Crossing the Divide...

Tuesday December 9th, 2008

There is a small peninsula town just off the coast of San Diego called Coronado. The residents of the area call Coronado an island, though it isn’t. It can be reached directly from downtown by a bridge or from the south by way of the strip that runs from Imperial Beach. There is also a ferry, a holdover from before the construction of the bridge. In a beautiful place on the sea it’s a shame to get rid of a ferry even if it really isn’t necessary any longer.

The downtown area of San Diego is only 5 minutes drive across the bridge from Coronado. Still, the bridge is a mental barrier. I can distinctly recall a day when, living in Coronado, I had crossed the bridge to the city and done some business. As I was crossing back, headed home, a friend called and invited me to dinner downtown. It would have taken me 10 minutes to get back downtown, but somehow the simple act of turning my car around and traversing the bridge again, then again after dinner, seemed too much. I asked my friend if she wanted to come over the bridge and eat with me on “The Island”. She felt the barrier too. Only a 5 minute drive, coming over was too much bother. We would do it another time, we agreed.

There is a similar barrier when it comes to staying connected with friends and family from here in the Southern Hemisphere. There are actually barriers to communication. One is the time difference, not great during some months, significant during others. Not long after the US times zones “fall back” Buenos Aires “springs forward” and suddenly we are 6 full hours ahead of San Diego where most of my friends and family live, and where I still do business. That is a long time, 6 hours. I get up, have breakfast, read the news, do my yoga practice, take a shower, run some errands, eat lunch, take a break before starting to work. I check the time so see if I can call someone in San Diego yet. No. Wait longer. It is only 8am. The office isn’t even open yet. They are still eating breakfast. If it is a business call and it requires the person get an answer for me and call me back I am often in bed by the time they call back. When businesses close in San Diego between 5:00 and 6:00 pm it is already 11:00 or 12:00 pm here in Argentina. By the time my friends and family get home from work or their daily wanderings I am often sleeping, or they think I am, or they aren’t sure.

Time is not the only barrier either. Though Jimmy and I have both worked very hard to be certain our friends and family know how to reach us, to make it inexpensive and simple, it can seem difficult to them. We both have US phone numbers that ring directly into our computers and have been clear that our friends need not worry about waking us because we shut down at night. We also have Skype.com and can be called, even with video sometimes, for free on our computers any time we are at home, which is most of the time. I notice that even emails don’t come as often as they did when I was in the city with my friends. I can only imagine the reasons. Perhaps it seems so far that it is hard for them to feel connected. Perhaps there is a part of them that simply doesn’t see me as a part of their lives any longer. Perhaps there is even some resentment that I have moved so far away. My son has expressed to me that if I wanted to move away I could have chosen Mexico, so much closer. No matter he has never gone to Mexico of his own accord and wouldn’t if given the opportunity. The simple truth is that technology can make the world smaller but it takes our minds time to catch up.

I recently wrote to a friend:

A long hot summer is just beginning in this place in the Southern hemisphere, far from the cooling breezes of the Pacific Ocean. The body has a clock and mine is still turned upside down a little. My sense of direction is also lost here, without the constant presence of the visible mountains to the East and the Pacific to the West I don't know where I am in either space or time and that disorientation leaves me wondering about many things.

In years gone by, before jet planes became the way people moved from one place, one coast, one continent, one hemisphere, to the other, the long slow journey gave the mind and body time to adjust. As they moved slowly across the miles, walking or riding something, they watched day by day as the landscape changed and the movement of the sun, moon and stars helped to show travelers where they were, one day, one mile at a time. By choosing a direction they gave themselves a solid footing for understanding where they were. They moved slowly enough that there was no word to express the way a person feels when they have not adjusted to the time and space they are in. There is a reason it's called "jet-lag". It didn't exist before air travel.

I too feel the disconnect. Strangely, I have a friend who is living with her new husband in Egypt and I noticed recently that I feel very close to her. Shared experience is apparently just as meaningful in the psyche as is shared space.

My relationship with my son has been tumultuous for years now. In the past 2 months we have been in a mutual struggle to accomplish a task that was financially necessary but difficult and distasteful to both of us for numerous reasons. All of the anxiety seems to be able to stretch across the miles while none of the tenderness, love and caring of a personal meeting makes it that far.

During a recent phone conversation via Skype.com Alex asked me to stop yelling at him. I wasn’t “yelling” at him. I was speaking loudly because I could barely hear him and projected that he might not be able to hear me either. I speak loudly when I talk to someone on the computer anyway and I notice that when we speak on the computer Alex doesn’t look at the screen. He tends to sit or stand far from the computer and to look away as he speaks. I could go all psycho-babble on you and explain my guesses as to what that is about, but I would only be guessing. He probably doesn’t even know he’s doing it let alone why. What is remarkable is that if we were talking in person I could see him look away, ask him to speak up, notice if he was looking away, step around in front of him so that I could hear better. All the technology we have doesn’t make difficult relationships easier. It is still hard and the distance makes it harder.

It is a miracle that we can talk for free to our friends and family thousands of miles away, that we can even see them if they have a camera and the band-width is good. It is a selective miracle though. The miracle only works if the connection was already strong. It also deselects anyone who is naturally uncomfortable with technology. One friend recently told me she had been saving for a web-cam so that she could talk with me. She simply assumed that a piece of equipment that could do such a miraculous thing must be expensive. That a web-cam was a $20-30 expense was a surprise to her and we laughed at how we had been missing one another but not connecting because there was an assumption that it had to be hard. Some people don't do written word well or don't like to talk on the phone. You know them. They want to have coffee or lunch or go for a walk on the beach. I can't do that.

The friends I have down here are wonderful people, and there is an immediate warmth and connection because of that shared experience thing. We are interested in one another and we long for connection so the social web is large and active. The Argentines and expats Jimmy and I have connected with have been a big part of the joy and learning of this experience. They are the reason I am glad I came.

There is an understanding though, that we are not permanent here and in some instances that has us keep one another at a certain distance. There is a risk involved in growing close to someone who might not be here in 6 months. Of course, there is a risk that anyone we love might not be here in 6 months so...

There are people in my life who have remained in contact and whose presence I still feel. I have friends who love me and who make the time, buy the camera, notice the resistance and then call me on the computer anyway. I am deeply grateful for these friends. They keep me grounded and they help me remember that I am not where I live.