My first thought when I stepped off of the plane in Amman, Jordan, ironically enough, had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that I was in Amman, Jordan. There was no cliché--never excitement, or feelings of the impending grand adventure and life changing moments that I’d expected. No, my feelings were significantly more grounded. All I wanted was to make it through customs, grab a cab, and make a bee-line for the hotel. A twenty-four hour flight can do that to anyone.
Thirty-three hours later and on a surprisingly comfortable couch in the lobby of my hotel, the awe has still yet to set in. In fact, I almost feel as though it won’t come at all. Instead I’m experiencing a profound curiosity of everything around me. Everything perplexes me about this city: Do all of the cabbies drive at 130 kilometers an hour? Are those strange looks that I get whenever I walk into an elevator because I’ve violated some type of secret, underground elevator etiquette? That car is actually going to hit me, isn’t it? And why are there six cell phone stores on the same block corner? The questions are never-ending. Everything is new and curious and infuriatingly comfortable.
After months of meticulous planning, after consulting every reliable source that I could get my hands on (Wikipedia, Google, and the like…) I am still entirely unprepared for this experience, and yet, I’ve never been more comfortable. I can’t shake the feeling that I belong here. I remember being more nervous my first day at Elon, which is only 30 minutes from my childhood home, than I am to being in the heart of Jordan. It doesn’t make sense, but honestly, these things never do. I feel comfortable here. It feels more like home. And I honestly don’t know how I feel about that.