I don’t think it’s a surprise to anyone that the last several months have been…. hard.
The job was not what I hoped it would be. Instead of an exciting adventure, it’s been filled with unmet expectations and unfulfilled promises and one disappointment after another.
Life outside of my job has been fine, but not spectacular. I’ve made some friends, but it’s been a grind to get there and this is a very transient community. Monrovia is also a really expensive city to live in, and there is so little to do that the go-to social engagement with other expats is getting together for meals or drinks and complaining about how hard life is here or how great it was elsewhere. For someone who longs for depth in relationship, that longing has gone mostly unfulfilled.
And the rain. Oh, the rain. People told me it was rainy here, and I’ve lived in several countries in Africa and all have serious rainy seasons. On top of that, I lived in Seattle for almost a decade, so I felt I was prepared for what awaited me here. I was wrong. It doesn’t just rain, it pours. For days at a time. The deluges flood the streets and stop traffic and makes what little there is to do in Monrovia inaccessible. It’s incessant and insistent and isolating; I got here just before the beginning of rainy season, so the vast majority of my time so far has been spent hurrying around to get things done before the rain comes or sitting and waiting for it to end.
I feel like there’s two options when it comes to fulfilment in life: either you love your job and are willing to put up with mediocrity elsewhere to be able to do it, or you find fulfilment in life outside your job and your job is how you pay for it. There are pros and cons to each, but in my view either one is fine, as long as you are doing something in your life that you love, whether it be in work or outside of work. I’ve experienced both in my life and would be okay with either one. If I loved my job I could put up with a mediocre life outside of work; likewise, if I had a great social life and relationships, I could put up with a mediocre job. Most expats in Liberia would tell you they’re here for the work; they have a job they like or feel is important or is at least worth the cost of living here and being thousands of miles away from loved ones and familiarity and being able to walk down the street without being harassed.
But the last several months I realized that I don’t have either one; I dread going to work, and then dread going home. This isn’t a recipe for good things, happiness, or joy; it’s a recipe for depression and despair, both of which have been my constant companions.
~~~
On failure.
If you know me at all you know I’m fiercely committed to keeping my word. I don’t make promises I can’t keep and I never flake out on my commitments. I’m whatever the opposite of a procrastinator is; if I say I’ll get something to you by a certain time, it will almost always be early and I’d more likely skip eating and sleeping than get it in late.
So despite the darkness and general despair I’ve felt here in Liberia, I haven’t considered leaving. I’ve committed to this job for a certain amount of time and that time is nowhere near complete; when I moved here I knewit was the right next thing for me, and I’ve always believed it necessary to rely in the darkness on what you learned in the light. I knew this was the next right thing, so clearly, the despair and the depression were my own doing; I must not be doing enough to find life and joy. I started a social facebook group, I joined the local gym ($150/month!) and said yesto every opportunity I could, thinking if I just tried harderI would find my slice of happy and fulfilment here. I even moved apartments, to a nicer place of my own, to see if that would turn the tide.
While some of these things did make things a little better, overall I found myself more and more exhausted and depressed at the thought of another year of trying to survive. I was unhealthy in every way, but it was my own fault. This is the path I’ve chosen for myself, that I felt God had led me to, and I just need to grit my teeth and survive until I can be free in a year or two.
And I felt like I had failed. I am a strong, independent person who has lived in countries across Africa and have done harder things than this. I lead a privileged life and I should be happy. And yet, I’m miserable. And that’s my fault. I was failing at my calling, at my purpose, as a person.
~~~
On flourishing.
I heard an amazing podcast a few weeks ago, on how to find joy in the midst of life circumstances. One of the women shared that she had been visiting a friend in the Seattle area and noted how beautiful, lush, green, and flourishing the hydrangeas were at her friend’s house. In her mind, she compared them to the scrawny hydrangeas in her own backyard in the high desert of Colorado, and thought, climate matters.
The climate we live in directly affects the ability of our hearts and lives to flourish in whatever circumstances we find ourselves walking through. And not just the weather, though that does have an effect, but rather the climate we create and the people around us create in our homes, communities, and circles of influence. She went on to talk about being intentional to create a climate of joy and peace and hope in her home with her small children, but this applies to everyone.
I think about the things that promote flourishing in my life. Hiking or any kind of immersion in nature. Running in the dark, cool mornings. A deep conversation with a friend who I trust and love where we can talk about the things that reallymatter. Cooking and eating delicious, healthy food. Being a part of a faith community. Spin classes. Yoga. Walking. Working on projects and programs that really leave a lasting impact, surrounded by smart people who challenge me to grow and learn and reach higher and dream bigger and who want to work together to make the world a better place.
And I have none of those things here.
And in that moment, I realized, I’m planted in the wrong climate.
Hydrangeas will never flourish in Colorado the way they will in Seattle. They just won’t. And it would be ridiculous to get mad at the hydrangeas. It’s not a failing on the part of the hydrangeas. Climate matters.
And I will never flourish here in the way I would where I have access to those things that promote flourishing, for me. Those things are different for everyone. Many people can lead happy, fulfilled, productive lives here in Liberia. I’m not one of them. And that’s not a failing on my part.
And suddenly I knew what I needed to do.
~~~
On leaving.
I resigned my position and am leaving Liberia for good just before Christmas. When I resigned, I had no idea what would come next, where I would go or live, what I wanted to do, or even who I am anymore.
I’ve always been the strong, independent world changer who always says yes to an adventure and follows wherever it seems God is leading. By leaving this place, with no grand next adventure lined up, suddenly I was faced with admitting I’m not strong and independent, I’m miserable and desperately lonely, and I’m not sure if I want to do this type of life anymore. But if I don’t, who am I? What will people think? And will I ever find the joy and fulfilment I once had? The last two jobs have seemed perfect, and they’ve both been disasters. How could this have happened? Is God even real? Am I destined to make the same wrong decisions over and over again?
But the thing is… I’m trying. I’m doing something. My last two jobs have not been complete disasters; I’ve learned so much about myself, about what kinds of things I need to thrive and flourish, about what I don’t want to do; important questions I need to ask and promises I need to have in writing before jumping into the next thing. Some people figure these things out earlier in their careers; and a lot of people don’t find the true, real right thing for them until they've been at it for many years, I just happened to stumble upon it on the early side but didn’t have a great definition of what it looked like until I knew/experienced what it definitely did not look like.
And I keep telling myself that the failure, for me, isn’t trying and it not working out; the failure for me would be in not trying at all. Or maybe, to just grit my teeth and accept I’m just supposed to be miserable, or accept that my health and wellbeing and flourishing are less important than the commitment I made to stay here. Neither is true. This last season has been one of the most difficult in my life, but I don’t regret it; most of what I have learned I wouldn’t have known without trying, and I’m grateful I’ve learned what I have in a season of months, instead of what could have been years. Leaving does not mean I’ve failed, but that I’ve tried my best, I’ve learned a lot, and I’m brave enough to step out of it even without the security of another job lined up.
~~~
On the future.
One friend, after hearing things weren’t everything I hoped in Liberia, asked me so when are you going back to the ship?
It’s a good question and one that's been asked by several. I loved my time on the ship. I felt alive and a part of something incredible. I learned so much, was stretched and strengthened and experienced some of my life’s greatest joys while pouring out myself for the patients and health care workers we served. Since leaving I have been looking for that, again. And I haven’t found it.
So a return to the ship or to the Mercy Ships organization would make sense. And I tried. I let several leaders of the organization know that I’d like to return and would be interested in what might be available for someone with my skills and abilities and experiences. And I got no response. It’s disappointing, for sure, but I’ve always said I hope to return to Mercy Ships someday when the time is right, and it’s just not right, right now.
So I’m not going back to the ship, at least not for the foreseeable future. Maybe, hopefully, someday.
First, I’m going to hop to a few different countries for Christmas and New Years; making happy memories with people I love and enjoying the beauty of the season and of shared adventure with friends. Then I’m going back to Minnesota for a little while to help my family sort out some things. I’ve got some cool trips planned and fun adventures on the horizon, just beyond what I’m comfortable sharing right now, but just stay tuned here and you’ll find out soon enough. I won’t be bored.
On hope.
Springtime is coming.
It’s coming in the literal sense, of course; as a native Minnesotan, we always long for the longer, warmer days of spring. It always does, even when, in the long, dark days of winter, things can seem hopeless. But like the sun rises every morning, the spring always comes.
If I’m honest I’ve been angry at God for what feels like putting me in a season of death and despair and darkness with no end in sight. But as I continue to put one foot in front of the other, I begin to feel a thawing in my heart; like the first day after a long winter when the temperature hits close to freezing and the snow starts to melt and you can hear the drip, drip, drip of the water off the roof into the deep snowbanks on either side. That drip is always a magical sound, one stirring up hope in the heart after a long winter, reminding you things won’t be cold and dark forever. It hasn’t been a season of death and despair… it’s just been winter.
Springtime is coming. The season of new life, of flowers, of flourishing, of light, hope, and fulfillment of the promises left long ago as the weather began to turn cold and dark. This story isn’t complete, there is still reason to hope, love always wins, and good things are yet to come. May it be so.
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