One Love, One Life

Two weeks ago, I had the undeniable pleasure of spending a week in Nairobi for a workshop for the Fellows living in Eastern and Southern Africa. Not to fast-forward through the work, but the big treat was seeing my fellow fellows again-listening to how everyone has been doing, what projects they’ve been working on, and sharing stories over some delicious food and wine and simply being together. It made me realize I’m not alone in my doubts, my questions, my apprehensions about this work, and also reminded me how wonderfully amazing my fellow fellows are. The workshop itself was actually pretty fantastic. We had sessions to refresh and improve our knowledge on things like budgeting, financial systems, proposal writing, and also had ample opportunity to meet regional staff, feel connected to the work everyone is doing, and regain a bit of momentum for the remainder of the year.

Having this shindig in Nairobi was just the icing on the cake, as that town is essentially the mecca of all things ridiculously awesome. It offers everything possible to the Westernly starved expats: shopping malls, spas, good wine, amazing restaurants, great clubs, hip youth culture. Basically everything that Mwanza lacks (although I love you Mwanza-no hard feelings). We shared Thanksgiving dinner together at a delectable Italian restaurant, where I stuffed myself with pork wrapped in pork (otherwise known as bacon), garlic mashed potatoes and creamed spinach. Combine that food coma with a few nights of sushi and an afternoon of detox massage, and all I can say is, life is good. Really, really good.

So, inevitably, after a few days with this incredible crew, assisted by my old friends beer and wine, I couldn’t help but notice a nagging discussion that kept creeping its way into conversation-a discussion that seems to be following me around the globe, or more accurately is most probably eating away at my brain: loneliness, partnership, marriage, and kids. Here we were, discussing where we may end up next year at our posts-Sudan? Afghanistan? Haiti?...and wondering how and if we’ll ever meet someone in such a place. Does it really have to be one or the other? Can’t we have this lifestyle, do this type of work, and STILL find someone? Now, I don’t want it to sound like we’re a bunch of sorry saps sitting around drinking and feeling sorry for ourselves for being single, but it does seem to be the hot topic these days. Here I am, sharing a meal with an unquestionably phenomenal group of women and men, and most of us are riding solo. I mean, REALLY phenomenal people. Well-educated, attractive, hilariously funny, compassionate, well-adapted people. And I’ve found that the older I get, the more panicked I become. All expats suffer the same loneliness, isolation, disconnection from friends and family back home. So our friendships are formed quickly and without pretense. We are quick to share and let our guards down. This is one of my favorite perks of this kind of lifestyle. So how is it so dang hard to meet somebody? We have similar interests, goals, world views, yet here we are…passing the time with whoever we can, just waiting for that magical person to come into our lives.

And so, of course this thinking always brings me back to my eternal question about the sacrifice. Is it worth it to be the absent aunt, the absent daughter, the absent friend, the absent partner to bounce around the globe? And wouldn’t it be oh-so-nice to have somebody to share these experiences with? Luckily, I’m not one of those women whose body and heart are aching for motherhood. But I definitely have my days where I wonder what if I had made different choices…if I had stayed in that relationship longer, or this city longer, would I still be where I am today? I’m also not one of those girls who has been picturing her perfect wedding since she was 12. It’s just not me. But I also can’t say I ever expected to still be single at 32. So where does this leave me? I honestly have no idea. I know that I don't want to wake up one morning as a 40 year old woman, and realize that it was all for nothing, that my life feels empty because I don't have a partner and kids, and that it's too late. I know that this sounds really defeatist, but it's what goes through my head on a pretty regular basis these days. I guess all I can really do is continue to do what I’m doing, and hope that one day not too far down the horizon, I’ll meet that perfect person who is everything I ever imagined them to be.