In the famous comic strip of mid-century America, Dick Tracy—tales of a dashing detective, there was a memorable character, Fly Face. Whenever I saw Fly Face, whose whole head was completely obscured by a messy swarm of black flies, I couldn't help laughing hysterically. The cartoonist's drawing of someone with such a thick cloud of noisy mental interference was an ingenious depiction of craziness. The French have a great phrase for talking about one's nuttiness, or even extreme fear: "ma bête noire" which translates as "my black beast", or less literally as "what's bugging me".
Transferring myself from American culture to Turkish culture has helped my mental health. Whatever bêtes noires I had lurking around my skull have stared me in the face here, in ways that would have never happened back in the US, even under the guidance of a skilled therapist.
Possible explanations:
Maybe there's something in the ungodly chaos here that forces me to grasp what's important in a new and different way.
Maybe talking in somewhat simplified English to others whose grasp of my language is not sophisticated makes me get to the point faster, with less embroidery and obfuscation (that word alone sounds like what it means).
Maybe the simple act of trying to get your basic needs met in a place where you don't have automatic understanding of the cultural subtexts whittles away the urge to rationalize, deny, and blame someone else for whatever you can't make happen.
Maybe because some of the societal differences are so annoying to me (like people cross-cutting me on the sidewalk), that it's forced me to discover new levels of acceptance and submission. There's nothing I can control (or certainly litigate) here—only myself and my reactions.
Maybe because it's often so difficult to figure out what's going on, I have learned to create and depend on the most basic and the most positive answer from within myself.
Neuroses can't survive in a foreign environment
Last year I met someone from France who was so riddled with her own craziness she had to leave because whatever her bête noire was so baffled her Turkish employers they just fired her. The fly-fest around her head was truly getting in her way to do a relatively simple job. A deep neurosis doesn't survive well amidst the challenges of a yabanci life.
Examples of my own personal bêtes noires I've confronted while living here:
1) Procrastination. Putting things off until the last minute, while it might be culturally acceptable here, never gained me any self-respect. I had to clean up my own act for myself.
2) Self-criticism. Castigating myself for whatever reason didn't make me more or less acceptable to anyone else, because they wouldn't have understood why anyway. I had to judge my own actions as appropriate, given how much I knew at that moment.
3) Deprivation. Thinking that I didn't have enough and feeling desperate that I wouldn't get what I need. Seeing REAL deprivation amongst the poorest of the poor in Istanbul put a new twist on what I thought I had, didn't have, could or couldn't get.
4) Obsession. Now I really see what stuff grabs me by the ankles, for better or worse. If it's hurting me, it becomes a real sore spot; consequently, I'm compelled to make a decision about it. If it's productive activity, I give myself bonus points.
Several times, while dining at restaurants, I've found hairs (not my own) in my food. While it may have affected my appetite level on the moment, I know that if I complain, I'll most likely be met with a waiter or manager who shrugs and says the equivalent of "c'est la vie" or perhaps "that's YOUR hair, Madame" (even though the colors don't match) in Turkish. I haven't gotten sick from any of that food, so regardless of how cavalier his response, my choices are simple: eat it or don't. But, importantly, for my Western brain programmed with hell-bent retribution for this hygienic infraction, I accept the new reality: I Will Not Die From This.
A British friend of mine here, an English teacher, told me she had a street-side epiphany the other day. She said, "I was walking around with a scowl on my face for months because I didn't want to be stared at so much. Well, I just realized that not only am I creating extra wrinkles between my eyebrows, but it didn't stop people from staring. So I decided to wear a smile. If they look, so what. I'm much happier now." Her new reality became a real mood changer, as well as a beautifier.
OK, having almost cleared the squadron of flies buzzing 'round my head, I now pronounce myself relatively emotionally sound...that's until I see the dizzying array of gorgeous baklava in window of the pastanesi. I was feeling deprived, so instead of procrastinating, I gave into my obsession for pistachio & honey goodies. I'll deal with the self-loathing tomorrow. Meanwhile, I'll just use bug spray to clear out the flies in my thinking.