Resurrecting the blog after 2 years.
A lot has happened, as is common for this decade of life. In the past 2 years, I've been to Rwanda and back, finished my last year of graduate school, moved across the US, away from the only two cities I'd ever really called home to a place I'd barely visited for an interview and started a new job--a career, really, that I hope to stay in for a while. A job where I constantly feel like I don't know what I'm doing, but where I learn more every day.
I left my home church of 8 years and watched it go through a major transition from afar, not knowing how to feel when seeing lots of growth while at the same time many of my close friends are leaving, often due to confusion, disappointment and painful circumstances. Knowing that when I return, I don't go back to the same church, and that the place that I saw as near perfect for many years is now different, some of its flaws simply more visible. That I have to learn to forgive just like my friends do, even though I'm no longer there in the everyday life of the church. And while that church is my tribe, it's time for me to stop skirting around the edges at churches in Baltimore and actually pick one, to dive in and trust that the relationships I build here can be even stronger than the ones I left behind. That I don't have to live in the glory days of my post-college years, as great as they were--but that I can move forward with confidence that it's not downhill from here--that there is more, and I GET to experience it. And that living in fear of diving in is only making me miserable.
The last two years, I've watched friends get engaged, married and start building families. I became a doula and helped many of those babies make it into the world. I've planned other people's weddings and celebrations and have been surrounded by much JOY and celebration with these people that became my family, making it harder to leave but reminding me that even though things change, I always have a home with them.
I also moved away and found a new home, a new city, 3 new roommates--and with all of that change, began living a quieter life. When I'm home, that is: over the past year I have traveled more than any other time in my life: for weddings, holidays, work trips across the globe--spanning 6 states, 4 countries and 10 programs over almost 6 of the last 12 months. I've gotten the Baltimore airport down and almost have memorized the route driving back to the Midwest from my home in the middle of the city. And most recently, I finally returned to one of these many places around the world that I have called home--and am back in Rwanda for a couple months as the interim manager of a big program that is in transition and needed some helping hands while looking for a long-term person. On Friday, I returned to the town I lived in last time and visited the office and my dear friends. I reveled in knowing the names of the places we went by heart, by knowing how to direct the driver where to go when we were out in the field. In seeing old friends who somehow didn't forget me over all this time, albeit my very limited communication with them.
While the last 2.5 weeks here have felt like a sprint, constantly running as fast as possible to understand a project so I can write big reports on it, it feels like I've been here much longer. Probably because Kigali is at least a little familiar for this girl who's used to living in the bush. Because, unlike my other travel, I'm spending more than 10 days visiting one place before moving onto the next.
While work has me running fast, the rest of my life moves slowly. I've found that extended periods of stress cause me to lose my hair: so I am learning to set boundaries with work, to breathe more and give myself grace. To run when I need to, but to never stop breathing. I'm still finding what it is that brings me life here in Rwanda. I still feel a little caged in living essentially in my office, or a 30 second walk away. But I am slowly making my way. Getting to know the big hill I walk up and down to get to the main road, or how many podcasts it takes for me to make dinner. Pulling together a big presentation and actually knowing what I'm talking about with my work here.
So. Things are moving forward. Yesterday I realized that I only have about five more weeks here. Just enough time to have a bridesmaid dress made for a dear friend's wedding, to spend a week helping gather data with my old friends on a project I helped develop, attend a few dowry ceremonies and pull this program together for whoever will come after me.
I'm learning to rest while I run, because once I return home, I'll be off again: for Labor Day, for annual reports at work, for weddings almost every weekend of October. Every day, I have to remind myself that this time is important for more reasons than just my work: that this time is for strengthening my muscles to the point where I can rest while I run, I can breathe through the pain, and I can find great joy and freedom even in dingy, crowded airports and the middle of the loudest traffic.
A lot has happened, as is common for this decade of life. In the past 2 years, I've been to Rwanda and back, finished my last year of graduate school, moved across the US, away from the only two cities I'd ever really called home to a place I'd barely visited for an interview and started a new job--a career, really, that I hope to stay in for a while. A job where I constantly feel like I don't know what I'm doing, but where I learn more every day.
I left my home church of 8 years and watched it go through a major transition from afar, not knowing how to feel when seeing lots of growth while at the same time many of my close friends are leaving, often due to confusion, disappointment and painful circumstances. Knowing that when I return, I don't go back to the same church, and that the place that I saw as near perfect for many years is now different, some of its flaws simply more visible. That I have to learn to forgive just like my friends do, even though I'm no longer there in the everyday life of the church. And while that church is my tribe, it's time for me to stop skirting around the edges at churches in Baltimore and actually pick one, to dive in and trust that the relationships I build here can be even stronger than the ones I left behind. That I don't have to live in the glory days of my post-college years, as great as they were--but that I can move forward with confidence that it's not downhill from here--that there is more, and I GET to experience it. And that living in fear of diving in is only making me miserable.
The last two years, I've watched friends get engaged, married and start building families. I became a doula and helped many of those babies make it into the world. I've planned other people's weddings and celebrations and have been surrounded by much JOY and celebration with these people that became my family, making it harder to leave but reminding me that even though things change, I always have a home with them.
I also moved away and found a new home, a new city, 3 new roommates--and with all of that change, began living a quieter life. When I'm home, that is: over the past year I have traveled more than any other time in my life: for weddings, holidays, work trips across the globe--spanning 6 states, 4 countries and 10 programs over almost 6 of the last 12 months. I've gotten the Baltimore airport down and almost have memorized the route driving back to the Midwest from my home in the middle of the city. And most recently, I finally returned to one of these many places around the world that I have called home--and am back in Rwanda for a couple months as the interim manager of a big program that is in transition and needed some helping hands while looking for a long-term person. On Friday, I returned to the town I lived in last time and visited the office and my dear friends. I reveled in knowing the names of the places we went by heart, by knowing how to direct the driver where to go when we were out in the field. In seeing old friends who somehow didn't forget me over all this time, albeit my very limited communication with them.
While the last 2.5 weeks here have felt like a sprint, constantly running as fast as possible to understand a project so I can write big reports on it, it feels like I've been here much longer. Probably because Kigali is at least a little familiar for this girl who's used to living in the bush. Because, unlike my other travel, I'm spending more than 10 days visiting one place before moving onto the next.
While work has me running fast, the rest of my life moves slowly. I've found that extended periods of stress cause me to lose my hair: so I am learning to set boundaries with work, to breathe more and give myself grace. To run when I need to, but to never stop breathing. I'm still finding what it is that brings me life here in Rwanda. I still feel a little caged in living essentially in my office, or a 30 second walk away. But I am slowly making my way. Getting to know the big hill I walk up and down to get to the main road, or how many podcasts it takes for me to make dinner. Pulling together a big presentation and actually knowing what I'm talking about with my work here.
So. Things are moving forward. Yesterday I realized that I only have about five more weeks here. Just enough time to have a bridesmaid dress made for a dear friend's wedding, to spend a week helping gather data with my old friends on a project I helped develop, attend a few dowry ceremonies and pull this program together for whoever will come after me.
I'm learning to rest while I run, because once I return home, I'll be off again: for Labor Day, for annual reports at work, for weddings almost every weekend of October. Every day, I have to remind myself that this time is important for more reasons than just my work: that this time is for strengthening my muscles to the point where I can rest while I run, I can breathe through the pain, and I can find great joy and freedom even in dingy, crowded airports and the middle of the loudest traffic.
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