I Have Better Places to Go Than Out of My Mind

                                          I Have Better Places to Go Than Out of My Mind

Finding “Belonging”

in A Faraway Land

It was love at first sight. I fell fast. I fell furiously. As I tend to do. No exception here. The object of my new affection – her name is Turkey. It’s just as foreign, exotic, beautiful, and sensorily magnificent as I had imagined. I had come to heal my heartache from an abrupt and painful marital demise that had blind-sided me several months earlier. 

At first, I had tried to “stay put” at the insistence of well-intentioned family and friends who deemed it best that I heal amongst loved ones in familiar surroundings. Their prescription for healing, however, was the exact opposite of mine. 

When something deeply beckons me I heed the call, no matter how seemingly illogical it may seem. For whatever reason, Turkey had beckoned me and I don’t quibble with my heart’s decision. 

“You’re going to Turkey?” my best friend had asked, somewhat incredulously, definitely judgmentally. “Alone?” she “queried” further, more loudly, more reproachfully, if possible, not awaiting my reply. No elaboration of her evident opinion was required or desired. She already knew that I would be going alone, so it was more of an indictment rather than a sincere inquiry. I knew the questions were rhetorical expressions of disbelief. 

I didn’t feel like explaining myself for the umpteenth time; it had pretty much become a daily exercise in futility as friends tried to change my mind as my departure grew nearer. I treasured how fiercely loyal my friends were, but they would never understand me; they could never align with my plans because they filtered them through their relatively conservative, cautious, risk-averse, analytical worldview. A far cry from my “go with my gut” compass that never ceased to disappoint. 

I had no idea what lay ahead and who ultimately would turn out to have had the better “plan”. All I knew was that my heart ached like never before. I was determined not to sit still and wallow in heartbreak. I had been down this path before and I knew exactly what I needed. 

Everyone always thought I was running away from something. Whereas, I always preferred to think of it as running toward something. My wanderlust, restless soul loved new for the sake of new - new countries, cultures, experiences, and memories. The quintessential “change of scenery”. I always gravitated to areas of natural beauty - nothing comforted my soul more than Mother Nature; she never failed to provide me the figurative embrace I so desperately needed to heal. 

So, as I had done previously, I rejected friends’ textbook pleas for healing  - to “stay put”, “process”, and “feel the pain” - in favor of setting sail for a new path so to speak. I have better places to go than out of my mind… That path “compassed” me to the Mediterranean Sea.

The fact that I had chosen Turkey - and a small village to which I had never been - of course did nothing to assure my concerned family and friends. While I envisioned invigorating coastal walks, soothing turquoise seas, endless swaths of greenery, deeply oxygenating fresh sea air, divine Turkish cuisine, and warm hospitality, they were envisioning third-world challenges, no indoor plumbing, me sleeping in a tent in a desert with terrorists as neighbors. “Do you even know Arabic?” some erroneously inquired. “No, nor do they, I suspect. They speak Turkish, not Arabic,” I explained. Of course, they had no basis for their judgmental thoughts. It’s one of the things I love most about traveling; it inevitably expands your mind and opens your eyes and, ideally, your heart. 

“You can’t run away from your problems,” they chastised me. “They’ll follow you wherever you go,” they lovingly admonished me, thinking they knew best. Of course, I know that, intimately. In my experience, however, bad things happen and there’s nothing you can do about it. I knew better than anyone that there were things I needed to get over. Yet, if time does indeed heal all wounds, I always try to spend that time trying to “move on”, and “move forward”. I refused to be quagmired in sadness, surrounded by loving well-intentioned friends and family, tiptoeing around me, desperately wanting to help me “process” my heartache, while inevitably keeping me immersed in the very trauma I was trying to determinedly move past. True, you can’t escape but you can’t heal quagmired in the same environment either. I could “process” anywhere. 

I knew I was on a precipice; the thing I struggled with the most was my novel all-consuming disinterest in everything. I was living an uncharacteristic subpar life. My previously passionate, energetic soul had no interest in living such a numb, lackluster existence. I knew I needed to leave the comfort/familiarity of my family, friends, and surroundings to reclaim myself and find my grounding.

I was surprised at how quickly I had acclimated to my new surroundings, despite the lack of any forethought. I sighed in grateful reflection and blissful contentment, as I gazed across the vast swath of the shimmering, rhythmically undulating Mediterranean Sea that had become synonymous with a profound sense of peace. I was always taken aback by her sheer beauty, no matter how long I stared. The majestic mountains contrasted beautifully, with their undulating verdant green, cascading down from the clear blue skies to the achingly turquoise pristine water. The sun was timely beginning its slow descent to complete the stunning scenery, casting an ethereal pink-hued golden light over the picture postcard view I was enjoying from the balcony of my apartment.

As I watched the dusky rose sun transition into the sea, the hauntingly beautiful chant of the imam, indicating the penultimate call to prayer of the day, provided the perfect accompaniment to Mother Nature’s daily spectacle. This is Turkey to me; it’s a multi-sensory masterpiece, with countless experiences vying for your attention. No sense is left untouched by this enchanting, entrancing country. 

I had traded in my stressful, high-paying job as a corporate lawyer for the simple pleasures of Mediterranean life. I’m now blessed with riches beyond my wildest dreams. I’m collecting experiences and memories instead of possessions; counting stars instead of money; socializing instead of “networking”; and focusing on “being” instead of “doing”.

This country is a glorious feast for the senses. The pristine natural beauty is unparalleled. Turkey is primarily verdant velvety green mountains, valleys, and hillsides with endless coastlines of crystal clear turquoise and emerald-hued seas.

The slow pace of life speaks to my sensibilities. With time on my side, I now take great pleasure in languidly soaking up the views on my daily coastal walks. I’m warmly greeted along the way by locals with a smile and a “good day” in the native language. Civility and hospitality reign supreme in this tranquil little village. Muslim women clad in headdresses and covered from head to toe persist in asking me to join them along the sidewalk for a picnic, despite my relatively sparse beach attire. No judgment here – simply a genuine offer of hospitality - a warm invitation to join in their seaside feast. Whenever I enter a shop, I’m greeted with the customary, obligatory Turkish “welcome”. When I enter boutique stores, I’m immediately offered the ubiquitous tea as a sign of sincere hospitality. Mere acquaintances quickly become friends in this culture with its genuinely inviting experiences. I have been quickly embraced despite being a foreigner; I have never felt more welcome. 

I enjoy most afternoons alternating amongst writing, reading, and going to the beach. The year-round enviable Mediterranean climate is only one of the many reasons I decided, without hesitation, to call Turkey home. I always choose a strip of beach I have virtually to myself over the energetic, busy beach clubs. I enjoy watching the few others, mostly families with parents acclimating toddlers to the sea life. I cool off in the mineral-rich therapeutic waters that feel like a silken hug, taking in the vistas and counting my good fortune. 

As I walk back towards the town, I’m rewarded with a post-card perfect vista with terraced white houses dripping with vividly colorful bougainvillea, sloping down with the forest green hillside as a backdrop leading down to the rainbow of turquoise variations seaside. 

Evenings usually include taking in the sunset from one of the enviable positions, either along one of the many beaches or from an elevated position from one of the cliffs or the well-preserved amphitheater ruins with its panoramic view of the town and the sea. 

The natural approach to wellness here resonates with my passions and my writings, focused on self-care made simple. The cuisine represents the healthy and delicious Mediterranean diet with its emphasis on seasonal vegetables, yogurt, whole grains, lean meats, seafood, and copious amounts of herbs. I encounter inspirations daily with the year-round farmers’ markets; the quaint little stores filled with herbs, spices, teas, and essential oils serving as a sort of version of a “plant therapy” pseudo “pharmacy”; the slow-paced cafe culture where friends and family socialize for hours; and the universal habit of spending time immersed in Mother Nature. I never feel healthier nor happier than I do here with simple pleasures refreshingly permeating daily life. Somehow, paradoxically, life is vastly more fulfilling when lived simply.

I sighed again in deep contentment as I gratefully watched the nightly sunset spectacle unfold. I knew I would be rewarded soon with the illuminating twinkling of endless stars, contrasted with the inky black sky, a panoramic vista made possible by the lack of obtrusive lights in this charming idyllic village. 

I was silently assessing the wiseness of my earlier, admittedly somewhat impetuous, decision several months before to move here. It struck me that, ironically, I had never felt more at home. I felt a profound sense of belonging that I had never experienced. By taking a leap of faith and believing in myself, I had embarked on an adventure of exploration, never anticipating in my wildest dreams that I would feel more profoundly at “home” than ever before in a faraway, foreign land.

I had discovered “belonging” by segregating myself from my “home”, my country, my family and friends, my professional colleagues, my historical comforting possessions, indeed, all things familiar. 

My contemplation highlighted what it fundamentally meant to me to “belong”. My reverie made me realize that I had never truly felt like I “belonged” previously. I had been constrained by, and compliant with, societal norms, cultural expectations, and objective validations. Living “parameterized”/confined by these tacit rules had not synced with my authentic soul. 

This culture, characterized by genuine hospitality and civility, synced with my values.

This lifestyle, saturated in simple pleasures, invigorated my soul. 

This “out of comfort” zone comforted me with a novel new sense of self-confidence. 

This “out-of-the-ordinary” experience rewarded my adventurous being with extraordinary memories.

This freedom to be authentic - living life on my terms - ignited my passions and liberated me with a profound feeling of self-empowerment.

This foreign, exotic locale is where I found belonging.

Any superficial “belonging” I had felt before had come from inauthentic, subjugating, “people pleasing”, living life aligned with societal norms and conventions, catering to others’ perspectives, expectations, and demands. “Conventional belonging” and relying on others for validation can feel restraining, disingenuous and complicit. It can extinguish the fire of your authentic spirit. Living “small” within the confines of societal norms and expectations is a suffocating, claustrophobic experience. “Belonging” at such a soul-draining price wasn’t a membership I cared to continue. 

Belonging had come in a foreign land with an embracing, inclusive, non-judgmental hospitality. I had been graciously welcomed in a land where I hadn’t known anyone, I didn’t speak the language, and had no affinity with the religion practiced by the majority. I had found freedom, self-reliance, and profound authenticity. Enjoying the simple pleasures of life, free from the expectations and pressures to feel like I needed more; like something was wrong with me by focusing on simply “being” and pursuing my dreams purely for their own sake, for myself. I had found the freedom to live life strictly on my terms, unapologetically, in sync with my values and desires. I had found loving self-acceptance and a deep belief in myself. To me, this pure authenticity was simultaneously peaceful and energizing. Even in relative solitude, I finally felt like I “fit in” this life; I was comfortable in this space, indeed in my skin.

To me, “belonging” wasn’t premised on a place, a relationship, a family gathering, a community of faith, office camaraderie, or even familiar surroundings, as it seems to so often be defined. 

To me, belonging meant being true to myself, within the comfort and affinity of a culture that synced with my values, my priorities, and my desires, a space where I was free to finally, fully experience what truly living meant.

By basically giving up “everything”, segregating myself from my possessions, my native culture, my home base, and my familiarity, I realized I had everything that mattered. In losing the constraints of what “belonging” had historically meant, I had found my purpose, my passion, my peace, and myself. I finally “belonged”.

I know my friends and family would never understand how I deeply felt “belonging”, alone in a foreign country with a vastly different culture, customs, and religious inclinations. That’s ok though because I not only understand it; I feel it like never before…