Lose Yourself

No, I’m not referencing the seminal 2002 Eminem rap song, though I do occasionally think fondly of Mom’s spaghetti. I’m referencing the way in which, in a new place, it is quite easy to lose oneself. This can happen in a lot of ways: it may be when we turn the wrong way out of the grocery store and end up back at the train station, or it may be when we feel internally unmoored. Spoiler alert: both of those things are happening here in the beautiful Alpine town of Rolle, Switzerland.

I knew that, upon moving here from Key West, Florida, I would be a nobody, besides “Andrew’s fiancé.” I’ve never been a big shot professionally or an Internet celebrity (I know, you’re shocked and confused by this news), so I didn’t anticipate it leaving me so shook. My Dad warned me:

“Sarah, you’re moving in with a guy at the top of his game, in the prime of his life. You need to think about loss of identity… ask your Mom, she knows about that.” (Love you, Dad!)

I laughed at it, retold the story, and largely packed it away in the “irrelevant” box. Because, you see, I know who I am. I love myself. I’m proud of myself—I don’t need to be recognized at the grocery store to feel validated. But as it turns out, maybe I do. In Key West, it wasn’t uncommon for a friend, neighbor, or acquaintance to comment on an article I had written or an event where they’d seen me recently. As editor of a great little local newspaper, my work was very public. My job required me to attend city meetings, nonprofit events, and interview leaders in the community. I was constantly making new connections and new friends. Key West is such a warm, well-connected town anyway… but I didn’t realize how much validation and satisfaction I was receiving from being a part of it. Not just that, but being important and sensing that I had a purpose there.

It makes me feel a little silly writing it, but that’s true to a degree of most of us. Well I’ll tell you what: there’s nothing that takes you down a notch like not being able to order a glass of water or getting lost on the way home or not being able to count to ten or taking the train in the wrong direction or… I think you get the idea. I realize I’ve been feeling like the “self” I created was left back in the States, and replaced by an anonymous 36-year-old blonde woman that nobody quite seems to recognize.

A few days ago, I very literally lost myself. I got a text from Andrew telling me that I’d lost my driver’s license (it was surprising, considering he was on a business trip in Finland). Someone had found it on the Grand Rue, taken it to the police station, and the police had taken it to the commune security center, and there, a certain Madame Fogell called the commune, gave them my name, and they reported back that yes, there was a new American living here of that name, and her fiance is named Andrew, and here is his phone number (Merci, Madame Fogell).

I made my way hurriedly to the security office, practicing what I would say, and the gentleman greeted me with a warm “Bonjour!”

“Bonjour,” I said sheepishly, “and.. pardon, Monsieur, je ne parle pas Francais… “ and he broke into a smile. “You’re the girl from Florida!” He said. “I have your driver’s license here!”

I went home smiling as well, and rather happy with an exchange that would have been otherwise embarrassing. I managed to say a sentence in French (even if it was “I don’t speak French”); my faith was strengthened by the kindness of the people in my little town; and maybe most importantly, he recognized me.