Hope for Those in a New Place: The Power of Muscle Memory

I recently moved to a new country. New house, new city, new grocery store, new car, new neighborhood. Just about every single thing in my life was new.

Entering a grocery store almost brought about a panic attack. I started at the jars of mayonnaise, paralyzed by indecision. Which one tastes best? Which one is healthiest or cheapest? What if I make the wrong choice? And then repeat that by 25 as I walked down the aisles, my head spinning, my list clutched in my sweaty hand. I didn’t know where the olives were. I didn’t recognize much of what was on the shelves. I stressed over how much chicken was supposed to cost. Once I was ready to check-out, another wave of tension flooded me as I had to remind myself of the procedure for buying my groceries. 

Then there was driving. My new country drives on the opposite side of the road as my previous country. That meant that every time I got to the car, I had to focus on which side of the car I needed to enter. If I happened to be absent-minded, I would get in, close the door, and attempt to put my key into the glove compartment. Once I did manage to successfully turn on the car, it took all my concentration to make sure I was driving on the correct side of the road. I repeatedly reminded myself of the traffic laws of my new country, knowing that my instincts would be to follow the rules of the former.

And of course, there’s not only the newness of living in a new house, but all new furnishings too. Are the light switches on the outside of the door or the inside? Where is that can opener? How do I get that new fry pan on the new stove to cook bacon without burning it? How do I get rid of these confounded ants? 

That much newness, all at once, was incredibly disorienting. It made me feel out of place and out of sorts. And I found myself having thoughts suspiciously similar to what I remember about middle school: I feel so stupid. Everyone knows what they are doing except me. They really must be wondering what is wrong with me. 

It was exhausting. All that concentration, all day long, from remembering the route to the store to picking up mail to cleaning the floors, had my brain on overdrive. A big part of me wanted to run back to my previous country, where everything felt familiar and routine and comfortable.

So it was during those first few months that I needed to remind myself, over and over, of the power of muscle memory. 

Muscle memory is defined as: “the ability to reproduce a particular movement without conscious thought, acquired as a result of frequent repetition of that movement.” Muscle memory, is, perhaps, one of God’s greatest gifts to us. It means that we can talk to our kids while driving the car, or get brilliant ideas while taking a shower. Our brain can relax in our day-to-day routines, giving us the mental space we need for learning new skills or concentrating on solving a difficult problem. 

This explains why when we move to a new country, our lack of muscle memory makes it easy to be overwhelmed and exhausted. It makes sense why we might even hate our new life, and deeply crave running back to what feels comfortable and familiar. 

It’s at this point that we must remember why muscle memory is important. Life will not always be this hard, this tiring, this formidable. It will not always feel so strange. Muscle memory assures us that if we do the same thing enough times, it will eventually feel normal and easy. It will. Trust that it will. 

A year after our move, I can walk through my house in the dark and not bump into things. I don’t have to use Google maps for every place I go. The grocery store is boring, and I automatically pick up the same type of mayonnaise. When I drive the kids to school, I know the spot where the lane ends and I have to move over, and I do it without thinking. I’m not used to every part of my new life yet, but on the whole, it’s become a whole lot easier. 

Here’s the surprise twist: My new county is the United States of America. We relocated back after 16 years in East Africa. I found that re-adapting to life here was just as challenging as moving overseas. 

So for those of you in a new place, let me encourage you: Your brain will not always feel this tired. You won’t always have this maniacal part of you that wants to run away and jump on the closest airplane to take you home. 

What is the secret? Just keep going. Keep moving. Keep doing the same things, over and over again, and wait patiently for muscle memory to kick in. Push through this weary season, because it will get better. It will. I promise. 

Tips For Your First Year

And now I will state the obvious: your first year is memorable. Whether you’re a TCK going to the field as an adult or this is your first time to live on foreign soil longer than a summer project, you will remember your first forever. Here is a bonus tip from my first year: do all that you can to avoid group flights. If you are with an agency that sends a herd of people together to the field, it’s mostly to remind you hell is real and what you’re doing is important. It’s also a secret test if you’re willing to pay the price. I’m convinced of this.

In all seriousness, you are crossing a line. To this day I think of my life as BC/AC. Before I moved to China and After I moved to China. When did I first go to China? Three years BC. When was my first niece born? Six years AC. Chances are, it will be the same for you. Your life will be marked by this year. With that in mind, I do have three tips for you:

1. Welcome to the emotional edges. Chances are you are going to experience more highs and lows this year than you normally do. For some, you will camp out on the high side feeling exhilarated, flooded with joy at the sights, sounds, and conversations. Or feel genuine awe and wonder at small miracles you used to take for granted. Electricity? A washing machine? The internet? A care package? Could life be any better?!

For others, I’m sorry to say, you might find this year being one of severe loneliness and disappointment in yourself, locals, teammates, and God.  You might be awash in hopeless over how big the task is and how little you are or in shock at things now that you can’t imagine will devastate you.

In agony, a person new to the field told me over the phone, “Amy, I just don’t think I can team with them. This is so unacceptable. I don’t know what to do.” I couldn’t image what her teammates were doing that stole her joy since she couldn’t wait to get to the field. She was undone by teammates drinking Coke at meals. U.N.D.O.N.E. by it. We returned to this conversation over and over throughout her first year and every time she was equally distressed by them.

But for many of you, you’ll be a mix of both. The highs are high, enjoy them. You are blessed to do what you do. But the lows are low. I wish I could spare you. When you feel them coming, don’t hide them out of shame. You’re normal. Get people praying for you and be gentle with yourself. It’s okay to be low. It’s not fun, but it’s okay.

2. Know you’re going to change. How can you not when the traffic is different, the views of women are unlike back home, even standing in line (hello, how different can it be? Um, very.) is unlike anything you could imagine. You might be exposed to poverty in ways that will ebb at the edges of your soul or live in a land that is so “beyond God” you don’t know where to start. You might see your home country in ways that make your heart beat with pride or make you feel shame and embarrassment and confusion.

Here’s the other thing about the ways you’ll change, you may not see the depth of it for years. Some changes will be small in terms of affecting who you are as a person. Does it really matter in the grand scheme of things how you cross the street? No. But in other more significant ways, you might find you are no longer as in sync with your home culture. This call comes with blessing and loss, doesn’t it? So, for better or worse, you’re going to change and grow. As will your friendships, your marriage, and your parenting.

3. Enjoy! If you happen to be with cynical old-hands, please ignore their grumpiness. I admit, over the years it got harder and harder to be thrilled with new teammates reporting on using a squatty for the first time!!!! (The exclamations were them, definitely not me) down to every little detail. I get it. Your bladder was full, you were desperate, it smelled, urine came out, you lived. I’m very impressed.

This is what I’m talking about. Ignore me.

My first year was pre-internet, pre-Facebook, Instagram, Snapchat, Wechat, Skype. When I returned home for a few weeks after my first year, I brought with me five full photo albums with about 1,000 pictures (Okay, there were WAY more because I glued pictures into the front and back on the wasted blank pages.). I couldn’t wait to share my life with friends and family. I’ll never forget this comment:

We get it, you ate food.

Well now. But you don’t get how exciting pudding is from a care package! Or did you see how round those tortillas were I rolled? What, you don’t like a close up of the cooked eel?

Enjoy! Take pictures of whatever you want. Be excited over . . . everything. Be moved by how much bigger and amazing God is than you could have imagined. God said, “Taste and see that the Lord is good, happy is she who takes refuge in me.” Do.

If we were sitting down chatting over a cup of chai and you ask me what I’d suggest for the year, that’s what I’d have for you. Welcome to the emotional edges. Know you’re going to change. Enjoy!

Oh and we’re glad you’re here. Truly.

~~~

What do you think of these tips? What would you add?

Here are three more posts for those new to the field: M’Lynn reminded us of the realities of team and expectation those new to the field might have. Lauren gave first-year senders and goers the freedom to go slow. And Hannah gave insights for twenty-somethings.

This post is a repost from Velvet Ashes and the image designed by Karen Huber. Velvet Ashes is running a month-long series right now for folks new to the field, check it out.