I was at the home of one of my teachers who I am quite fond of and her mother was coaxed into telling fortunes from the grinds in a cup of Turkish coffee, which is a popular form of fortune telling here. I don’t usually subject myself to these things, since they conjure up memories of my mother’s friend, Mrs. Saks, who told fortunes with cards and would periodically come to the house to read my mother’s fortune. I mean, as kids we are all somewhat fascinated with guessing the future, but I have enough trouble reconciling the past and dealing with the present these last few decades to worry too much about the future. I just always figure it will take care of itself.

Anyway, back to the coffee cup. Her mother was telling our fortunes, the three of us teachers there, and so I went along with it and had mine told, too. I really don’t remember the details except one sentence: that there was a weight on my heart. I think she suggested I go to a church and light a candle to pray for it to be lifted, which, I must confess, I did yesterday while waiting for my barber to finish eating at both his and my favorite restaurant so he could give me my monthly haircut. So I guess you could say I knew there was truth in that statement because I have been feeling a weight on my heart for quite some time now.

Interestingly I also had the second conversation with Mete, the director of my college, yesterday in the garden while I was on break from my class. He sat next to me on the bench I was occupying and asked me what was wrong. This is the second time he has asked that in about a week’s time. He wanted to know why I was so sad lately and asked what was troubling me. Usually I avoid answering questions like that, make a joke, or get vague on people, but yesterday, I don’t know, his concern came right after a student I like a lot sat and asked me why I was always alone and did I feel out of place here in Turkey. And yes, I said, I did. And I also told Mete that many things were troubling me but one in particular was that I was so misunderstood in this country and so felt out of place. I paraphrased Clarence Darrow which caused me to go back to my old notebook and get the quote right to post later that day. He seemed to understand and asked who was misunderstanding me and I, of course, feeling somewhat vulnerable, answered honestly everyone in this country, including the people at this college. People here just don’t seem to get me right.

Another teacher, one of the ones whose fortune was also told last Saturday, and who is the closest thing to a friend I have here in Istanbul, keeps reminding me that we foreigners are always misunderstood here (she’s a foreigner, too) because Turks don’t understand the concept of friendship between people, especially between men and women, the old and the young, foreigner and native, like Russians and Americans do. There is some sort of suspicion about it, that it has underlying reasons, a hidden agenda, say, and so can’t be real. And I came to realize once again why I miss my country these days. It isn’t actually the country but my friends there, both old and young, male and female, former classmates, colleagues, students, staff who I’ve loved as a friend and who have loved me as one in return. The many who have not thought there was anything unnatural about the attention and support I gave them. The many, who unlike the people here, appreciate and value a person like me and who I taught so much to, learned so much from, for friendship is always a two way street.

So this weight that has been laying on my heart for quite some time now will most likely never be lifted as long as I am away from the very people who can lift it. And yet to return, from this self-imposed exile, is not an easy thing to do. For there was betrayal back there, jealousies, pettiness, that has left a bitterness that still exists in my heart, too. I’ve dealt with pettiness and jealousy before and I’m tired of being judged by people who don’t read books, experience poetry, listen to great music, appreciate art, go to foreign films, are not open to the world beyond their own cultures and their limited, provincial minds.

A dilemma, I guess, and one I’ve been trying to work through for what seems like months now. Perhaps I am destined to live with this weight on my heart for I have to admit sadness is not exactly alien to me. Candles will probably not help, nor will I expect people to change here, nor will I. I am, as I’ve often told people, and who my old friends will admit to being also, a dinosaur just lumbering along, looking for that patch of ground where I can lie down and find peace. I thought it might be in Europe somewhere, and it still might be here yet, but most likely it will not be among these people, or at least not the ones I know now.

And so I must learn to bear it as best I can, forget these narrow-minded people who are mostly around me, and take some solace in the fact that I can be peaceful in my neighborhood, can find peace when I travel, can find peace in a good book, in the completion of a good piece of writing, in a meal I’ve cooked, at a restaurant where the waiters know my name. All that may not lift the weight, but I’ve been carrying this weight around for a long time now, and only lack the companionship, the friends who would let me forget it momentarily in good conversation, a glass of wine, and laughter through the night.

If people can’t see me for who I am, but suspect me of somehow being less than honest, impure in my motives, than they are not worth talking to, spending time with, giving attention and encouragement to. And I say the hell with them. I just don’t have that many years left to squander on people too blind or dumb or narrow-minded to appreciate what I have to offer. Life is becoming increasingly short and thus precious for me and I place too much value on what I am to waste it on the undeserving. So I’ll pull back from those who can’t tell the difference between fool’s gold and the real thing and seek out kindred spirits like those I left behind in the US when I came here. I know, having spent two hours in a deep, fulfilling conversation with a man I hope to be doing more with in the future, that other dinosaurs like me still exist in the world and other young people are still open to partake of what we have accumulated over the years.

Those of you who know me from my LA and NY days, who know of how I’ve always tried to expand horizons of others from my time with the Boy Scouts to the bookstore through my work with my beloved immigrants to now, know the moral code I try to live by and the price one pays to live by it, know who and what I am. And, of course, it strikes me as ironic that I am so misunderstood when all someone would have to do is read the books I write, or read the personal pieces I write here on this blog about my life to know I have spent my whole adult life trying to help people without expecting very much, apart from an occasional nod of appreciation, in return. My character is demonstrated by what I have done, is reflected in the prose style I have developed over the years, is, therefore, in deed as well as words. There is no mystery to who I am, nor to my motives in doing what I do. I am that part missionary, part maverick who was branded as such by those who got to know me all my life. And those of you who have read these personal pieces on this blog and have come to understand and identify with this pull and push between the missionary and the maverick can comprehend why a weight can lay heavy on one’s heart.

But I must learn to look past these times toward another future. And if I can’t create the friendships here that I have back there than maybe it will be time to reconsider returning. I just know I’m no longer happy where I work because of changes in policies and the misunderstandings of those I work with which leads me to remembering what my Uncle Mike once said, when you don’t like your job, you either change it into one you can like or you change jobs. That’s a thought to contemplate but for now, though, I’ll just focus on the week’s vacation I’m taking as of sunrise.

So I’ll go off to Italy tomorrow, with a few good books to keep me company, to eat the food I grew up with, to sit on balconies of the hotel rooms I’ve reserved with views of the sea, to listen to stirring music in an opera house, to visit my great grandfather’s home, to see great art, walk ancient streets, be surrounded by a people with warmth in their hearts who will not judge me, and remember what I have learned about life: you take whatever joy you can find when you can, where you can, and however you can. And the hell with the rest.