. They should be honored, even savored. Yes, with all the pain and fear and feelings of being out of control that can (but not necessarily) accompany transitions, they are still the most alive, most growth-filled, passionate, expansive moments in our lives.

We cannot discover new oceans unless we have the courage to lose sight of the shore.