It’s weird being served sushi by a waitress with a Carolina accent

I guess my foreign travels have begun.  Even though I’m only in the Charlotte, NC airport, I already feel a separation – a sense of observing in a way that I don’t have the time or space to at home.  For instance, Cinnabon.  I wonder about Cinnabon.  Are there Cinnabons anywhere except in airports?  And why does Cinnabon make me feel so sick?  I mean that literally as well as figuratively.  Somehow, the oozing sugar frosting smell wafts through the airport, overpowering even the BBQ ribs fast food stall.  I’m powerless against that frosting smell.  I get a roll and eat it and immediately feel sick.

 

Before Cinnabon, I ate at a sushi place on the main strip of the Charlotte airport.  My first thought, upon scoping the various fine eateries throughout the airport was, “Sushi in Charlotte?  That can’t be good.”  But after a thorough analysis and a sizing up of my chances, sushi seemed the best choice (can you imagine?) and I sat at the bar.  Now in defense of the sushi joint, it actually wasn’t too terrible.  Granted, I played it as safe as possible, nothing too exotic.  But to be served something I consider to be very Japanese by a chubby waitress with too much eyeliner, foundation that was just not quite the right color, and a thick Carolina accent, well, it made me feel like a stranger in a strange land.  It threw into relief just how odd it all really is.

 

Something about leaving the Bay Area has enabled me to see things differently.  And what’s so surprising is that it’s happened so quickly. I’ve been out of the Bay Area for about seven hours now.  Maybe this experience of really seeing things is available to me at all times?  Yes, I know that’s true. But somehow in the scuffle and demands of daily life, the ability to see escapes me – replaced by an overwhelm of the mundane… a lazy familiarity… a sleepy acceptance of the day-in-day-out grind of common life. 

 

And what if I decided to see my daily existence the same way I see the “Charlotte-beginning-of-my-three-months-traveling” world?  Could I stay sane?  Could I even make it out the door of my house?  Could I get my daily cup at Peet’s? How about working? Grocery shopping?  And what about much more complex and intricate experiences?  I wonder, should I feel grateful for the seemingly innate ability to turn down the volume of the experiences in my daily life so I don’t lose my noggin? 

 

The interesting thing to realize is that I have a choice, which feels a little like luck and maybe a little bit of my own practice.  I wonder, are we primarily disposed to experience life very deeply and learn to turn it down as we need to in order to maintain our sanity or are we primarily disposed to shuffling through life unawares and, if we’re lucky or crazy (or both) we see the opportunity to practice really experiencing life?

 

All I know at this point is that it’s weird being served sushi by a waitress with a Carolina accent.