One Year On in Ireland

One year ago yesterday, I opened the dining room curtains. I took this photo:

Every morning since, I open those curtains. And every morning, Helen and I say:

                      We live here!

That first morning we headed out the drive, through the gate, turned left, and walked down the slip where I took this video:

Here is the view from the second floor of the rectory, Helen’s office. She does get distracted:

The breath-taking beauty—we knew about that already. The craic at the pub, we were sure we’d find it. The music—we anticipated that it would be all around.

There have been lovely surprises, as well:

• Both of us, our blood pressure readings dropped twenty points the first week we were here.

• We talk with our neighbors every single day. We go for a walk and spend it in conversation. There is a man whose sheep and cows live in the pastures surrounding the rectory. We wave and he waves every time he passes on his tractor. If we are in the lane, he often stops to talk . The other day, he pulled up in his car. He had to apologize for the time he passed by in a hurry. He wanted us to understand why he didn’t stop. He was on his way to get the vet.

• As seniors, we have free public transit.

There are curiosities as well:

• In the US, Episcopalians occupy a religious space between Protestant and Catholic. The Protestant denominations are thin on the ground here. So there is no between. We are Protestant—disconcerting for the both of us who were raised Roman Catholic. We think of ourselves as a different flavor of Catholic. But not here.

• The utilities were a mystery. Our first night, we had no idea how to turn on the heat. A month in, we finally asked a friend to come over with her son-in-law to show us how to turn on the oven.

• The coffee shop plays country western music, every single day.

• Though the Republic is culturally a Catholic nation, it is a secular state. Churches are empty. Clergy are in short supply. That was my entry into the country, as a professional filling a position that could not be filled within the EU.

And it’s not all fun and games.

• Getting a driver’s license is hard—for the Irish as well as for immigrants. My permission to drive on my US license expires in eight days. But I will not receive an invitation to apply for a date to take my driving test for another two months.

• Everybody wants to talk about US politics. Ireland and the US have been friends forever. I’m in the coffee shop right now, and a woman was just reflecting on how the Irish used to have a phrase. If there was something to be admired, like—even a lovely view, they would say, That’s so American! Now they just shake their heads. But still they want to talk about US politics. Everywhere we go.

• The mental health issues I had in the US, yeah, they came with me. They took up no space at all in my luggage. Only, my therapist didn’t come with them. I’m raw-dogging my anxieties over here. The mental health system barely exists. It took months to get my ADHD meds, just when I had so much to do and really really needed them.

Change is hard, even when it is desired. In my seventh decade, every day being confronted with something else that I don’t understand, don’t know how to do, don ‘t know how to read in another person’s behavior, don’t know what I don’t know—is hard.

I read substacks by other immigrants and find similar issues. Do tell me about immigrants’ substacks that I can subscribe to. We learn from one another.

The isolation that some immigrants experience, that lead them eventually to seek out other immigrants and turn them into expats, I do not experience. I am blessed to be part of the church. I have a community and a place within the culture. I speak the language, understand the holidays, and even know how to pray the rosary when I join the ladies at St. Mary’s on a Sunday I have off.

My recommendation to other immigrants — join. Don’t stay a tourist. Become a regular at the coffee shop and the pub. Go to the county fair and the fund-raisers and the knitting group. Contribute. Go to church. Learn how to pray the rosary.

Join.

That’s it for now. One year on in Ireland. In my fourth quarter—leaving it all on the field.