being American

This morning I went for an early swim, and as I turned my face to the sub-arctic early-morning sun on alternating breaths, I thought about yesterday and all the international press about September 11th. I'm still an American, although having been away for more than a year, it's become both a more abstract identity but at the same time all the more clear that it is definitely who I am.

I followed the stripe along the bottom of the pool and thought about my weekend, and several discussions I had about nationalities. For example, I had lunch with a Norwegian friend on Saturday, who said that she'd felt my American-ness from when we first met a year ago. I'd invited her and a few others (also Norwegian) to a party at my house, and while they accepted gladly, they were also bemused by this quick invitation. Apparently this kind of timeline is unheard-of where she is from. We also talked about what you do when sitting next to someone on a plane. Unless they are a frighteningly large Polish guy that has no sense of personal space and speaks no English (this is not a fabricated seatmate, unfortunately) I will usually make an attempt at conversation. Makes the flight go by quicker and does sometimes result in a new friend (I met my friend H that way a few months ago). Apparently this is Not Done in Norway unless under very unusual circumstances. This opinion was corroborated by an Icelander as well. Am I really that American and open or is something else at work here?

I do attribute my outgoing attitude somewhat to being in a new place and having to build a new community from the ground up. You gotta get outside yourself in general in order to make headway, especially here in the north. It's funny though, since I am the only American many people here know personally, I also find myself explaining the regional differences in the definition of barbecue, the virtues of salty movie popcorn, and the linguistic brilliance of "all y'all". I'm so accustomed to the Icelandic accent in English that whenever an Icelander does their best impression of my accent, it's kind of shocking to hear the fat-sounding a's, the prickly t's that I realize I myself say.

So by now I have concluded I am undeniably American and probably always will be, and it's likely to not matter how long I live away or how many other languages I acquire. When I started travelling abroad in college, I did my best to conceal it, secretly gleeful when someone mistook me for Dutch or German. It's obviously easier when not speaking English, but now I relish the reveal moment when someone who thought all Americans were monolingual redneck Bush lovers has to reconsider. Perhaps I have just been fortunate to have not experienced any blatant anti-American sentiment, and my optimism can be preserved.

I am planning a trip back in October and I am very curious to see how my acceptance of being American changes when I am faced with the gritty reality of the massive country and its less-than-welcoming passport control agents in Boston. I suspect that American-ness is best experienced from a slight distance.

Ship sighting: A full harbor this evening, with many of the ships I have seen in dry dock over the past few months in the quiet harbor. The whaling ship is tied up again with its brother ships (I imagine these boats to be male, not female somehow) and Eldborg and Atlas, and an unfamiliar dredger at a side dock.