I can speak a thousand languages, and fifty of them well

There are a lot of reasons why I never write what is on my mind. Foremost of which is the complete terror that runs through my mind whenever I think about the possibility of anyone ever reading anything I write. I would prefer they didn’t, though I have been more adept at sharing in recent months. I just haven’t written much.

I attribute a great deal of this lack of production to the busy schedule. That’s a euphemism. I left one location on this planet that was far from anything I was comfortable with for another location on this planet that is comparably unfamiliar. Add to the fact that wedged between this transition into a new kind of foreign, I’ve intensely completed my TESOL Certificate, found a place to live, and found a job to pay for the place I live. Taking time to write more than a few point form rants in a notebook in a pub becomes Everest. (Though, I have spent most of my writing time exploring the medium of point form rambles in a notebook in pubs around Prague, and can honestly say that I enjoy the distinctive routine of it all)

This brings me back to the point I was making earlier. The idea of anyone ever reading a single word of my own production is terrifying at times. I don’t know why, it just is. This, here, this is relatively safe. I still maintain a great deal of control over the situation. None of these words push out into a sea of uncomfortable reactions, and there are no emotional responses directly targeted or intentionally evoked. This is so due to my sheer and utter lack of confidence in sharing anything that could be categorized as such. Though these pieces do exist, they are more for my own personal gain, used an insight into my own space, allowing me to stand back and objectively analyze my own thought process. And on top of that, a slight desire to improve with different subjects and styles. I suppose what I’m saying is that I’m currently struggling with idea of content sharing vs. personal privacy.

And, schedule aside, I find this to be one of the most significant reasons I haven’t written anything of much substance since I came to the Czech Republic. There is a certain vulnerability in ones life when they move to a completely new place on the planet and have little to no network set up in a new town. It takes some time to adjust – a very long time in fact. Facing a very intense certification process, and complete uncertainty about the potential for employment after the certification process, with no safety net of friends and family to get your back should you stumble, and this makes for an intense and uncomfortable period. But it’s also an extraordinarily enlightening one. I didn’t shy away from writing anything (remember, pub scribbles) but I absolutely shied away from writing anything that could ever be read by others. There was not one iota of desire to do anything more than transcribe what I saw happening – and I was content with this. I am no longer. It isn’t enough.

Prague is an amazing city. Most anyone who has ever seen it would likely concur enthusiastically. The entropy of March has given way to an oddly structured April. The work situation has sorted itself out better than I ever could have imagined, the flat is nice, and the safety net grows every day. The period of transition is coming to an end. I love the city. I am comfortable here. I enjoy what I’m doing. My first real post-undergraduate job sees me bounce through the streets of Prague on a daily basis, take in the intentionally structured beauty of the city, and drop English-language knowledge bombs on business men and women. I make little money, I couldn’t be happier.

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