Goodbye Ireland

Well today's the day. My bags are packed and with visa in hand I'm off to the airport for the overnight flight to Kampala. I'm excited, nervous, and afraid that I've forgotten something important - like my shoes. (Am I the only one who takes one last look down when leaving the house?) Today feels a bit like that - and it feels a bit like the first day of school. I can't wait to see Uganda. I can't wait to meet the people I'll be working with for the next few months. Last night I prepared myself for the journey with a good night's sleep and before that, turned what was left in the refrigerator into my favorite dinner...pizza.

It felt a bit like a last meal.

I can't believe I've lived in Ireland almost a year now. Even though I'll only be away a few months, I'm going to miss this place. It feels like home. A while back I was renting a car in Dublin and after scanning my credit card the agent looked up from the terminal and with a puzzled expression asked, "I thought you were American?"  I replied that I am American. He then smiled and said, "well sure but you live in Dublin. You're not a real American are you." I've thought about that ever since. I'm not a real American anymore...I'm not Irish either though. I fall somewhere in between.

Most conversations here with new acquaintances begin with:

"Are you American?"

"I am."

"Where are you from?"

"Originally around Chicago, but I lived in Indiana for many years and then spent the last two just outside of Boston before moving to Dublin."

"And now you're off to Uganda - you're travelling eastward then."

"Yes I suppose that's true."

"Well we'll be sorry to see you go."

That's one reason I love Ireland - even people you've barely met are sorry to see you go. I have been struck by the many random acts of kindness I’ve seen...returning money that was dropped on the street or an umbrella left behind, just to name a few. Ireland is a country where people help each other.

That spirit of helpfulness extends to the Irish language. I’m not exactly a genius with languages but I'm not terrible either...I speak passable French and a bit of Spanish, but I can't speak Gaelic (Irish) to save my life. Normally this is not a problem because everyone speaks English, but many of the names of things are in Irish, and try as I might I struggle with pronunciation. My friends try to help. Over the last year I have learned that Cobh sounds like cove, Gearoid sounds like garodge, Dail sounds like doll, and I'm still working on Padraig, Taoiseach, and (I’m ashamed to admit) my own name. I was mortified when I realized soon after moving here that I don't pronounce it right. Maureen is an anglicized version of an Irish name, but pronounced with an American accent it sounds like marine - which everyone interprets as Marie.

So now I try to pronounce it the way you'd say it in Ireland, ironically just like it's spelled, Maureen (accent on the "maw"). When I do, recognition dawns in the face of the person I'm introducing myself to and I'm rewarded with a personal story. "Ah Maureen O'Donnell, what a beautiful Irish name. My Aunt Maureen was a lovely woman - the heart of the family so she was." My very name creates an instant connection with almost everyone I meet, and even though my ancestors left Ireland more than 150 years ago, I have found family here in some of the most meaningful friendships of my life that began with a conversation about a name.

Another topic of conversation here is the weather. One could argue that it is THE topic of conversation most days…it’s notoriously difficult to predict and while I have been to places that say they have four seasons in one day, it is only here in Dublin that I’ve ever actually witnessed that phenomenon first-hand.  They say that the changeable weather in Ireland reflects the national mood. Maybe that’s why one in ten people here suffer from depression. It is such a part of everyday life that people talk of depression's dark recesses like they've caught a cold or the flu. The high rate of depression might also have something to do with the link between creativity and mood disorders. Ireland is the birthplace of iconic literary figures like Oscar Wilde, WB Yeats, James Joyce, and Patrick Kavanagh. Dublin itself is a Unesco City of Literature, and a culture of literature, music and art is carefully nurtured in every community across the country. It's easy to immerse yourself in Ireland's creative genius, but sometimes it's a bit like standing too close to an open flame.

The Irish though, seem to dance effortlessly back and forth across the thin line that separates joy and tragedy. This dichotomy has become starkly apparent to me in conversations about the ups and downs of the Celtic Tiger. The standard response when asked about the cause of the economic recession is "well we were just getting above ourselves." The Irish are the only people I've ever met who would view a financial crisis as divine retribution for living to excess. They are also the only people I've ever met who would use a recession as a way to build community -  a well-fought collective battle to put things right with the country where everyone sacrifices something for the common good. Above all there is a sense of fairness here. There is also a "sure it'll be grand" pragmatism  of accepting reality and getting on with life.

There's a baby boom happening in Ireland. That was a shock when I first arrived...seeing children everywhere. And while I am sure parents all around the world love their children with a fierce intensity, here I see a love that is uniquely Irish. The other day I was walking near a park. There was a father pushing his toddler in a stroller along the sidewalk. Suddenly he gave the stroller a good shove and started running along side of it, pushing it fast and steadying it at the same time, shouting in falsetto "Oh no Shaunee! What're we going to do? I can't keep hold of her much longer! AAAAHHH!" The toddler was laughing wildly and as they flew past me, I saw a look of unbridled joy that only the very young and those who love them unconditionally can experience. My connection to Ireland goes back through my father’s family, and in this shared moment I remembered him.

I moved here to Ireland to immerse myself in another culture. It was a way to experience intense personal and professional development, and I recommend it for anyone who wants to avoid, as Stevie Ray Vaughan sang, living life by the drop*. My first year here has been an incredible adventure - great craic.

So today I say goodbye to Ireland, my adopted home, and I'll also say goodbye to everyone here who has given me the gifts of belonging and friendship. I'm sorry to go. I'll miss you, and I'll see you again soon.

*Note: Life By the Drop is, I believe, the only song Stevie Ray recorded with a 12 string acoustic guitar. The lyrics are contextual to my post, but it's a very simple song. If you want to hear the magic that Stevie Ray Vaughan can create with a guitar then you might give a listen to Little Wing.