The Seeds of Doubt

I submitted my resignation from South Sudan about a month ago. The initial signs of relief and confidence after finally making a decision are slowly deteriorating into an anxiety-filled space of uncertainty, doubt, and a heavy-handed dose of second-guessing. It’s no secret that this post has not been the best fit for me; from a professional standpoint I never really felt competent and effective in my position. While I learned a great deal, I’m not convinced it’s something I’d chalk up as a professional success, although in many other (and probably much more important) measures of life experience, I could not have learned more—about myself, the world, and the people that make it a complicated and beautiful place. So, how are these old creeping feelings of fear and doubt resurfacing?

The long and short of it is, while I recognize that this is probably for the best, I’ll always wonder about the alternative.  I’m afraid this choice is short-sighted from a career-standpoint—that I’ll beat myself up for not sticking it out, enduring my final six months, staying with an organization that I could have continued building a career with. The easy answer is that I couldhavewouldhaveshouldhave, but the more important question I’d have to ask myself is why? Are the arguments compelling me to leave more important than the ones questioning my ability to stay? When I fast-forward to unemployment, relocating to a new city, starting my life again somewhere new, paying off student loans, finding an affordable apartment , do the opportunities replace the nagging doubts I feel about leaving, even though I’ve determined I’d probably be better-suited elsewhere? I told myself months ago that no job is worth unhappiness, or lack of fulfillment, or a non-existence of work/life balance, or consistent health problems, or, or, or,…so why the self-doubt?

I’m terrified that leaving South Sudan will disrupt a relationship that has the potential to bring me lasting comfort, understanding, companionship and unwavering acceptance….that my premature departure will be interpreted as lack of commitment, and I’ll create unnecessary distance with someone that understands me for all that I am and most importantly for all that I am not and seems to love me anyway; that we won’t be able to get back to where we are, to a space that works for us…and the distance will become too hard and in the end, destroy us.

I’m afraid I won’t be relatable to any of my friends or family back home—that our familiar reference points will be replaced by play dates and mortgages versus pit latrines and malaria, that I’ll have no ability to understand or share in the lives of the people I care about. That after a few weeks of creature comforts and relishing in the little things that make life enjoyable (fresh food, freedom of movement, the family dog, home-cooked dinners), that people will return to their own schedules, lives, priorities, and I’ll feel lost, incredibly lonely, misguided and misunderstood. I worry that after all these years of transience, I’ll spend time with my brother and sister’s kids and witness my friends as parents, and I’ll crave a family of my own, too. That I’ll realize this is the life I’ve wanted all along and it feels too late, that I’ve missed the boat, gotten it all wrong. That I missed years with my family that I’ll never have back. That my work didn’t mean anything. I fear boredom, the mundane, a lack of purpose. I’m terrified I won’t find another job that allows me to give back, feel committed, feel alive. I have feelings of abandonment-that I’m leaving my project prematurely and that the impact of my time here will not only feel inadequate, but completely worthless. I’m afraid that life will never feel so extreme again. I’m troubled that I’ll never be surrounded by people that understand me so well, and have a similar sense of purpose again. I’m afraid that the happiness I imagine when I think about returning home won’t turn out to be happiness at all. 

The Wait is Over

My year anniversary in South Sudan passed unremarkably, although notably on Mardi Gras Day, of which this irony was not lost on me (and required some serious rechanneling of mental energy not to be consumed by it). For months, I’ve been setting soft deadlines for myself to get through the next snippet of time, the next R&R, the next reprieve from the continued stress that has become the norm here. What I’ve realized recently is that while I may be adapting and adjusting to maintaining some sort of functionality here, the mindset of waiting just doesn’t offer me any comfort or respite from my current life circumstances. Waiting to have more energy to exercise, feel healthier, less exhausted, waiting to drink less and sleep more. None of these things are going to miraculously change in the coming days, weeks or months, so I either need to embrace them, accept them and learn how to manage, or walk away from this place.

And while things are challenging-relentlessly so at times-I am trying to shift my paradigm and recognize and appreciate what I do have here, acknowledge that in some bizarre, fucked up way, I am lucky to be here. I have amazing colleagues-supportive, understanding, patient colleagues that fill my days with hilarity and drama and are able to relate to me in every way imaginable. I have a handful of wonderful friends that provide respite from work and can commiserate over my questions and what choices lay ahead. I have a job that forces me to problem solve, initiate, interact with a variety of different kooky characters, force myself to try and offer up my best self—my most patient and calm and understanding self—and maybe, just maybe, possibly, make a difference in the lives of some people. I need to look at South Sudan as the opportunity many of my peers will never have—the possibility to grow in impossible ways, to discover strength I didn’t know I had, to witness a pocket of the world undergoing incredible hardship and facing unbelievable challenges.

I need to stop mourning the loss of watching my nieces and nephew grow. I need to stop picturing what I’d be doing if I was living in some other city, some other job, stop glancing at the calendar and imagining myself at Jazzfest or the Thanksgiving table or my niece’s birthday party. I need to accept the life choices I’ve made and allow myself to be fully engaged in them—not just focus on the next post, the next trip home, the next job, but really force myself to be here, really be here and take it for what it is. I have to let go of the notions of what path my life could have taken had I done things differently a decade ago, or five years ago, or five months ago. In the simplest of terms, I need to be present. Live fully. And for the love of God, stop questioning myself.