My Search for a Quieter Culture
Last week, a seemingly simple task turned into a week-long saga that became an unexpected mirror reflecting the pace and pressures of life in the USA. Changing my name after marrying Andras revealed something larger: what I truly seek now is peace and the ability to slow down.
The Antiquated System
When Andras and I decided I would return to my maiden name, we didn't expect the bureaucratic hurdle waiting for us. Legally, I was forced to choose between keeping my previous married name or taking his. Washington state law, in all its antiquated glory, required me to spend an extra $306 and go to court just to request the name I was born with.
This was necessary because I had kept my previous married name after my divorce to maintain the same name as my children. Now the state required me to pay more to reclaim my original name.
I was nervous heading to the courthouse, even though I had no real reason to be. The judge granted the request, and I was told the official paperwork would be ready on Monday.
The Bureaucratic Gauntlet
My plan for Monday was tight: pick up the paperwork, update my driver's license, and file with Social Security.
Monday arrived. The driver's license office was closed. I managed to drop off my name change documents at the Social Security office. One task down.
Tuesday brought renewed hope. Excited to finally see my new name on a license, especially as I want my master's degree to reflect my true name, I rushed to the driver's license office. I was thrilled to wait only a few minutes. Then came the gut punch.
I couldn't get an updated ID until Social Security officially processed the name change. With deadlines looming for notarized and apostilled copies needed for our move, I wanted to scream. We've been married a month, and the paperwork is still a roadblock.
Tuesday wasn't a total loss, though. While I dealt with the driver's license disappointment, I managed to send in my application to change my name on my passport. Even that simple task took two hours of struggling with proper printing and formatting, but we got it done. The contrast of this small victory against the bureaucratic wall only intensified my frustration.
I drove the thirty minutes home, feeling my blood pressure rise. This marked the third trip to Shelton in one week.
The Epiphany
As quickly as the frustration set in, a sudden, powerful realization hit me while stuck in traffic.
Here I was, in my own car, paying for gas, insurance, and maintenance, maneuvering through traffic just to perform a simple legal task. The inability to use affordable, dependable public transportation meant I was entirely reliant on this expensive, time-consuming machine.
My internal fit about the process, I realized, was a privilege born from an expectation of instant, individualistic efficiency. Yes, the bureaucracy was maddening, but soon I'll be dealing with French bureaucracy, which I know will be even more complex. The stress I felt was a clear sign that I need to master the skill of being present and patient with things that take time. I'm ready to learn to calm down, even when faced with frustrating delays.
The Culture I'm Leaving
This whole experience underscored not just the lack of public transit, but the extreme pace of life in the USA. I've always felt anxious and a need to keep busy. While some of it may be my ADHD, I deeply wonder how much is driven by the lightning-fast expectations of our individualistic society.
I observe how people interact here. We often treat those in the service industry as people to be commanded, not as professionals providing a service. The thought of witnessing the cultural difference in France, where service workers are given more respect, is incredibly exciting. I've always disliked the way people are treated in the service industry, and I long to see how others operate in the world.
My world has been small, limited primarily to the United States. Lately, the hatred and intolerance I see toward those with differing beliefs has been taking a serious toll on my empathetic soul. In this last third of my life, I desire kindness, support, and to see how other cultures interact with their fellow humans.
Looking Ahead
The wanderlust has been with me my entire life, and now it gets a chance to see if a change in pace and place can finally calm my soul. France represents more than a new location. It represents the possibility of a different rhythm, one where patience isn't a weakness and slowing down isn't laziness.
I know the move won't be without its own frustrations. But at least those frustrations will come wrapped in a culture that values taking time, that sees rest as essential rather than indulgent. And maybe, just maybe, I'll finally learn to breathe a little deeper and move a little slower.