It's Good To Say Goodbye

I started 2010 as a “ year without expectations.” I am ending 2010 with a hope that I never make that mistake again.

365 days ago, I really had no idea what this year was going to bring. I knew I would finish some Army training and move to Germany. That was about it.

There were a lot of blank pages in my book, and I had no idea where the ink would come from to write a full year’s worth of life. Well, the ink mostly bubbled up from endless hellish places and blotted the pages with ample heartache.

It was a hard year.

And, in a few hours, it will be over. Right now, I force myself to be thankful for the year and all the things I’ve learned. But, if I am honest with myself, I am more thankful for it to be over.

It’s time to move on. Sure, I’ve grown and discovered hard wisdom in these harder times, but now I need closure for my beaten heart.

Farewell, 2010. Take the simple optimism you robbed from me and run away.

As for 2011. I have just one expectation for the year; it will be better than the last.

And it will be.

To my friends, thank you. You were the highlights of this year. You got me through the darkness. I am so grateful.

To my family, you are my rock. When fierce winds were blowing, you were the calm peace. Your arms have always been open for me and this year, I needed their comfort more than ever before. I love you all deeply.

To God, I’m not sure what you are doing, but you are my everything. I’ll follow you where you lead, and I’ll carry my cross the entire way. Blessed be your name.

Tired Complaints

I just finished working a 27 hour shift at work. The recovery will take a few days, I’m sure, but I won’t be home for them.

Tomorrow, I am going to Venice for the weekend. After the past few brutal weeks at work, I’m ready to leave for a while. I need some fresh air and good wine. The canals and plazas in Venice should do the trick.

I’ll be back on Sunday, but only briefly.

A few days later, while most all my friends and family are sleeping in the early hours of Thanksgiving, I’ll be on a plane headed to Barcelona. It’ll be my first trip to Spain, and I’m anxious to be around a foreign language that I can understand. Maybe I’ll be able to have a conversation with a European girl for the first time in months.

I’ll keep you posted.

But for now, I’m sitting here staring at my backpack that is soon to be flung all around Europe, and I feel almost like complaining. I’m worried about my exhaustion: at this very moment, and when I get back from Spain next week. Work has been tiring. Hopscotching can be tiring too. I'm just a little sick of being exhausted.

But, tired is part of the game sometimes. And, God has me living in Europe and has given me the opportunity to travel abundantly. That blessing is pretty sweet and surly trumps the current urge to complain about the issues in my life.

So, I am tired and I will be tired, but no complaints from me.

I’m off to see new places.

Homemade Dinner

It is nice when a close friend comes to your place for a visit. It’s far better when they come to stay indefinitely.

Right now, my friend Heinz is staying with me indefinitely. His arrival here in Germany about a month ago has dramatically changed my lifestyle. Before Heinz, I would come home from work to an empty apartment and find some tv or, rarely, a book to keep me company. Occasionally, I would call a friend back in the US.

With Heinz, I come home to conversation. Companionship. Fellowship. It’s quite a different homecoming than I experienced during my first seven months here.

Before he found a job, I actually came home to a freshly prepared dinner most nights. It was exciting to unlock the door and wait for the smells to register. And, with “Don’t Ask Don’t Tell” up-in-the-air, it almost seemed like marriage.

Almost.

Now, he has a job and the homemade dinners are a little less frequent, but we manage just fine. Besides, I’d take the conversation and friendship over the food any day.

I’m excited to see what the future holds for my friendship with Heinz. We’ve already traveled to Austria and made some fantastic memories. We’re headed to Spain for Thanksgiving.

We are going to get to “do” a lot of stuff over the months ahead, but I already know that my fondest memories will be sampling the dozens of beers in the refrigerator and just conversing about life.

It should be a pretty great few months.

Thank you, God.




...........................Heinz and me at Oktoberfest in Munich....................

For Whom The Bell Tolls

I've never really understood the ringing of church bells. I mean, I understand their historic purpose and role, but nowadays I am usually baffled when I hear the clanging in the local church steeple.

There is just no rhyme or reason to it anymore.

In some towns, the bells can still easily alert you to the new hour of the day. Or, perhaps they still signal the joy of victory for a local sports team (hail to Wait Chapel). But more often than not, I am left dumbfounded as the bells ring without any obvious purpose.

Today, I took a walk though a small town near the Czech border. I meandered and eventually found a bench near a charming little church. I sat and pulled out a book and my journal. It was a lovely setting. Truly.

Then, at 6:00pm, the church bells started ringing. I paused from my reading, tilted my head back towards the blue sky, and soaked in the charm of small-town Germany. I expected the typical bell-song followed by the steady ding-dong-ding-dong indicating the six o'clock hour. I silently counted along. But, six ding-dongs quickly passed while the dinging and donging continued. And continued.

Until 6:14pm.

I wrote the exact time down because I was so amazed. Ding-dong for 14 straight minutes! Around 6:08, I began to read again but all my concentration was zapped by the bells. I couldn't make it through a whole sentence without the ringing intruding my mental focus. Soon enough, I literally started laughing out loud at the absurdity of the situation. The ringing would simply not cease!

That's when I realized that I didn't understand the ringing of church bells anymore.

But, at 6:14pm, the bells did stop ringing, and I was able to get back to my book. But, only for a few more minutes. At 6:21pm, the bells started ringing again. This time the monotonous ding-dong-ding-dong was replaced with a more vibrant ding-dong-clang-bang-dong-ding-gong-cling-ding-dong. And again, the reason was lost on me.

I closed my book. Took my feet out of the tall grass and placed them back in my flip flops and started walking away. The bells rang until I was too far to register their sound.

I don't know why those bells were ringing. And I'll gladly ask for whom they tolled because they sure weren't tolling for me.

---

As I walked away from the bells, I finally had a quintessential Cameron-moment. For those of you who know me, perhaps you know that I am a pretty introspective guy. But, it has been several weeks since I've been able to be introspective. And, it has driven me nuts.

I've been super busy these past six or so weeks. Work has presented a few big challenges (especially in August) and I've been in the field training for most of September. I'm behind in emails. I'm behind in reaching several of my own personal goals. I haven't been home in weeks. It's been crazy.

In the midst of all the busyness, I tried to break away and allow for some Cameron-time. But, it never quite materialized. My mind was so consumed with other things that I couldn't get it tuned with my heart. But today, I finally reconnected with myself.

I walked and eventually found the bench by the church. There, I read and tried to get a grip on me. Then the ringing of the bells happened. It was consistent. Loud. Obnoxious after the third minute. Laugh-out-loud-frustrating after the eighth. And, it broke my concentration.

I tried to fight through it and keep reading. Keep journaling. But, the ding-dong invaded my inner peace right before the peace took root.

Then, it was silent again. The bells stopped. I ventured once more towards the introspective threshold.

But, the bells started their ding-gong-clang-dong-cling chorus a few minutes later. I packed up and started to walk away frustrated. But, as I walked and as the ringing faded, I had my moment. I was introspective and clarity descended. Somethings clicked, or at least started to click. I felt connected to my heart for the first time in a while, and it felt great.

Maybe those bells weren't tolling for me, but I think they jostled a part of me awake again.

And I needed it.

Birthday Bonding

I was invited to a birthday party this past weekend. While perhaps this seems commonplace and trivial to you, for me it was momentous. When you move to a new country and have few friends, the invitation to (any) party brings forth a tidal wave of emotions.

Mainly, it felt good.

So, on Saturday, I went down to the garage of my apartment complex and celebrated the birthday of a 60+ year old woman with her friends and her grandkids. Excluding the small children, my presence brought the average age down at least 25 years.

Inevitably, there weren’t any fräuleins that caught my eye, but that’s alright.

At first, I sat by myself at the end of a picnic table. I drank and ate slowly because I had no idea what to do when I finished my meal. Leave? Eat more? Sit by myself with nothing to do? As I methodically chewed my bratwurst, I watched the friends and family have a good time and thought about how I missed my own friends and family.

Then, slowly, some of my neighbors came to sit with me and we struggled to explain stories, careers, and the new parking plan for the apartment building. My German often failed me, but my neighbors were patient, and we all handled prolonged silences with expertly timed sips of beer.

Even though I spoke a total of 100-300 words that night, I made an awesome memory and helped create a neighborly bond. I’ve been praying for that to happen, and it finally did.

I’m now recommitted and energized to work on my German. Maybe next year, I can be more pro-active, more Cameron-like and wish my neighbor a fantastic birthday without the look of stupidity beaming from my face.

Tourist Frustrations

I generally tend to avoid typical touristy things when I travel. But, here in Europe, you have to see Checkpoint Charlie when you go to Berlin, and it is basically a requirement to get a picture in front of the famous Hofbrahaus in Munich or Big Ben in London. It’s simply what you do.

Kodak moments are commonplace in a continent with such storied and famous history.

Yet, when you travel alone, capturing Kodak moments can be a blood-boiling ordeal.

In my recent adventures, I’ve been alone, but gave in to the urge to have my picture taken in front of a few famous landmarks. To accomplish this mission, I usually tried to spot the tourists with nice DSLR cameras to ensure that I will get a decent product.

The problem is that tourists, with a $1200 camera or a $150 camera, are the worst photographers ever.

My pictures prove it.



Here, I was standing on a suspension bridge in front of the most recognizable castle in the world (Neuschwanstein Castle). You can hardly see the castle, but my bright blonde head is surely a sight to behold. After the lady took my picture, I looked to see the result and in shock, I exclaimed, “The castle, lady!” while pointing with outstretched arms to the reason I was standing on the bridge with her and two hundred other people.



After hiking up a mountain for five hours in the Bavarian Alps, I finally reached a minor plateau and stopped to take in the overwhelming beauty. A middle-aged couple sauntered over and I politely asked them to take my picture in front of the majestic landscape. The man took my picture, but somehow decided to cut off the tops of the pristine, snow-capped mountains and compose the shot like I was a leper spreading the plague! I am still in disbelief just looking at it.

This is from a few years ago from when one of my brothers and I traveled in Peru. It's not Europe, but I always think of it whenever tourists take pictures of me that completely miss the point. It's crooked, blurry, and the beautiful Church behind us is completely unrecognizable.

Do tourists not understand why I ask them to take a picture? Is it too hard to understand that if I ask you to take a picture, I only want two things in it; me and a decent attempt to capture the reason why I am paying $20 to be hoarded around like a goat with dozens of other people who seem to like being hoarded goats.

For pete's sake, can I at least get a picture worthy of a facebook profile?!

Corn Dreams

There are cornfields near my apartment. In fact, there are cornfields in a lot of places near where I live.

At first, I had no idea that I was surrounded by lots of cornfields. I just knew I was surrounded by fields that silently painted tranquil beauty.

But now, there is plenty of corn.

It has been remarkable to witness the constant transformation of an agricultural landscape. Each week, there is noticeable change. You can actually feel it. When I go on a run, or drive my car, or ride my bike, I sense the change. I soak in the new beauty with each and every change.

The stalks are higher this week. The leaves are taking shape. The golden wheat has been cut and harvested. The soil has been tilled.

It is remarkable.

And, it is not like Kansas. No offense to people who live in Kansas, but Jayhawk fields aren’t nearly as stunning as Rhineland fields. Kansas has vast tracts of never ending cornfields. Where I live, the plants vary and the fields are smaller. Groves of trees and rolling hills give perspective, and the color combination of golden wheat, vibrant green stalks and fresh brown soil truly stirs the heart.

I never thought I’d say it, but I think it is good to live by cornfields.

And, in a couple of weeks, I think the corn may help me fulfill a childhood dream.

I’ve always wanted to run through the rows of cornfields like kids do in movies. Run and run and run. And then, lay down to catch my breath and be enveloped by giant stalks of corn and a sliver of blue sky. Then, run and run and run again.

Now, the corn is about four feet high. I’m hoping it will grow to six in a few more weeks. Then, I can run into a row and not look back. I can be hidden for a while in the midst of the cornfields of my new hometown.

Silent

I’ve been attempting to write a blog post for several days. It has been frustrating because I feel like I’ve lost my vibe and I feel like my words echo in vacant recesses.

They echo and the sound that returns isn’t pleasant.

It’s not that my inspiration is gone; Germany is still wonderfully new and I’ve recently traveled to Berlin, the Alps, and Vienna. But to share inspiration, you need words. And words, powerful as they are, sometimes aren’t enough to describe anything at all.

Sometimes a lingering silence is all that is actually enough.

So, I’ve been silent for a while. But, I hope to find my vibe and some suitable words soon.

Until then, I encourage you to take a moment and listen to your own silence. I’m sure it has a powerful story to share.

Another Day in the Army

I was in the field (again) all of last week.

There were two main differences between this field exercise and the other one I did in May.

1. This one was only a week long. The one in May was 30 really long days.

2. I got to do some cool stuff this go around. In May, I was like a newborn baby gasping for breath and wondering why I was covered in complete nastiness (metaphorically speaking, of course). I was assuming my position of leadership and responsibility in my Platoon and attempting to keep my head afloat the entire time as I "learned" my job. Being the new guy isn't easy. Plus, I was trying to rent an apartment, buy a car, and situate my entire life in a foreign country. It was an insane month.

This time it was a little different.

Here is a taste of the fun stuff I got to do:

Some friends and I got to fire some mortars/artillery. You can tell by my reaction that this was the first round we fired:



Here is me actually doing the firing:



And, I got a ride in a UH-1 helicopter (from the Vietnam era). We flew around for about an hour and watched the attack helicopters I work with fire rockets and machine guns in support of an infantry unit. It was a blast. At the end, you can see (but not hear) me say, "That's what I'm talking about! Another day in the Army, baby. WOAHHH!!"



Now, this stuff isn't my normal day to day job. But, like one of my brothers reminded me, these are the some of the perks that you don't get when you work in the civilian sector. Moments like these help motivate a Soldier to get through the grind.

And of course, the wonderful support and encouragement from most all Americans is a tremendous help too. It is a pleasure and an honor to serve you and our country.

Thanks for the support.

Embrace the Awkward

Crippling awkwardness is a common occurrence for me here in Germany. Just this week I had an encounter with one of my neighbors. He speaks no English. The most advanced phrase I can say in German is, “The girl eats a red apple.” But somehow we conversed for about five minutes.

“Conversed” is hyperbole. We stood on the staircase and survived horrendously long periods of silence together. Every 45 seconds or so, I would attempt to say something I remembered from Rosetta Stone, but I’d inevitably end up relying on using my fake laugh just to burn a few seconds of awkwardness. He would fake laugh too. And then, we’d move on to miming with large hand gestures how my car barely fits into my garage.

Eventually, I employed the universal symbol of jingling keys and we went our separate ways.

Last night, I sat around a table with Germans at this tennis club that I am attempting to join. For twenty minutes, they talked in German while I sat there like Frosty the Snowman: silent and decently cold. But soon, I was able to take part in the conversation as I made a sad face to express my condolences for Germany’s miserable performance in the World Cup and they motioned to me that they felt the US got screwed out of a win against Slovenia.

Then, we played some tennis and I actually had a good time. But, during that initial awkwardness, I wanted to leave. Really bad.

And a few days ago, I spent an abnormal amount of time in a bathroom trying to figure out how to get paper towels to dispense from a machine. Unclean people walked right by as I became frustrated at my inability to be smarter than the machine. Finally, a Japanese man came to my rescue and demonstrated the proper use of the contraption. It was awkward.

It was normal.

I’m coming to embrace moments like these. When I lived in Chile, I had similar experiences, but it took me a long time to shrug off the awkwardness and enjoy putting myself out there for ridicule, for knowledge, for friendship. Here in Germany, I’ve been trying since the beginning.

So, I have many more stories of me behaving awkwardly (…like when I accidentally spoke Spanish to a German grocery girl and got angry that she didn’t understand me).

But, I’ll save the rest for when you come to visit and make yourself look like a fool.

It’ll be fun. Trust me.

Bikes and the Elderly

There is nothing strange about seeing a little old lady walk down the sidewalk. It happens. It’s normal.

But there is something strange about seeing an 83 year old lady ride a bike down the middle of the street. At least it is strange for me.

I remember driving home during one of my first weeks here and laughing out loud as I watched this sweet looking lady with typical “grandmother grey” hair and big glasses ride her bike down the street.

She was just pedaling along with a cabbage and a cantaloupe in her handlebar basket.

Here in Germany, it happens. It’s normal.

And, I love it.

I recently got on my bike for the first time in years and rode around my town. It was sublime. I even giggled once or twice like a seven year old boy as the wind streaked through my hair and I coasted at high speeds down a hill.

I now try to ride my bike as much as possible. I ride to the local doner kebab stand. I ride for exercise. I ride to enjoy a beautiful afternoon. I’m probably going to start riding to work once or twice a week too.

Here in Bavarian Germany, there is a network of biking and walking trails that essentially connects every town. You can easily drink a cappuccino in one town, ride to the next town and eat a schnitzel, and then ride to another town for a beer and a pretzel.

In fact, I did that exact thing today. It’s a good life.

And while I was riding, I came across a few more old ladies on their bikes. It still is funny to me and I chuckled to myself yet again. But next time, I’m secretly hoping that I find myself pedaling beside a pretty girl my own age.

Maybe we’ll both be chuckling then.

How I Miss Thee

I have to admit that I’ve been doing a pretty good job over here. But, today was a major setback.

I thought about Chipotle today. It was my downfall.

I absolutely love Chipotle. To me, it is quite possibly the perfect meal. During high school and my time at Wake, I spent significant portions of my limited income enjoying the delicacy of a flour tortilla with black beans, chicken, pico de gallo, extra cheese, sour cream and lettuce (guacamole on special occasions).

Bliss.

In Germany, doner kebabs help maintain the absence of Chipotle in my life. They are tasty and cheap. In fact, I do love them. But, Chipotle holds a special place in my heart. Forever.

Now, if I can admit something else…thinking about Chipotle didn’t ruin my day. It did make me miss home and my brothers and my friends, but there is just no way Chipotle could ever ruin someone’s day. It is just too great.

The (less than) Fashionable Me

You would probably consider me a pretty straight-edged guy. I wouldn’t disagree.

I don’t dress in high fashion or have a pair of jeans that costs $70. In fact, I paid $34 for my newest pair of jeans and I searched four different stores in Virginia just to find the cheapest pair. My hair is natural and I stopped putting gel in it when I was in seventh grade.

The truth is that I like a Wake Forest t-shirt and a pair of versatile shoes. I don’t need a designer label or a “look” to make me feel comfortable in the midst of a crowd. I am me and that’s fine with me.

But, walking around Europe, I do notice that I am out of place. Granted, I am usually carrying a camera and a backpack and thus my outfit screams “tourist”, but nevertheless, no one dresses like me over here.

When I lived in Chile, it was the same way too.

People wear tighter jeans, graphic tees, and these shoes that I can’t even begin to describe (some sort of hybrid between Converse, tennis shoe, and loafer). Often, guys wear a scarf over their grungy (by design) sweaters and sport sunglasses that are entirely too large.

I walk by them, inhale their cigarette smoke, and feel slightly out of place.

Now, I do care about personal appearance and I do like to look “nice”. But, given the choice between a new trendy jacket that isn’t waterproof, windproof, and lacks an avalanche beacon, I’ll choose saving the 150 bucks and book a flight to Croatia for an upcoming weekend.

Almost Home

Next Wednesday, my driver and I will load up into my Humvee and join a convoy that will take us home. Finally.

It has been a long month for me. I came out here as the new guy and being the new guy is never easy. I’ve embraced a good deal of social awkwardness navigating through cliques and sitting down at the cafeteria table with complete strangers. It’s been fun at times, but mostly it has felt like middle school.

Was middle school ever fun?

Work has been exciting though. While I still have a lot to learn, I’m confident that I will enjoy my job. It will definitely be a challenge, but I’m excited to lead and train these Soldiers. I’ve prepared a long time for this opportunity and it is finally here. I will do my best.

When I do finally get home, I have to try to fulfill a promise I made myself. A few weeks ago, I was running in this park near my place and I stumbled across a local tennis club. The moment I saw it, I decided that I would try to join. I figure that you can easily make friends (and enemies) by playing sports. I’d take the enemies if they came with some friends.

And, of course, the travel bug has infected me and I’m ready to jump on a train to anywhere. Perhaps Austria for the Memorial Day weekend? Or Berlin?

Either way, I am almost home.

Where I Lay My Head

Currently, I am in the “field” and doing my Army thing. I know many of you have no idea what “field” means so allow me to break down the finer details.

The “field” signifies that Soldiers leave home and their Army posts to go somewhere (in the woods, large training areas, different countries, etc) in order to do simulated real-world training. While field training varies from unit to unit, it sometimes can mean sleeping under the stars for weeks while walking 20 miles each day in pursuit of a role-playing enemy. Other times, it means relocating to another facility with barracks and a cafeteria so you can wake up really early and shoot at sophisticated targets and become deadly defenders of America. Regardless of the type, in the field, Soldiers work seven days a week and have super long shifts because work is the only thing to actually do.

In my case, this field training exercise falls somewhat under the second description and is allowing the Apache helicopter pilots I work with to fly around and shoot rockets and big machine guns. Pretty neat stuff.

What is not neat is the fact that I sleep and shower in rooms with 40 other men, seven days a week.

In all honesty, I have no idea how some people can snore so loud. My ear plugs, eye mask, deep breathing techniques, and intense focus on freaking sheep jumping over fences serve little purpose here.

Thank goodness that I am a man blessed with great patience and a good dose of mellowness.

I've Got A Home

The last shipment of my belongings came in on Friday, and now my apartment is beyond cluttered. But, I don’t mind.

In fact, I’m ecstatic to have all of my stuff with me in one place. That hasn’t happened in over five years. It has been a fun process to go through boxes filled with old keepsakes and reflect on cobwebbed memories. With each box, I’m reminded anew that God has definitely blessed me. It is refreshing and reassuring.

Of course, there are plenty of boxes filled with normal things too; kitchen supplies, clothes, all of my outdoor gear, etc. With the unpacking of all of this “stuff”, I realized today that I’m beginning to settle down. Finally.

In the past 11 months, I’ve lived out of three suitcases in seven different hotels in five different states. That’s pretty much the definition of a vagabond, I think. Being a vagabond is great, and I’ll probably want to do it again at some point in my life (perhaps I’ll have a beautiful wife to journey with next time). But, it is exhausting.

And, it has exhausted me.

So, I’m glad to unpack all of my boxes and have a cluttered apartment. It is a sign that my suitcases can stay in the closet for a little while (my backpack will suffice for the upcoming weekend adventures on the continent). Soon enough, I’ll be able to finally start cooking some real meals in my own kitchen. I’ll be able to invite new friends over for a good food and cold beer. For a retiring vagabond, that is a pretty exciting notion.

But, I’m going to have to put it all on hold for a few weeks. Ironically enough, I’m packing up again today and heading out to “the field” for some old fashioned Army training. I’ll most likely be out of touch for two weeks. It will be a critical time of integration into my work and will afford an opportunity to get to know my Soldiers. I am their new leader and my leading starts now.

And while I’m gone, my apartment will still be cluttered. But, when the training is done, I get to come home. My home sweet home.

(Ok, I also need to tell this story even though it doesn’t fit the context of my blog post:

Yesterday, I was driving 98mph on the autobahn. It was thrilling. It was my last full day with my rental car and I was curious to see what a Ford Fiesta could do when given a little gas. It definitely can get into the triple digits.

But, at one point, I was driving 98mph and out of no where, this Toyota minivan zoomed right passed me. The kids in the backseat where watching some animated movie. Perhaps Nemo or Toy Story, but the van’s excessive speed made it impossible to tell.

Regardless, I got passed by a minivan…when I was going 98mph. Germany is unique, and I think I like it. )

The Community in Vomit

I recently had an unpleasant experience with vomit. A few days after arriving here in Germany, I started feeling nauseous.

Then, during a meeting with a German housing inspector, my nausea evolved into complete and utter projectile vomiting. It was bad. I heaved a subway sandwich, among other “items”, all over the floor, my shoes, and my pants. Thankfully, the inspector was clear of the blast area and his shoes were saved. I can’t speak for his sense of smell or his mental state (which must be haunted by images of acidic mush flying through the air).

In the days since, I’ve seen the German inspector a few times in random locations throughout town. He has never mentioned the incident. Nor have I. We just sort of smile and nod at each other. I think it is a special, unspoken bond we now share. Maybe he is my first German friend?

I’m hoping to make more German friends. I definitely don’t want to stay completely in the American bubble. Tomorrow, I’m moving into my apartment in town and I’m praying that it will help with my assimilation into parts of the local culture.

Getting connected is vital. Being around people is vital. For much of my initial time here, I’ve been alone. Doing errands alone, going to meetings alone, living alone. Being alone leads to loneliness, obviously. I can enjoy being alone, but I can’t enjoy being lonely.

So, I’m anxious to make some friends; German and American friends that will hopefully evolve into a community of which I’m a member. Then, if I ever get sick again maybe one of them will come over and be with me as I vomit. They’ll be disgusted at first, then they’ll laugh at me and my misfortune and it will make me laugh too. And then we’ll sit on the couch and watch tv while I drink a ginger ale and they sip a beer.

That’d be good.

Introductions

Today, I went to church for the first time since I moved to Germany about two weeks ago. I walked into this nondescript building in a town of about 450 people and realized I was about to meet every single member of the church.

There were 9 other people there.

I stood around awkwardly (thankful to have my trusty water bottle with me so I could drink and look "busy") and eventually half of the congregation came over and introduced themselves to me. We chitchatted and I told them all how I was new and had just moved to a town about 20 minutes away.

They were nice. Definitely.

But, the thing is that whenever I meet new people, I have the hardest time remembering their names. Ideally, I usually like to repeat people's names in my head 10 times or so in order to remember them. But more often than not, I look like a fool if I steal 6 or 7 seconds to conduct this exercise because I miss the inherent social nuances that imply that it is my turn to speak, raise my eye brows, look engaged, etc.

And, in the end, I just look stupid.

I eventually met all 9 people at the church and they all told me their names. Now, 7 hours later, I remember only one guy. Lee. He was a good guy and he didn't need any tricks to remember my name.

So, I'm writing this blog now and I wanted to introduce myself. You probably already know me and remember my name. I probably remember your name too. But, it never feels good to be standing there, water bottle in-hand, looking like a fool.

I'm Cameron. On this blog, I'm going to write about a variety of things; adventures in Germany, God, nature, girls, and other stuff that strikes my fancy. I hope you'll read it, and I hope perhaps you'll get something out of it. Even if it is just remembering someone's name.