I've looked under the bed. I've scoured my purse, the junk drawer, and even the storage closet. I've searched high. I've searched low. I've even lifted the underside of the doormat outside our house. It's not hiding with all those pairless socks stuffed deep in the abyss of the couch cushions. It's not huddling with the stale popcorn mashed into the carpet. It is nowhere to be found.
There's no doubt now. It's not here. It has taken a one-way ticket to the moon. I've officially lost my sense of humor.
The gradual chipping away of my whimsy harks back to the day I tried a little too hard to be friends with people who don't really like me. I mean, they don't exactly feel searing hatred bursting from their breasts; it's more a subtle ambivalence and an unsettling disquiet about what I do, who I am, and what interests I pursue versus what they do. Already I feel doomed to failure for even trying to explain what I mean without falling into the danger of platitudes and merciless defensiveness. But I will attempt it nonetheless because my intrinsic optimism tells me there are more people out there like me than I think.
We are the square pegs pressing ourselves fruitlessly into round holes, and we've got the dent marks to show for it.
I moved to Germany with a sense of dread because it is not where I am from, nor do I jive with every aspect of the dominating mentality. Nonetheless, I consider myself to be somewhat of a cosmopolitan personality so a dash of difference doesn't typically throw me off. I embrace diversity. The challenge is being with people who do not.
What I have learned from this transition into a deeper sense of self drifting aimlessly amongst rural Bavarian folk is happiness dwells within. It also comes from within, not from the outside, which is subject to the avarce or generosity of others.
The paradox lies in the fact we all need each other. A sense of community is incredibly important. Try as I might, I have yet to find that community of souls in my immediate surroundings. I get flashes of light from one person or the other, depending on the time of day. But for the most part, I get the sense I am entitled to their opinion, which they give freely. One mother told me on Friday: "You know, I would never raise my children the way you do..."
Wow.
So I have begun to pat myself down, lift under rocks and poke in that yucky box in the forlorn corner of the garage to find that sense of humor I once so richly had. I know it's here somewhere. Perhaps if I fly home, wherever that is, I will find it once again.
