It’s incredible to imagine
that I have been away from the continent of Africa for a year already. Some
days, I feel like I just left. So many things about that place had become so
familiar, and in many ways, yes. I miss it dearly. The travel bug has not left
me completely, but it has certainly taken a snooze. I have mostly been amazed
by how quickly the time has passed, and while reflecting back on this calendar
year, it appears in my trusty little Moleskine planner that I did not achieve
much at all, I do feel like my journey has continued and I am in a much
different space than I was last September. As far as achieving the basic goals
of my return to the U.S., I’d say I’m faring pretty well. I am healthy. I am
healthy. I am healthy. I have spent an incredible amount of time with family
and friends. I am gainfully employed again after six months spent in my
slanket, watching countless episodes of Game of Thrones, Dexter, and Downton
Abbey. I feel more balanced than I’ve felt in years.
I have shared immeasurable
giggles with my nieces and nephew. I have hugged them, shared meals with them
and enjoyed fresh air with them. I have tucked them into bed after movie night
and seen school recitals. I have swung in the park and glued Rudolph noses on
reindeer; I have cut the crusts off sandwiches and shared my fashion opinions. I
have given creative license to Halloween costumes and snuggled into the couch
reading books. I have even made it to a few birthday parties. It has been
glorious, and I am so grateful that I had that time to get to know the
hilarious little people Ella, Caitlin, Jesse, Ansley, Josh, and Avery are
becoming. It’s pure magic.
I’m incredibly grateful for
the patience and support of my parents, treading cautiously when my mom
suggested things like, “Are you planning on getting out of your pajamas today?”
or, “You went to TJ Maxx again?”…knowing me well enough at this point to give
me the space and time I needed to process and not pressure me into
decision-making, life choices, or adult-like responsibilities like rent and
taking daily showers. They listened to countless hours of job-hunting
frustration, shared advice about marketing my skills and networking, and
sympathized when I didn’t hear back from potential employers. They helped me
mend a broken heart. They never gave up on me. We cooked. We weekend movie-matinee-ed. We drank a lot of coffee. I was happy to be home to celebrate
the 60th birthday of my beautiful mother, and spend random weekday
mornings meeting my Pop-Pop for breakfast at his favorite half-way point diner.
It was my first birthday, Thanksgiving, and Christmas I had been home for in
almost a decade. I traveled and traveled, reconnecting with great friends,
seeing new parts of this amazing country, giggling over old times, meeting
children and spouses and family pets. I costumed and glittered and shimmied my
way through the streets of New Orleans for my first Mardi Gras in three years. I
was able to attend numerous weddings in a calendar year—another thing I have
not accomplished since I was probably 25. Incredible stuff, this reconnecting
with people you really care about. Truly, a gift.
My family will tell you, this
past year was not all sunshine and rainbows. I had some very low days. Very,
very low days. I questioned my decision to leave humanitarian work and Africa.
I underestimated the time, effort, and complexity of the domestic job market,
and felt completely defeated that after years of difficult placements and
overly-challenging jobs, I could not secure a gig. I worried that I’d settle
for something just to have a job, a function again, only to hate it (and
myself) for not doing what I love. I constantly ping-ponged over the cities I
would consider laying down some roots. I hated myself for fumbling through
another failed relationship, and the loneliness that resulted when I compared
myself to my happily-married peers. I wondered why after all the changes I had
made, all the risks I had taken, I still woke up every morning feeling like everything
was wrong. Everything.
And then suddenly,
miraculously, things changed. I was offered a job in Baltimore doing work with
refugee youth, which despite the day-to-day insanity of it, I love. It’s
certainly not boring; I’m learning new things every day, and I’m surrounded by
people from all over the world who have overcome incredible struggles to be
here. It is humbling and inspiring on a daily basis, and I love that I have
something to give back. I have wonderful friends that fill my social calendar
with BBQs, cultural events, quirky Baltimore city festivals and creative
outlets. I have recovered from my break-up and come out stronger and more
self-aware on the other side, and have allowed myself to open up to someone and
something new. I am two hours from most of my family. I am a phone call away
from my siblings. I drive home every day at a reasonable hour in my little
Yaris hatchback and eat delicious food and visit with friends and watch TV when
I want and don’t need to check in with 20 housemates if they need the car. Life
is good, just like the bumper stickers say.
