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.
