A Stranger in Paradise
As I write it is 7 in the morning, Florida time and yet I am connected emotionally and electronically to a minor drama playing out at 7pm on in Beijing. The confusing time zones, as well as the jet lag, has me all out of kilter. In China, the time differences work to my advantage, giving me a whole day to get things done before it becomes offices open in Europe and America where those things are required. Here the reverse is true and I seem to spend all my time playing catch up. Oh for the day of the quill pen and the associated pace of life.
The beginning of the week finds me slowly adjusting to the rhythms of Southern Florida, which, though superficially so familiar, are actually rather disconcerting. I have felt, ever since landing here on Thursday to that I am in a parallel universe where the familiar has been distorted into a parody of itself, leaving me out of touch with my surroundings. One might imagine that the USA, after China, might be a cake walk, but to my surprise it is not, and more stressful for being familiar and alien at the same time.
Driving, for example, has a surreal quality, which has little to do with being on the wrong side of the road, and all to do with sense that at even the mildest infraction of the highway code, a squad car will appear miraculously in my rear view mirror and a gun carrying policeman will start reading me my Miranda Rights before carrying me off to a chain gang. It is not as if I could avoid driving either. The idea of “popping down to the shops” does not exist and everything is “a ride” away. The roads, at least in this corner of Florida are good and I have yet to hit anything like commuter traffic, but even the sedate 35 mile (or 25 mile in some cases) speed limit gives me no sense of ease. Having been shouted at by an irate (woman) driver for doing less than the permitted speed, the spectre of a gun totting outraged citizen fills one with even more dread than does her uniformed opposite number.
Ordinary social encounters have a stressful edge to them that surprises. There is an expectation of politeness in ordinary exchanges which seems almost intrusive, but is quite sincere. Faced with the pleasantness, is my hesitation to enter into conversation with the complete stranger in the elevator rude or appropriate? At the same time, as a counterpoint to the Pollyanna quality of social exchanges ,in the ordinarily solemn environs of the local bank, I watched a housewife very loudly express her dissatisfaction at the level of service. Used to more reverence in these temples of commerce, I found the experience quite intimidating.
The ubiquity of American popular culture leaves one with a sense of preparedness for the reality which is totally false. While everybody is unreservedly welcoming and hospitable, I cannot shake a sense of being out of place. I watch the lights go on in ordinary homes across Ft. Lauderdale and suddenly realize that I have not wandered onto the studio of an exotic TV show but am a guest in another part of God’s creation. The customs may seem strange but the people here are also his children and to miss that because of the alien quality of the environment would be to miss something essential in a missionary experience. Having negotiated this issue with apparent ease in China, who would have thought that would be in “the States” that I would find the process more challenging. God Bless America.
