Okay, so it has been eons since I last sat down, pulled out the laptop with dying battery, and put to words the last many months. The idea of such is exhausting and near overwhelming.
Back in March, I spent a fateful weekend on a journey to Chicago. Stopping in Indianapolis to catch up with my best friend from grad school and then onward to catch up with my best friend from undergrad. Nothing quite like catching up with friends who have taken different routes since the days of becoming close, and then, falling right back into place.
The lingering thought from that weekend was - change. When asking my friend's husband if they were planning to fly or drive to Cedar Key, Florida for their vacation, he said, "In college we drove because we had the time but not the money. Now we fly because we don't have the time."
So true. Every day of vacation I have is accounted for before it's even accrued. Gone are the days of being able to spend weeks, months in a place to truly get to know it. Reading has taken the place of experiencing. Yearning has taken the place of doing (well, to the degree that I like to do it).
I pondered a remedy. How about working in the schools? Then I could have all the regular holidays off and summers too... which evolved into the thought of how about working in the schools with a travel company? 13 weeks in one place, onto the next. Lots of fun, lots of change, right?
While these thoughts were circulating a rather ominous one came to the forefront. Ubiquitous even. Modern day slavery. Human trafficking. Two months after returning from my human-trafficking-focused trip to Cambodia, suddenly, I was surrounded by the conversation chatter of "modern day slavery" "fair trade" "sex trafficking"... People I barely knew would approach me, inquire, share their story. I'd make the rare trip to church and it'd be the topic. In some ways, it culminated with an email. An email inviting me to apply for a fellowship with the modern day slavery movement. A 6-month unpaid fellowship south of San Francisco.
I questioned the signs. Questioned moving across the country without the background of what the fellowship expected. I was in the middle of moving to a new place, moving in with my twin sister and being so excited for this chance to reconnect after so many years. I was in the midst of a slow to recover fractured foot bone and coping with a plausible underlying diagnosis: a connective tissue deficiency. And was boarding a plane to the Congo, round 3 with Operation Smile.
The deadline day, I responded to the signs. I submitted my application. My closest colleagues were aware. My coordinators were aware. My immediate friends were aware. With a years worth of living crammed into one month, I was just going through the motions. Checking another item off the to-do list, one that carried with it, much anxiety.
I scaled back. Put my prized, loved furniture for sale on Craigslist. Smaller items on ebay. Gave away clothes to friends, even the coveted shoes. Traded my daily morning mocha for tea. Relinquished 6+ boxes of books to Half Price Books. Added dentist, doctor, and vaccinations to the line up, appreciating at least the facade of insurance coverage. Went through a round of interviews.
Within the hour of leaving for the Congo, I got the email. No fellowship for me, not this time. The 11th hour arrival of my application kept the positions I had been seeking at bay, they had already been filled. What remained were positions not suited for me. I was in all honesty, relieved. My 3rd trip to the Congo proved to be the antithesis of the previous two. Emotionally exhausted. The high I felt on day 1 in meeting the little boy who had been named after me 2 years prior had been depleted by day 3. Every day and every face, though, worth the exhaustion.
Returning home, I was so happy to see my boyfriend, Kris. Happy to see that black cherry chip was still Graeter's flavor of the season. Happy to be where I am - both in a state of mind and geographical being. Happy. Happy in the knowledge that change is lurking. Maybe it has already happened.
Back in March, I spent a fateful weekend on a journey to Chicago. Stopping in Indianapolis to catch up with my best friend from grad school and then onward to catch up with my best friend from undergrad. Nothing quite like catching up with friends who have taken different routes since the days of becoming close, and then, falling right back into place.
The lingering thought from that weekend was - change. When asking my friend's husband if they were planning to fly or drive to Cedar Key, Florida for their vacation, he said, "In college we drove because we had the time but not the money. Now we fly because we don't have the time."
So true. Every day of vacation I have is accounted for before it's even accrued. Gone are the days of being able to spend weeks, months in a place to truly get to know it. Reading has taken the place of experiencing. Yearning has taken the place of doing (well, to the degree that I like to do it).
I pondered a remedy. How about working in the schools? Then I could have all the regular holidays off and summers too... which evolved into the thought of how about working in the schools with a travel company? 13 weeks in one place, onto the next. Lots of fun, lots of change, right?
While these thoughts were circulating a rather ominous one came to the forefront. Ubiquitous even. Modern day slavery. Human trafficking. Two months after returning from my human-trafficking-focused trip to Cambodia, suddenly, I was surrounded by the conversation chatter of "modern day slavery" "fair trade" "sex trafficking"... People I barely knew would approach me, inquire, share their story. I'd make the rare trip to church and it'd be the topic. In some ways, it culminated with an email. An email inviting me to apply for a fellowship with the modern day slavery movement. A 6-month unpaid fellowship south of San Francisco.
I questioned the signs. Questioned moving across the country without the background of what the fellowship expected. I was in the middle of moving to a new place, moving in with my twin sister and being so excited for this chance to reconnect after so many years. I was in the midst of a slow to recover fractured foot bone and coping with a plausible underlying diagnosis: a connective tissue deficiency. And was boarding a plane to the Congo, round 3 with Operation Smile.
The deadline day, I responded to the signs. I submitted my application. My closest colleagues were aware. My coordinators were aware. My immediate friends were aware. With a years worth of living crammed into one month, I was just going through the motions. Checking another item off the to-do list, one that carried with it, much anxiety.
I scaled back. Put my prized, loved furniture for sale on Craigslist. Smaller items on ebay. Gave away clothes to friends, even the coveted shoes. Traded my daily morning mocha for tea. Relinquished 6+ boxes of books to Half Price Books. Added dentist, doctor, and vaccinations to the line up, appreciating at least the facade of insurance coverage. Went through a round of interviews.
Within the hour of leaving for the Congo, I got the email. No fellowship for me, not this time. The 11th hour arrival of my application kept the positions I had been seeking at bay, they had already been filled. What remained were positions not suited for me. I was in all honesty, relieved. My 3rd trip to the Congo proved to be the antithesis of the previous two. Emotionally exhausted. The high I felt on day 1 in meeting the little boy who had been named after me 2 years prior had been depleted by day 3. Every day and every face, though, worth the exhaustion.
Returning home, I was so happy to see my boyfriend, Kris. Happy to see that black cherry chip was still Graeter's flavor of the season. Happy to be where I am - both in a state of mind and geographical being. Happy. Happy in the knowledge that change is lurking. Maybe it has already happened.
