Laughing at myself

Things with my host family are going remarkably well. Each day I feel less like a guest and more like a part of the family. Everyday we eat breakfast and dinner together, and I can tell they are making an effort to make me feel as comfortable as possible. My host mom, Cathleen, has started carrying an English-German dictionary around with her. Yesterday they took me to a small lake where we had a picnic on the sand, and just as we found a word I didn't know, and she couldn't translate, she whipped the dictionary out of her bag, making us all giggle. Jule has been extremely helpful as well. She gave me a notebook to right down words I am unfamiliar with so I can remember them more easily, but I still find myself stuck most of time, butchering even the simplest German words, which is funny for everyone, I suppose.

Making a fool out of myself goes farther than language. Today, after visiting my school and meeting my teacher, Jule and I decided to get some schools supplies and new threads at H&M. Cathleen staying home meant we would have to take our bikes there. As soon as I hopped on Cathleen's adorable red bike with baskets in the front and back, I was flooded with nerves because I realized the last time I rode a bike was probably ten years ago. We headed down the street and although I was shaky, everything was fine. Just before we were going to ride under a bridge, the handlebar began moving to the left and for some reason I couldn't muster the strength to turn it back to the right (it's all a blur, to be perfectly honest). As I swerved into the road I thought to myself "This is it. After three days in Lüneburg, this is it." There was no stopping me as I flew across the street, over the curb, and landed with the bike on top of me (shout out to Jesus, Ganesh, or whoever made the street clear of cars so I could be here to tell the tale). As I collected myself, laughing wildly because I could only imagine how ridiculous I must have looked, a woman pulled up in a car to ask if I was alright. "Alles ist gut," I responded. All I was thinking was "Please leave me to hate myself." Jule realized what had happened, parked her bike, and ran across the street to check on me. "Scheiße," she said, while "Ja," was all I could reply. "Scheiße" could only begin to describe it.

As we rode away--me with a bruised ankle--I realized I wasn't that embarrassed. I should've been, considering that would have put even Molly Shannon to shame, but I wasn't. I just laughed, and that's all I'm going to do for the next nine months.