dinner conversation:

     "What happens after you're done at CCS?"
     "I'll go back to school; I have two years left until I finish."
     "My job is waiting for me and I'm sure the work is piled up."
     "I have to decide if I'm going to stay with my boyfriend or not."
     "My sister is having a baby!"

I've said many good-byes on this journey, both in Costa Rica and Africa.  It comes as a part of the experience of being an expat. (Expat is short for expatriate and it means; someone who lives outside of their native country.)  Expats learn to say farewell because eventually everyone around them goes home. Acquaintances always go back for the joys, excitements, complications, and every bit of the disorder that makes up a life.

       "I have to tell a roommate to find a new apartment."
       "I'm going to take the GRE, and hopefully I'll get into grad school."
       "My mom is really sick, so I'll be taking care of her."

Initially my new friends are hesitant to leave. It's nice to take a break from trying to keep your head above water and instead, live out side of the routine of daily life. Being able to step away and evaluate life from a different perspective can be rejuvenating and enlightening.  But as the time draws nigh, each one of them begins to talk more and more of home, upcoming events, anticipating seeing loved ones.  There is something so precious about the life we create around us, that it draws us back, whether it is the ideal one or not.

       "I'll be living with my parents until I find a job."
       "I'm a bridesmaid in my friend's wedding."
       "I want to continue teaching, so I'll have to apply."  


       "What about you, Lucetta?"


Being included in this particular casual conversation startled me. A wave of emotion pulled me under and tossed me. I could feel the color running as it faded from my face.  A stinging in my eyes, I tried to speak but nothing came. Heart beating.  A realization.

I don't have a home to go to. I don't have a life back there that needs me.

I am fully aware that I am unbelievably fortunate now, to be on the journey of a lifetime.  I am living out everyone's dream. Utopia. This presses on my chest.  Everyone's dream, I understand that completely, and feeling the responsibility I try to honor it by being useful.

But this opportunity did not come without a cost.

The moment my world came crashing in, I lost everything.  Everything.  The future I thought I had, which was all wrapped up in dreams and plans, was yanked away in a second, shattered in one moment, and I collapsed onto the floor.  The life I knew, the life I lived, my life, no longer existed.

I understand that I am not the first person to have something bad happen to them, and even in my own life I have unfortunately experienced worse.  Everyone has their own stories of tragedy.  Not one of us is spared because it is an integral part of being human, and our souls are designed to be in relationship with one another, whatever form that takes.  This means that the same way we learned to walk and talk, we must also learn to heal, because humans are human, and sometimes they let us down.  When life sends us a dividing line, we must grieve the old existence, and embrace the new one.  We must figure out a way to pick ourselves up off the floor, and create a new and precious life for the person we have now become.  In Tanzania I had an empty space in my being so cavernous I was afraid nothing would ever fill it again.  I sat for months in the middle of my emotions, vacillating between numbness, sadness, and anxiousness about the future.  My original plan was to live in Moshi for a while, and though I couldn't put my finger on the reason, it was not the place for me to stay.  What then?

       "Lucetta?..."


I looked around the table.

       "I don't know."


I had one week to find somewhere to be.

Seri said, "Well I don't know about your long term plans, but I do know what you are going to do this weekend."
      
       "Really? What's that?"
       "You're going to Nairobi with me.  I want to kiss a giraffe."
       "You what?"
       "Yea, you heard me right, and you're going to kiss one too."


As individuals, we can also give each other hope, a tiny breather where the spirits are lifted just enough to go on to the next moment, and then the next moment provides its own portion of hope.  I seemed to be living hope-to-hope.  Having a plan for the weekend lifted my spirits. I remembered Nancy's advice. I just needed a next step.  When I left CCS, I would also need a quiet place to think, a room all to myself.  If I could add to the wish list, a bed big enough to make snow angels, and a safe place to go for a long run in the morning, then maybe I could sort out my life.  My next step turned out to be a baby step.  I did the only thing I had in me at the moment.  I booked a room at a hostel two dirt roads away.

hope givers