Living in a Cage

For the past five or so days, I’ve been unusually cranky and irritable. Maybe it’s the heat, or maybe it’s just that I’ve not been sleeping well and have been really tired. Maybe it’s the frustration of not being able to get essential things done without help, or maybe it’s not having any hot water at home for 12 weeks (and counting). Maybe it’s stress: work stress, physical stress or stress of some other sort.

I spent a lot of time yesterday thinking about this. It was Saturday, and I was physically and mentally exhausted, so I never left my apartment. Mostly, I slept – something I clearly needed. But I also tried to do some writing, and I did a lot of thinking.

The Realization

Repeatedly while I was trying to think, I found my contemplation interrupted by a variety of distractions. Someone’s stupid yappy dog was “yapping” outside (as they often do), and shortly after that, a car alarm went off (as they often do). Then there was the sound of voices outside my window: people sitting, talking and laughing on the bench outside the entrance to my building. At least they weren’t drunk – that would come later.

A number of times, the metallic door at the building entrance was slammed shut, and there was the sound of footsteps up and down the staircase. And of course there was the ever-present sound of cars on the main street: the simple whoosh of cars going by, honking horns, loud and irregular engines, and the unmistakable screech of bad brakes on marshrutkas (buses).

These are the sounds of life in a city, the sounds you have to expect with people all around you. And that is the problem, or at least part of the problem: I was not made to live in a city.

I got to thinking about a post I wrote almost exactly a year ago entitled, Just a Fond Memory, in which I compared my Kharkiv environment to the life I used to have in the Colorado mountains. Reading the post, I realized what has been eating me; it’s something I’ve realized before: living in Kharkiv sometimes makes me feel like I’m stuck in a cage… or a prison.

I’ve always been a pretty adaptable person. This is why living in a different culture is not really much of a problem for me. Whether in Japan, Peru or Ukraine, my fascination with the differences in culture and people, and recognition that we have more in common than not, has always more than compensated for any cultural discomfort.

So it’s not about living in a foreign country. For me, that’s a piece of cake. But living continuously – with no break – in a foreign environment… that’s the problem.

A Country Boy Out of His Element

For me, a city is a foreign environment. If I was stuck in Chicago, Boston, Paris or any other big, noisy city, I know I would feel pretty much the same. It’s only slightly worse here in Kharkiv, which is probably a little more intrusive on a person’s peace than most North American or Western European cities (though, I’m sure, far less than places in many other parts of the world). I'm sure I would completely lose it if I had to live in some pit of swarming humanity like New York, Los Angeles, Mexico City or anyplace in China or India.

I’m a country boy. I’ve loved the natural peace and quiet of the Colorado mountains and forests since I first met them. And I’ve found similar comfort in wild, natural places like the coast and forests of Maine, the Monterey Peninsula and the hills of Arroyo Seca, the Peruvian Andes, and any number of secluded forests, shorelines, plains and pastures I’ve discovered in my travels.

My soul craves the peace and quiet of the natural world, especially a mountain forest of pines and aspens. There is an energy in it that recharges me, lifts my spirit, and renews my sense of purpose. It helps me maintain some sense of equilibrium and not lose my sanity in a hectic, overpopulated and often insane world.

I need it!

But in Kharkiv, I don’t get it – not ever. The city parks are always crowded with people who never seem to pay attention to where they are going. And what passes for “nature parks” in Kharkiv are also too crowded or trashed to feel like you are in a truly natural environment. 

I occasionally go bicycling in what’s called the “forest park” near my home, and it’s impossible to really feel like you have “gotten away from it all” when you see bottles on the ground, pass by so many other people and often still hear the sounds of cars from nearby roads.

There may be some forests and other natural places outside of the city, but I haven’t seen them. Having no personal transportation, it’s nearly impossible. Four or five years ago, I went on an excursion to a place outside of the city that was sort of a botanic garden, but there were a lot of other people there too. It just wasn’t the same.

The Transportation Quandry

I guess the culprit is lack of personal transportation. I don’t have a car and don’t drive here. I am limited to the places I can go on foot, on bike or by bus, subway or taxi. And that is a huge limitation! My world here consists of the same streets, the same stores and cafes, the same offices, the same places, the same sights and sounds – day after day. The overall square area of my regular travels is relatively small, but it wouldn’t matter much if I expanded to other parts of the city – it’s all about the same.

In the U.S., no matter where I lived, I could just jump into my truck and head off to the mountains or the shore. When I lived in the Denver metro area, I did that regularly. I went camping in the mountains often from spring to autumn. And when I lived in Massachusetts for a couple of years, I did the same: up to Maine or out on Cape Cod. It was important to put the crowds, traffic and noise behind me and spend at least a few days with nature.

That kind of escape was like a release valve to vent off the stress of work and everyday life. It was essential. When I moved to the mountains, it was even better because I spent most of my time in nature, only venturing into the city frenzy to work, shop and a few other things.

To be honest, during that time, the scale sometimes tipped a bit out of balance toward being a bit too alone, and I have written about the problems of living alone in the post, Living Alone. But overall it was far better than feeling constantly surrounded by madness.

I haven’t been out of my Kharkiv cage since I returned from 10 days in Switzerland in early May. It’s not as much of an issue in winter, but in good weather, the need to get away becomes like an irresistible pull on the soul, like gravity, a bird’s urge to migrate, or the need to breathe. The longer I feel cooped up here, the worse it gets.

This year, I thought I might have some opportunities to get away, but it hasn’t happened, and it’s apparent now that it’s not going to. I am going to have to just find a way to deal with it for another month until I leave Ukraine for a periodic visit to… Colorado.

Relief is Coming

If I can survive the next four weeks, I’ll jet off to the USSA, where I’ll have an opportunity to really get away from it all in the Colorado mountains. To make it even better, we’re going to have a family getaway to Steamboat Springs, a beautiful resort town in the rugged mountains of north-central Colorado.

I’ll be out of my cage and free to roam the mountains, as a mountain lion spirit should. That will be a sorely needed salve for what has been ailing me, and I plan to take full advantage of it. Hopefully it will be enough to carry me through the fall and winter back in the confines of Kharkiv.

But after that, I think something will have to change. Either I’ll have to find a way to be more mobile and independent in Kharkiv, or else I’ll have to make a move. I know that I won’t be able to stand another summer in a cage.

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