It's Beginning to Register

I recently moved back to my beloved New Orleans, after another two years in Africa, and a lovely 12-month stint enjoying the quirky, grittiness of Charm City. While I can’t say that I had ever really committed a considerable amount of time dreaming about my life trajectory, I guess I’m also surprised to see where I am at the ripe old age of 35. The longer I’m back in the states, the longer I recognize that my life choices haven’t necessarily meshed with society’s view of where I need to be. I’m working at an incredible school, with unbelievably dedicated staff and amazing leadership. Yet, when I glance around, most educators are a decade younger and securely exploring their mid-20’s. It makes me beg the question, “What the f#$k have I been doing with my life?” After six months of unemployment and lounging on my parent’s couch in my snuggy, waiting out the winter months in hopes of the perfect job, I found that “putting my time in” in seemingly soul-destroying, emotionally-draining posts like South Sudan got me no closer to my dream job at all. I found myself amongst the many middle management, high-aspiring, discouraged, over-educated 30 something’s patiently awaiting for the light bulb moment when the debt, the sacrifice, and the poor quality of life and self-care made it all worthwhile. I’m not sure it ever will. Don’t get me wrong. I loved my time in Africa. I feel so lucky to have been exposed to that world, and to have witnessed the struggles and resilience of that continent. But I was tired. And ready to come home. My work in Baltimore was a great segue back into the domestic arena—it allowed me to stay connected to the global community by working with refugees from all over the world, yet my day-to-day left me feeling under-utilized with the skills I had acquired overseas, and resentful for the poor pay. So, yes. I seem to have found the perfect fit back here in the Big Easy. I’ve returned to a city that has always felt like home; I’ve reconnected with dear friends and made some new ones; I’ve easily bounced back into the spontaneous, laid-back culture of afternoon beers and late-night, sweaty music spots and weekend festivals. But as I unpack my two suitcases of clothes and dust off my African knick-knacks, I have to wonder...are my choices really valued in the same way as my other friends and family who have taken much more traditional, conventional paths?

The other day, I jokingly posted on Facebook that I was going to pull a Carrie Bradshaw. You know the episode…she goes to yet another baby shower for a friend, and someone walks off with her $500 Manolo Blahniks, only to be criticized by the mom-to-be for spending so much on shoes. She calculates how much she’s spent in the past decade on weddings, bachelorette weekends, baby showers, housewarmings, etc, and is ultimately reimbursed for her stolen pumps only when she registers for them. I can feel her pain. After being overseas and transient for the better part of a decade, I can comfortably fit most life belongings in my little Toyota Yaris Hatchback. And yes, this was an active choice. I’m not complaining. But as I unpack my little life in New Orleans and attempt to make roots for the first time since my early 20’s, I have to wonder how I’m viewed by others. Unattached and awesome at 35? Or pathetically still searching for happiness and fulfillment in all the wrong places? I guess I haven’t really answered that question myself yet, although I do know that I’m not actively turning away from things like love and commitment and a fulfilling and worthwhile way to spend my working days. I simply keep looking for new experiences to allow me to have those moments when I feel that I’m exactly where I need to be. And New Orleans feels like that place.

Did I want to be married with children, with a house in the suburbs? I’m not really sure, but that reality seems further and further away as I get closer to 40. And I’m ok with that, too. For now, I’m perfectly content being an auntie, and seeing my friends’ children in spurts and having the freedom to give them back at the end of the day. Do I wish I was farther along in my career? Um, yes. I most certainly do. But again, maybe this was the path I was intended to take. Maybe I needed to experience a lot of different things until I ended up at my little red schoolhouse in the French Quarter. I guess I’ll never know. But I do know that I’d love some matching plates, and some stemless wineglasses, and perhaps even a matching set of towels and a Dustbuster. Does our society not allow me to celebrate anything I’ve accomplished in my adulthood, simply because I’m unable to check off the boxes that historically link us to feeling accomplished and complete? I am not married. I am childless. I do not own a home. I don’t even really own my car. My most valued possession is a five year old poodle named Ruby. And yet, I have two Master’s degrees, have lived, worked, and travelled in parts of the world most people have only seen on the news or National Geographic. I have effectively “put my time in”, only to come home to a society that is I struggle to relate to on most levels. And to a society that more importantly does not celebrate nor seem to value any of the choices I’ve made as an independent, strong woman. Someone recently told me that my freedom comes at a price to those that love and care about me. Maybe this is true, yet I can’t imagine doing any of it differently. And I really would love a set of matching dishes.