The pit of despair.
I knew it would be hard. I’ve lived in various countries and started over in new places almost constantly for the last ten years, and I know that 6-8 week mark is one of the hardest ones.
The magic of being in a new place and surrounded by new people is totally real and totally addicting and really fun, most of the time. But after six or eight weeks or so, that magic has started to wear off; people aren’t as thrilled to see you as they were in the first weeks, and now they’re much more likely to be pleading for more money or more things or asking yet again if you could please get them a new iphone because the phone they have just isn’t working well. (nevermind that you’ve never had a new iphone in your life).
Reality starts to set in about life in this new place. Nothing happens quickly; the child in crisis you were contacted about in the second week you were here and were really happy to see rescued and cared for is still in the temporary limbo they were in three months ago. There’s always an excuse; the rain, no gas in the car, the staff is away at a training session or on vacation. Another ignored phone call, another excuse, another delay, and you wonder why on earth you even bother.
Decision fatigue is real, and you actually think longingly back to the days where your sole job was washing dishes; when no one was dependent on you and demanding of you and there wasn’t a decision to be made except which music to play while washing those dishes. If you’d only realized then what a gift that time was.
Surface level friendships are abundant, and really fun in those first few weeks. But you’re a person of depth and long for conversations about more than where everyone has lived and complaining about local staff or work ethic or lack of integrity. But getting beyond those things seems to be a challenge you haven’t yet figured out how to overcome.
You can’t walk down the street without being harassed and someone trying to steal your bag. There isn’t much to do except go out to eat, and your wallet and waistline aren’t super thrilled about that. You miss the gym back home that was air conditioned and full of class options; everything is expensive, nothing is easy.
And you realize you came at just the wrong season; the incessant, drenching, flooding rains that fall every single day keeps you inside and alone, limiting social engagement and exercise options and interactions with nature and vitamin D therapy, which just adds to the weight on your shoulders and makes staying in bed a seemingly better option than just about anything else.
And you’re feeling all these things, realizing the excitement and bliss of the honeymoon has worn off and the next year or two or three of your life spreads out before you in a long, dark, lonely, moldy tunnel, and you can’t help but wonder if you’ve made a huge mistake or misheard God’s voice calling you here and you are faced with the decision to either leave with your tail between your legs in shame or grit your teeth and muscle through and try not to feel along the way.
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The choosing.
I knew it would be hard. I knew every one of these things would happen. And I do have a choice, no one is keeping me here against my will. I have a lot of choices, actually. And I’m determined to be as mindful and intentional as possible.
I’ve made the choice to stay. A million years ago someone told me to trust in the darkness what you learned in the light, and I’ve tried to live by that ever since. Emotions are powerful but not good decision makers; I knew a few months ago this was the right choice for me, and if I can shelve the emotions and the lonely and the frustrations and the despair, I still believe this is the right choice for me. This is why I committed back before starting that I wouldn’t even consider looking at other jobs for at least a year; the grass is always greener on the other side of the ocean and just glancing through job postings would only leave me feeling more dissatisfied and frustrated and not help at all in engaging fully in the present.
Having that decision out of the way leads to the next one; I can choose to be miserable for the next year of my life, or I can choose to do everything in my power to find joy and fulfilment and hope and happiness. I choose the second one.
I know all the right things to do. Eat well, exercise, cut back on the mindless scrolling of the social networks, get enough sleep, talk to friends and family, go out and be social even when it sounds like the worst idea ever. It’s another season of saying
yes, of
not letting fear be the boss of me, of putting one foot in front of the other and choosing to do the next right thing.
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The rising.
Life experience has taught me when I’m feeling something, like finding it challenging to make friends or feeling desperate for social interaction but not knowing how to make it happen, I’m probably not (read: never) the only one. So I can choose to wallow and whine and wish someone would do something about it, or I can be brave and do something about it. So I started an expat social group on Facebook, and organized a few get-togethers, and, surprise surprise, found a whole community of people who were looking for the same thing.
I’ve found plenty of things to dislike about my current city, but instead of dwelling on those things, I’ve decided I’m going to purposefully seek out all the great things about life here. I even started a blog about it –
liberialifehacks.blogspot.com. Intentionally choosing to be grateful and to identify all the goodness around me has really helped me to get my eyes off my little depressing story, and I’m excited to discover new great things over the coming weeks, months, and years.
And the rainy season should be coming to an end soon; roads will become passable and beaches a common Saturday excursion once again. More expats are returning to the city from their time away; I’ve found people to run with and to eat with and play games with, and am looking forward to book discussion groups and regular yoga practice and surfing once the seas have calmed. It’s a relief to feel like I’m on the upward climb once again, and looking forward instead of dreading the future.
~~~
Pause.
I read something a year or so ago that was an iteration of: self care isn’t about pedicures and bubble baths, it’s about setting up a life you don’t feel the need to escape from.And I loved it and grabbed on to it like a drowning woman to a safety buoy. For most of my adult life I’ve never longed for escape because they’ve been built in to the system of life; I’ve been ridiculously blessed with work that I love and environments that value sabbath rests and seasons and boundaries. And as psalm 1 reminded me yesterday, we’re not meant to be fruitful every day of our lives; we’re meant to be fruitful in season.
Knowing myself and knowing that 6-8 week pit of despair would come, and having something to look forward to would be helpful in navigating the darkness, I booked a long weekend away at the 14-week mark. And that was high on the list of smartest things I’ve ever done in my life. I just returned from a magical time away in Paris; extravagant, yes, but desperately needed. It was filled with delicious food, with long walks, with naps and monuments and laughter and blending in and not being harassed and beautiful weather and exploring. It was absolutely everything I needed it to be.
And my real hope was that I would embrace the fullness of joy in every moment, and not dread returning to my current home in West Africa. And that hope was fulfilled. As I sat on the plane on the way back across the continents, my heart was filled with contentment for what had been and looking forward to what is to come. The pit of despair is officially behind me, and for that, I’m profoundly grateful.
~~~
The next steps.
It’s exactly twelve weeks now until I return to the States in November for some work stuff and family time. I’m really excited about some of the projects I’m working on; here’s a blog I wrote for my organization about one of the big ones:
A rousing success. I’m looking forward to spending time with some friends here and expanding the circle and getting back into the rhythm of life. The rains should be lessening over the coming month, and I can’t wait for more beach days and to try surfing again. And yes, I’m counting down until I get to see friends and family and blend in again; sometimes gritting your teeth and pushing through is just how it goes, but knowing a break is coming makes me feel like anything is possible.
I’m walking forward, one foot in front of the other, into the next right thing. Sometimes the path is cobblestones, and you have to be careful not to twist an ankle. Sometimes it’s sand, and walking can be challenging and a little painful, but also can include stunning sunsets over crystal waters. Sometimes it’s a beautifully manicured lawn, where you can take off your shoes and press your toes into the grass. That’s my personal favorite. Sometimes it’s pouring rain and you’ve got to stop until the floods recede. Sometimes it’s flat, wide pavement and you can run unhindered and unafraid. It takes all kinds to make the world and the journey; I wouldn’t trade the adventure for anything, and look forward to uncovering the treasures in each walk I get the privilege of experiencing.
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| La coulée verte, Paris |
