I Fell Off A Bench In Offenbach and All I Got Was This Lousy Epiphany

Yesterday I went to Offenbach, a small city right across the river from Frankfurt, to meet up with a couple of fellow Fulbrighters for the evening. I was sitting on a bench in the Marktplatz waiting for them when a pack of teenage German boys, shoving and laughing and generally goofing off, made their way over and took up residence on the bench as well. Trying to be polite, I slid down the bench to make room for them. This may not have been a good move—I think it showed weakness, or something—because the pack of teenagers, all of them larger than me and dressed like wanna-be thugs, then decided it would be a fun game to keep scooching, forcing me farther and farther down the bench. The next thing I knew I was on the concrete, the German hooligans were all laughing hysterically, and it was all I could do to stand up and walk away before the little bastards saw me cry.

As I meandered around the Marktplatz and the streets surrounding it for the next twenty minutes, doing my best to look tough and purposeful so as to avoid further bullying, I couldn’t help but think about what a perfect analogy this encounter was for my second week in Germany. I’m me in this scenario, of course, and the bench represents my “life” here in Frankfurt: the job I’m supposed to be doing, the connections I’m supposed to be making, the experiences I’m supposed to be having. The hooligans, then, play the part of all of the worries, uncertainties, self-doubts, self-reproaches etc. etc. etc. that, over the past week, have been crowding me closer and closer to the edge.

Yesterday I hit the concrete—literally and metaphorically. 

I’ve heard it said that travel abroad is as important for what it teaches you about yourself as it is for what it teaches you about other places, and I’ve certainly learned some things about myself over the past two weeks, most of which can be conveniently summed up in the observation that I am a very “young” twenty-two-almost-twenty-three. In my life up to this point, I have been fortunate enough that there have been very few things that I have had to worry about, and very few things that I have been responsible for. Now, in the space of just two weeks, all of that has completely changed. I now have complete responsibility: for myself— for my finances, my food, my shelter and my health— and for my job as an English Teaching Assistant.

In other words, I have come to the realization that I have a lot of growing up to do and, unfortunately, essentially no time in which to do it.  It’s like I’m a juggler who has only ever juggled with two or three balls and now has to learn how to keep six or seven bowling pins in the air. As of right now, I have managed to drop every last one of those bowling pins. 

So here I am, flat on the concrete, tailbone bruised, surrounded by bowling pins. The question now, of course, is what do I do next? Do I give up juggling altogether? Run away and hide from the jeering hooligans and vow never to go near that bench again? Or do I pick the bowling pins back up and start throwing them again—maybe adding them in one at a time this time as opposed to all at once, at least until I get a feel for the rhythm? Do I pick my self up and sit right back down on that bench because screw those teenage assholes, I was sitting there?

Clearly, the correct response is both C and D. But I would be lying if I said A and B weren’t tempting possibilities. I have a credit card for use in emergencies—from my parents, a reminder that I’m not actually as on my own as I like to/hate to think I am— and there was a moment last night when I gave very serious thought to using it to buy a plane ticket back to Ohio. There were several moments, actually, a long string of them. It was a vertiginous experience, coming that close to cashing out / pulling the plug / pressing the self-destruct button / whatever other metaphor you can think of for giving up. And then, at what seemed like the last possible moment, changing my mind.

As I said before, I have some growing up to do, and some mistakes that I need to take responsibility for. I haven’t been proactive enough about getting started at my schools, I haven’t asked questions or sought advice when I should have. I have let the fear of doing something wrong cow my into doing nothing—which, in this context, is maybe about a hundred times worse than doing something blatantly wrong. The teenage hooligans didn’t just push me off the bench, I let them push me. And now I’m going to stand up, brush myself off, and sit right back down again.