What Is An Expat?

Train Bound to Tralee:

The time has come to wander down to Dingle, a town which turns out to be much nicer than it’s name might imply. So now I get to add train-riding to my public transportation resume. Cab down to the train station, don’t feel like walking down there. It’s close to the Guinness brewery, which was a good long walk without toting all my stuff as well.

Dublin train station reminds me of Uzbekistan — no heat in the building. Was only a bit chilly, which is of course fine with me.

As I sit here on the train traveling down to Tralee, I get some thinking in. I have so few actual needs. TV? Don’t really give a shit about it. That isn’t to say that I advocate throwing your TV out the window (you could hurt someone that way!) or that I might not watch it were it on. I don’t think all TV is crap, because there is some stuff out there that is quite good, be it funny, informative, or thought-provoking. For that matter, I finally saw some bit of ‘Sex and the City’ finally. My first (and still current) reaction was that I sincerely hoped never to encounter people like that with their lies and games. However on second thought there were a few nuggets of wisdom there that I saw reflected in my life, things about me that I wouldn’t notice on my own, without that added perspective. Certainly I’m not going to rush out and buy the DVDs, but wisdom comes from all places if you pay attention.

Where was I? Oh yeah, train bound to Tralee. AR! Anyways, if I never watched TV again I wouldn’t burst into tears. Internet? Useful to be sure, but I don’t want it like I used to. Would be nice to have some access every so often, but with the proliferation of internet cafes that shouldn’t be a problem — hell, even Karshi has them. Probably gonna get better there, not worse. Most of the rest I could not care less about. Style, fashion, glamour…have you ever seen me? I don’t even really miss my car. Music? We’ve seen just how portable that has become. I think the point I may be getting to here is that I don’t feel like I am suffering being in some far off land. It’s right here, to me. So when I think of being a father or grandfather with little ones on my knee, I haven’t any idea where that is. Obviously it’s still too early to make any judgments or rash decisions.

And I think I want to be a writer.

Now, I haven’t any idea why anyone would care what I think, nor for that matter why anyone would go to the effort to decipher my ramblings, but I think nonetheless I want to do it. And no, this has nothing really to do with Ireland other than it happened to be where I came to the conclusion.

I don’t know how much longer I will want to keep doing computer stuff. I may be losing interest. At some point in the computer business, you have to transition into management, or just hit your ceiling. I’ve led, and done lower level management stuff, but I don’t see myself suited and tied. Or even just tied for that matter, though I have done it before. I’m too informal and irreverent. I make a poor yes-man. Not that it’s a requirement per se, but that and toeing the company line seem to be “helpful.” Company loyalty – now there’s a concept. Unfortunately, it’s a one-way street. You should be loyal to the company, but the company will survive at the expense of the nameless replaceable widgets that comprise it. In some ways that’s similar to the Army…but most people join up there knowing sacrifice is involved. It’s about serving, not just some business that does something not terribly important in the grand scheme of things.

It would tie in well with some of the other projects I’ve started (umm…and typically dropped) but I think I would want to write one good #1 bestseller and become independent the rest of my life. One would be okay, but any more than that and folk might notice my complete and utter lack of talent.

I’m thinking of a title now — maybe ..hmm. Let’s back up just a bit. Maybe not a title but a subtitle. Let’s not reach too far just yet. “The Autobiography of No One In Particular.” There, that lets me indulge my self-deprecating streak. I claim to be modest, and of course then refuse to act that way. It’s all that though, just an act.* Can you see the real me doctor, doctor? No matter, I think it is a much better title than the one I came up with so many years ago at the silly and pretentious age of 16 or 17. That was a full blooded title though, something like “Mad Ravings of a Lunatic: Diary of the Emperor Blake.” I guess this writer thing is starting to stretch back further than I first recalled. Oops! If you think this is bad, consider yourself lucky you aren’t reading that tripe! Hell, I consider myself lucky you aren’t reading that! Never give an angsty teenager with delusions of grandeur a pen. It won’t be pretty, I can guarantee you that. Still though, even way back then my sense of humor was unavoidable. Anyways, we’ll stick with just a subtitle for now, because the only thing coming to me for a main title is something like “My Story: Subtitle” and that rates waaay too high on the scale of self important bullshit for my pride to handle. And it just plain sounds crap.

I am amused at the Irish kids wandering back and forth between the cars. They just can’t seem to remember to shut the door behind themselves. Back in the states, or at least in the Southern US, we’d ask if they were born in a barn. Looking out the window at the cattle, sheep, and all the little farmhouses, that doesn’t seem nearly so witty nor surprising. Perspective is a wonderful thing. Kids however, are the same all over the world. Ordinarily I think I would be kind and shut the door after them, but I might get tired after the several times it’s happened so far. Breaking news! The grandmother across the way has just scolded the kids to close the door. I didn’t hear it too well since I am listening to music right now, but they looked appropriately chastised. Oh yeah, that seemed to work. Another bunch just came through, and the last in line (can I get a Dio “Look Out!” here?) took a step in, thought better of it, and showed she has graduated to having been born in the city.

Whoever wrote that song about the green green grass of home was definitely an Irishman. Or you know, Irishperson, insert your politically correct term here, I won’t do it for you. In any case, Ireland is very green. It’s a beautiful country, no doubt about it.

Lots of time to sit and think on this train ride, and from reading this, maybe too much. I sit and think, think and sit. I think about the phrase “endeavor to persevere.” I thought about it a long time, endeavor to persevere. And when I had thought about it long enough, I declared war.

Sorry, wrong movie! Free beer to the first to get that, but not for a while.

* I’ve noticed a lot of changes lately, and am no longer sure which really is the act anymore, for what it’s worth.