i can see clearly now (sort of), part 1

No, unfortunately, I have not had a dramatic recovery of vision in my right eye. To the contrary, I haven't seen any improvement in recent weeks, and the realization that this truly may be it sight-wise for me has begun to relunctantly sink in. No, this is a "I can see clearly now" figurative kind of moment. While I was on vacation with the Big Jim, I had a revelation of how unhappy I am living in this village. There, I finally said it. And for the past month, I have been trying to figure out precisely why it has taken me so long to just be able to say it. That has been the complicated part. The general feeling that this village and me were not a perfect mix has been growing since day 1, when I walked into the village and found the first bakery to be English-run. Back then, the expat total was about 300; only three years and bit later, it has grown to a staggering 900 (and that's only counting those legally registered). I HATE that I find it near-impossible to go to a restaurant in this village and hear any Spanish being spoken, except by the waitstaff. This is partly because of the influx of foreigners but also because local long-time residents simply can no longer afford the skyrocketing prices. For example, three years ago, Big Jim and I could have a three-course meal, bottle of wine, brandy, and coffee for about 25 to 30 euros. That same meal would easily cost 75 to 100 euros today, depending on how fussy we are about the wine. In past entries, I have also written about the level of alcohol abuse common in the expat set, as well as the incessant development of the nearby countryside and the village itself. I find both of these disturbing. On any given day, it is easy to find foreign residents sitting in a cafe for 12 hours at a time, consuming 20 glasses of wine (each), and not going home until the waiters eventually close up for the day or until they are no longer capable of sitting upright. And the breath-taking vistas that originally drew Big Jim and I to the village? Day by day they are being consumed by the construction of new "luxury" shoddily built villas such that I fear in 10 years, one will be hard pressed to find an olive grove in these parts. I realize that I cannot stop the progress here (although am I a bad person for secretly wishing a giant landslide will carry all the hideous villas to the depths of the valley?), but I DO believe there better ways to go about development than the current "take the money and run" mentality encouraged by our local mayor. Another thing that has been bothering me is that I have no privacy whatsoever. On one hand, yes, it is nice to know people are looking after you; on the other, the degree of intrusion sometimes is mindboggling. Here's a recent example: one day last week, I was in the kitchen emptying the dishwasher. As I did, I was thinking to myself how bummed I am about my eye, how I stumble more often now if I am not mindful, how I now run into people in crowded streets and stations because of my lack of peripheral vision, etc. This recent depression added to PMS hormones resulted in some tears, nothing close to a sob, mind you, but tears nonetheless. A few seconds later, I was startled by a knock on the kitchen window. It was one of the expats in the neighborhood, peering in and mouthing "Are you okay"? For the love of GOD, can a person not have a minor momentary breakdown in the privacy of her own kitchen?!!!! After I assured the woman that I was okay, just hormonal, she went on her way. Knowing this village, I was probably treated with delicate gloves for the next two days: "Be nice to the American girl. She has PMS, you know, and we don't want her to cry again." But after she left, I began to think about what it was about village life in general that doesn't agree with me (besides the fact that everybody knows your business). I find the atmosphere stifling. I hated this aspect of my hometown when I was growing up, and the same emotions have resurfaced. In this village, there is a "file in line" order to the place that does not agree with me. When I have confided in friends here of my unhappiness, I have far more often been admonished than supported. When I detail the reasons of why I don't believe the village and I are a good fit, I have had people try to argue every point with me. It is though "Well, I like it here, so you have to, too!" Ugh. Additionally, I have made no friends who are aged even in the same decade as I. This is mainly the result of the village demographics. Many of the similarly aged Spanish who grew up here have fled for the cities or coast in search of better job opportunities. Clearly, with a husband 11 years older than I and a very close friend of 73 (I am 37 for the record), I am not someone who places a tremendous value on age. However, as much as I care for the friends I have made here, there are times when I long to have a chat with someone who is more close to my stage in life, who can better relate to some of my age-related challenges. I am grateful for the bits of well-earned wisdom my older friends have shared with me; however, although I realize I must seem a child to them, I do not appreciate their at-times incessant coaching, guidance, advice, whateveryouwannacallit, into my (and Big Jim's) affairs. I feel as though I have five sets of surrogate parents, and the kicker is, my own parents are not the meddling sort (thank you mom and dad). They were privy to my stubbornness early on and know all too well that me and being told what to do are not a good mix. I also miss my husband very, very much. Even though we have dealt with long separations in the past, after two and a half years of seeing his silly mug every (bloody) day, I find the 12-week breaks difficult. I now realize that I need him most of all as a leveler to all the insanity that surrounds me. And finally, I know I have hesitated sharing my unhappiness because I know how many people out there think I must live a very charmed life. And don't get me wrong: I would not trade ANY of my experiences here for anything. Had I stayed in Philadelphia, let's see, I would have been laid off from my job 15 months later as my entire department was made redundant, and I probably would have eventually had to move from my apartment when the "Real World" cast moved into the neighborhood. Yes, I miss my very good friends---and Philadelphia will always be my second home---but it was right for me to leave when I did. But the question is, now where? *************************************************** As you can see, I have had a lot going on in my head. It has taken me quite awhile to finish this post, which was written in fits and starts over the past week or so. Big Jim and I are mulling many things over at the moment, so this story is far from over. :-) To be continued.... hasta pronto, mylifeinspain