Whirlwind.

It's been a whirlwind of a January; I've hopped across the United States and then across the globe, started my final class as an MPH student, ate dozens of sweet things, shook hundreds of hands, and thought to myself how is this my life a thousand times.

I got to spend a week in Seattle visiting dear friends and supporters.  I love that place, I love the people there, and it's always a treat to sit and sip really good coffee with really good friends and share in doing life together, yet far apart.  Somehow it works, and I am grateful.

I had the incredible privilege of representing Mercy Ships at our first-ever Founder's weekend; an amazing opportunity to share about the people, country, work, and organization I love so very much.  I'm so grateful to have had the opportunity; I met some fascinating people and enjoyed staying at probably the nicest place I will ever stay in my life.

A marble birthday cake.  My 3yo niece was in charge of candles. 

I got to celebrate another year of life.  36 has been good so far!  To make it extra special, I celebrated with family in Minnesota on a quick overnight after finishing up with the Founders event in southern California.  I haven't been able to celebrate my birthday with family in a very long time, so it was a special blessing!

The little bakery with the best rated croissants in all of Paris and it's suburbs.  It's not just me that says that, it's like a real thing. 

 I celebrated my actual birthday in Paris... with my Mom! We did a food tour and ate croissants, cheese, wine, and chocolate; a perfect combination for a great day!  We spent three nights in Paris, it was Mom's first time there so I got to show her the highlights of the city I have come to know quite well.

It was so cold in Paris I have no idea how they kept these looking so beautiful...

Ganvie stilt village in Benin

Then mom came with me to Benin and is with me on the ship this week, experiencing all Benin and Mercy Ships is!  Today we went out to Ganvie, an entire city built on stilts in the middle of a lake!  I didn't take great pictures, but maybe Mom did...

Mom heads out of here on Friday, so I've packed her week full of activities; a hospital tour, trips to the Hope center and children's home, a visit to my Benin family, a day trip to the Ouidah slave route, and of course a trip to the fabric market.  It's been really great to have her here, to show her a glimpse into my life, why I love this place and these people...

It's great to be back, and I'm looking forward with anticipation and gratitude already for my final four months aboard the Africa Mercy.

Love to all - Krissy

Culture Sadness.

cul·ture shock

[ˈkəlCHər ˌSHäk]

NOUN

1.     the feeling of disorientation experienced by someone who is suddenly subjected to an unfamiliar culture, way of life, or set of attitudes.

I first moved to Benin eight and a half years ago, and it was shocking. The heat, the dirt, the different foods and different languages and colors and habits and traditions were disorienting, to say the least. They warned us about it, that scary unknown thing that might make you cry without warning (or maybe that was just the malaria medication).

Then there’s the reverse.  The first time I returned to the states was after two and a half years in Benin and Sierra Leone. The first time I walked into Target, I cried and walked out.  Grocery stores were overwhelming; why does one need so many different kinds of yogurt?  Slow granny driving on my first time out on American highways, getting absurdly excited over cheese, and wondering about the seemingly sudden obsession with bacon were some of the manifestations of culture shock.  

I’ve traveled back and forth enough times now, that I don’t really feel culture shock.  I can transition and insert myself into the culture without a second thought.  Things don’t really shock me, and I don’t feel disoriented.  But I also don’t feel just alright, either.

I realized on this trip what actually happens now. I no longer experience culture shock.  I experience culture sadness.

My flight to Seattle was delayed for three hours; a minor hassle, in the grand scheme of things.  It could have been so much worse.  But the complaining and the whining and the apparent need for the people waiting to outdo each other’s stories of how hard their life is because they will be arriving three hours later than anticipated nearly caused me to lose it right there in the Minneapolis airport.  Honestly.  But it made me really sad, just seeing and hearing them all interacting; a metaphorical jousting match where the person the most inconvenienced wins, but in reality everyone is losing while simultaneously forgetting that by the sheer fact alone that we are all flying somewhere indicates we are significantly more well off than the majority of the citizens of the world.

It makes me sad that in this country we have the most choices of healthy food in the world and yet we are the most obese we have ever been.  Most dogs in America have better healthcare and diets than most children in Africa.  We sit in the top percentage points of income in the world, but we are the most in debt we have ever been.  I’m disgusted by so much of what I see; from the woman at the clothing store that drops a shirt, looks at it, and walks away leaving it there on the floor, to the blatant racism that has become almost normal in places across this country.  And more. And more. And more.

And in a few more days I’ll get on another plane and head back over the sea, where landing will not bring on culture shock but a different kind of culture sadness; where I feel somewhat guilty and infinitely lucky that I was born in America, the land of opportunity. 

I can’t dwell on it too much or the darkness really threatens to overwhelm me.  Instead, I do the only thing I can do; be the change I want to see in the world, by keeping on, trying to speak life and shine light into dark places. Sometimes that looks like serving, or loving, or smiling, or just biting my tongue and praying a blessing over someone, that somehow they would get their eyes off themselves and God would give them eyes to see. 

That's my prayer for myself, every single day.  May it be so.

Onward. --k

Transitions.

I'm sitting in the Minneapolis airport, nibbling on a mediocre five dollar muffin.  My flight to Seattle is three hours delayed; better than cancelled, I suppose.  It does give me an opportunity to breathe, to think about what has been an what is to come.   It's an appropriate place to do so, this place that is not a destination in itself but a stop in the transition from one place to another.

I suppose that is one good word to describe what I expect 2017 to be.  As mentioned in my previous blog post, I complete my current commitment with Mercy Ships on June 1.  This has been the date 'on the books' for several years, but suddenly we are in the same year, and it feels real.  I love this organization, I love what we do, I love being a part of it.  I also feel I have taken the medical capacity building programs to a place where it's time to hand over to someone else to continue to grow, build, keep making better and better.  I'm ready for a new challenge, and there isn't another position open that would be a good fit.  

So as I sit in this place of transition, looking ahead to the changes that are to come, I actually feel nothing but gratitude.  I've thankfully already felt and survived the period of grief for what felt like the death of a dream; I've survived the fear that inevitably came, that thief that whispers you will never do anything as cool as this again.  Lies, from the pit. Greater things are always yet to come.

So I look back with gratitude for all I have been able to do, to see, to be a part of; I am grateful for the consistent support I've received up until recently, for the friends and family that have loved and encouraged me through all the transitions, the challenges, the joys.  Thank you, from the depths.

And I look forward with excitement to the road less traveled; the one that might not be the easiest, or it might not make the most sense, or be the most financially beneficial, or the most exotic, or whatever else the darkness might whisper I need to strive for.  Rather, the road that is right for me, for a season or for a lifetime.

I've got one more class in my Masters degree in Public Health before getting to the thesis/dissertation stage; there is indeed a light at the end of the tunnel.  Part of me is excited to reach the end and get that degree in my hand, while part of me will really miss it.  I have always loved learning.  Thanks to those who have supported this piece of my journey, too.  It's allowed me to do my job even better, to broaden our impact in the countries we serve, to report it more clearly, and help get some of what we have learned out in to the realm of public knowledge.  I'll finish that up somewhere in the middle of 2017.

Whatever I'm doing when 2017 draws to a close, it will certainly be different.  I'm excited.  I plan to keep writing, to keep growing, to keep speaking life and light and truth and joy.  I hope that you will join me.

May 2017 be a year of unfolding goodness, of trust, of truth, and a true experience of life to the full.

xxlove, Krissy

All the difference.

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I - 

I took the one less traveled by, 

And that has made all the difference.*

Reflecting, as one does at this time of year, has me filled with gratitude for what has been.  I welcomed 2016 in on the beach in Madagascar; I ring it out in the cold, snowy woods of northern Minnesota.  In between I've visited several countries, climbed some mountains (both literal and figurative), grew academically, professionally, and personally, published a few papers, managed some incredible programs and dreamed big dreams for Madagascar, Cameroon, and Benin. 

Every year has the potential for more - more joy, more love, more hope and creativity and adventure.  My commitment with Mercy Ships is finished on June 1, and after five years on the ship and eight years in Africa, it seems a new path will make itself clear in the coming weeks and months.

I am looking forward to the road less traveled.  Happy New Year. 

*The Road Not Taken, by Robert Frost

Shades of beauty.

I’m back on the ship after ten wonderful days away; one of the projects I’m responsible for is our safe surgical checklist project (read more about it here) and the team has been on the road for five weeks straight, up in the north of the country, in remote regions where running water is rare and hospitals seldom get outside training opportunities.  I joined them on the road a week ago Thursday, and I’m so grateful for the opportunity to help out and be reminded of how much I love this project, this country, these people, and this incredible calling on my life. 

It’s hot up there, about 100 degrees Fahrenheit, but so dry you don’t even really sweat, a completely different experience to down here in Cotonou where you step outside and it feels like you are drowning in the air, it’s so humid.  The air up there is full of dust and smoke; dry season, dusty roads, bush fires, and the start of the Harmattan which brings dust from the Sahara into the atmosphere makes for hazy skies and tickled throats; but the beauty of the terrain, the delicious food (igname pilee, peanut sauce, fromage peuhl, all the most wonderful eats in Benin), and the calm open spaces were a beautiful respite from the crazy, loud, busy fullness of the streets in Cotonou.

The doctors and nurses tell us they sometimes feel forgotten up there; they eagerly welcomed us into their hospitals and their practice, and received the teaching we offered with excitement and gratitude.  I so love the Checklist project; it’s such a simple thing that can so dramatically change the surgical services and outcomes in these hospitals, and I love to hear their feedback on the training.  Things like we will always have respect in my operating room  and  I’m so happy to be able to have a voice, to speak on behalf of the patient make every early morning rooster crow and bucket shower very, very worth it. 

In one hospital we helped walk them through the Checklist in a real surgical case; a cesarean section, with a team eager to put their new skills into practice.  Teamwork, communication, and encouragement; when a healthy, crying baby boy was presented a round of applause through the operating room put a smile on everyone’s faces.  What a beautiful thing to be a part of.

So I’m back on the ship now, more relaxed that I have been since summer break; I finished a very grueling research module for grad school the day before I left to go up north, and now don’t restart classes until January.  I haven’t had a break from school for more than a few days since I started eighteen months ago, and I don’t think I even realized how much pressure is on my shoulders, always in the background of whatever I happen to be doing, the knowledge that I really need to be reading more or writing a paper or studying something or preparing for a big project.  This last module was particularly difficult; I did a whole small-scale research project on malaria while also writing and editing my dissertation (thesis) proposal.  I really enjoyed it but am glad there is a light at the end of the tunnel; one more ‘class’ module that starts in January and then my thesis module!  Phew.

Now I’m focusing on finishing up loose ends and packing up for the next adventure; flying back to the States next weekend for the holidays for the first time in years.  I might just freeze to death, as it’s about a hundred degrees colder there than it is here, but to see a white Christmas through the eyes of my three-and-a-half year old niece and family will be worth it!  I’ll then hit Seattle for about a week and then speak at a conference in southern California mid-January before heading back over here to the other side of the sea. 

If you’re a friend on Facebook you probably saw my post about money; I’ve lost about 75% of my regular monthly funding in the last few weeks.  Nothing personal, times are tough and I’m so grateful for the consistent support I’ve received for the last four years…  but it does rather leave me in a tough space financially, with no alternative sources of income.  Maybe you could help fill in the gap?  There’s a button to the right of this pane that says donate with an arrow, and then the next page has a green Donate Now button; just click on it and you can join me in making surgery safer across Benin! Thank you to everyone who has made this possible, it’s such an honor to be able to serve and love these incredible people in this place where every day brings forth a new shade of beauty. 

 

An awesome photo captured by Amy Jones; me with my Beninese sister Faridah

Fruit.

Summer of 2014 I spent a week in Uganda helping to run a pediatric anesthesia course (the same one I ran this week, in fact).  We had some downtime and for some of us it was our first time in that country, so we went for a hike, one of my favorite things to do.

I remember clearly as I was walking up the side of the mountain what I was thinking about.  Our first year of medical capacity building programs was finished; it was a tough year with a lot of discovery and successes led to greater dreams for the next year, a field service in Benin. (if you recall, we were scheduled to arrive in Benin in August of 2014, but ebola changed that plan… but at the time this story took place, my mind and heart were in Benin).

I was remembering my Peace Corps experience in Benin; I worked in the health center quite a lot of the time, and the staff let me see and do quite a lot.  I remember thinking how sparsely equipped it was; how they washed and re-used their disposable gloves, spent hours cutting bandages, and used rusty instruments. I remember being in the room during deliveries; sometimes the baby was strong and screaming and sometimes it wasn’t.  I knew there was something off about what I was seeing, but I didn’t know enough to do or say anything about it.  I wished I could have helped more than I did; I helped them to organize some paperwork and taught a few things but I remember desperately wishing I could have done more.

Fast forward a few years, and during the Congo field service I learned about Helping Babies Breathe, a newborn resuscitation program for low-resource environments (places that don’t have a NICU, supplementary oxygen, emergency drugs, etc).  Exactly the type of environment I had worked in.  As I was walking up the side of the mountain (really, just a hill, to be honest!) I wondered if it could be taught to Peace Corps volunteers, who could then teach it in their villages to the health centers.  It seemed a little crazy, not exactly what we do, but why not?  The algorithm is simple, easier in fact than a standard CPR course which is taught by and for non-medically trained people worldwide.

I pitched it to my boss who was there with me and we brainstormed how we could do it and ways to measure success.  The programs team supported the idea and a project plan was written; I was thrilled to be able to return to Benin and offer this teaching that I wished I could have had when I was a volunteer.  The key point is ensuring babies breathe in the first minute; we would teach the appropriate methods and supply all health centers with the materials needed, the materials that I knew my health center didn’t have when I was there.  So. Excited.

Then we were re-directed to Madagascar and had to adjust everything. The system is a bit different there, with a smaller percentage of births happening in the health centers but an active Peace Corps program, so we decided to go ahead.

It went so much better than I could have imagined!  So much good feedback from the volunteers and the people they trained; overall, a huge success.  It was so rewarding to talk to the volunteers who excitedly told stories of their health center workers saving little lives!  We’ve already done one training here in Benin, and hope to do another in the spring.  

Since the Madagascar project, we’ve been working on writing a paper about the experience, suggesting the model is a good one for wide dissemination of this teaching that has the potential to have a dramatic effect on newborn survival rates.  Finally, this week it got published!

Here’s the link: Link 

What a journey! A few years ago it was just a burst of inspiration while on a hike in Uganda, long before I was a graduate student and even thought about publishing anything!  Now it’s been shown to be statistically and scientifically beneficial and added to the global pool of knowledge… what an incredible thing it is to be a part of this place.  To see a dream come to fruition; to know that babies are alive today because of an idea and a pursuit and that maybe many more will be saved in the future is… incredible. 

Thank you, supporters and friends, for investing in me so I could invest in them.  What an honor. 

The HBB class in Madagascar

Hope.

It’s 6:56 PM and I am curled up in my bed, with cozy sweatpants on and my freshly showered hair is leaving a damp spot on the pillow propped up against the wall.  This is my Friday night.  And it’s glorious.

This week we ran two 2-day courses plus a training-of-trainers in the middle; the topic was pediatric anesthesia, the venue a local hotel, and it’s my job to make it happen.  Often we run these types of courses in a three-day format, which means we usually have Monday to sort ourselves out and the translators out and gives time for the guest instructors to adjust to the culture and the temperature and the, shall we say, more lenient sense of timing among the Beninese.  However we did this one differently, so it was full on from the start; very full, long days, and then dinner together afterwards, so the introvert in me is desperate to lie here and eat chocolate and mindlessly scroll through social media feeds until I turn out my light well before 9pm.   But I can’t help but reflect on the week and feel nothing but gratitude that I get to be a part of this.

Fifty people are now able to deliver safer anesthesia and critical care to the children of this country.  One of the doctors I work with remarked at the end of the course that few parents would value anything greater than they value their children; trusting their most precious possession into the hands of doctors and hospitals is truly an act of courage and hope.  Hope that they can and will save their child; that child that may grow up to be the next president, or the one that cures cancer, or the one that helps to eliminate poverty.  The hope is tangible, among parents and patients and medical staff alike; only fitting that hope is exactly what we are also able to offer, in the form of training, encouragement, methods and processes that hopefully improve the health and wellbeing of everyone involved.  What an honor to be an agent of hope in this place. 

Nine of those people have also been trained and resourced to be able to deliver the training themselves; multiplication, sustainability, hope for a future.  These could be the ones that transform surgery and critical care in this country, in this region, in this continent.  Oh, may it be so!

I’m in the process of training others to take over this responsibility for running courses; when I ran my first course three years ago we were sort of just figuring things out as we went along.  But now we have systems, processes, templates, checklists, and plans that I have loved creating and crafting and adjusting, but now it’s time to pass the baton.  I’m grateful to have been a part of creating something that will last; not only in Mercy Ships, but in the lives of the people we have taught and served and loved.   As I look forward to working on some other capacity building projects I hope and pray those that come behind me will stand on my shoulders and reach greater heights as agents of hope and pursuers of excellence in what we do. 

So tonight I curl up in bed with a tired body and a full, full heart.  Thank you, friends, family, and supporters – I could not do this without you. You are a part of this legacy; you are agents of hope to the people of Benin.  Thank you, from the depths.

xxk

Life.

I haven’t written much lately, for a variety of reasons.  School is getting tougher and taking more of my non-work time; work has been full on since the beginning of the field service, but going very, very well.  I’m thankful for that.  Mostly I’ve been appalled and speechless about the circus going on back in my country of origin; something in me felt I couldn’t just write like nothing was happening, but couldn’t formulate words.  The thought occurred to me several times that I committed to myself back when I started this blog that I would never use this platform to rant, something I never use facebook for either.  I also tend to think no one asked for my opinion so why offer it; then I thought, well, that’s ridiculous, I offer my opinions all the time on this blog.  But this is different.  Somehow.  I’ve never written about hot button topics and I’ve always believed love and truth and light and life will win.

And I still believe they will.

I am heartbroken.  The hatred, the violence, the deep division.  The greatest weapon of the darkness is pervasive and evil and more prevalent today than any other day in my lifetime, as far as I can figure.  And it grieves my heart.

But I still believe that love and truth and light and life will win.  Always.

So I’m going to keep doing those things.  Loving. Spreading truth. Shining light.  Fully alive.

~~

Something happened a few days ago.  I found myself thinking of “us” and “them”.  As in, I don’t really want to talk to any of ‘them”. 

Something twisted deep inside.  No.  NOOOOOOOOO. 

Us vs. Them is never be a product of the light.  Never.  Forgive me.

Love wins.

It’s not easy.  The best things in life generally aren’t. But they are worth pursuing.

~~

Life continues on, the clock keeps ticking and the calendar keeps turning; I’m deep into revisions of my thesis proposal, there IS a light at the end of this grad school tunnel.  Less than a year left.  We’ve already trained a few hundred people and have another 75 or so coming through this week to learn how to safely administer pediatric anesthesia.  In a few weeks I’ll spend a week in the interior with the Checklist team; a few weeks after that I’ll get to experience Christmas through the eyes of my 3-year-old niece, while freezing my tropical blood back in Minnesota for a few weeks.  I can’t wait.

The future is always filled with uncertainty.  It’s what we do with the uncertainty that matters. Don’t let fear win.  It’s a lousy companion on the journey and takes all the fun out of it. 

xxk

The story I'm writing.

The last few weeks have been crazy.  When we were planning out the field service calendar, I knew these weeks would push me to my limits.

Two weeks of courses and all that go into that.  Training colleagues on how to do, well, everything.  A conference to present at, meetings with visiting staff only on ship once a year.  Prepping the Checklist team, going with them on the first of 20+ hospitals they will visit this year. Teaching another day course and hosting peace corps volunteers aboard.  Visiting my Beninese family at their home with my friends, welcoming them into my home with a tour and dinner on the ship.  Papers to write, big and small, keeping on with good grades in my Masters program (the end is in sight…) A road trip to the village where I served two years as a Peace Corps volunteer.  Leading a community group. Maintaining friendships.  It’s no wonder few blogs have been written! (though more blogs to come on many of those things…)

In the chaos, I lost my balance.  I moved from healthy becoming mode to a crisis managing survival mode.  I knew it was going to happen, and we all go through seasons of chaos… but that’s the thing.  It should be seasons.  Last field service was an exceptionally long season of chaos and I was determined at the start of this one that that would not be the story I am writing this year. 

I won’t get to the finish line this year with knees bleeding and gasping for breath. 

So I’m relieved to feel myself regaining balance.  Fighting for it, even.  The to-do list is ever present, but the story is not what am I surviving, or what am I achieving, but who am I becoming. 

I desperately want to be a woman of peace, of grace, of kindness and hope and love and truth.  Survival mode brings out very few of those things, so I’m intentionally moving from survival mode to becoming mode. Who do I want to become?  And then, what will it take to get there?  What is the story I am writing?

I went away yesterday and let the sun soak into my bones as I listened to podcasts, to my friends, to my heart, to Jesus.  I took a nap, I laughed with friends, I left the work and the email and the school and the to-do list at home.  The story I am writing includes taking time to breathe, to feel, to rest, to renew and refresh this heart of mine that needs care once in awhile.

I went for a run this morning.  It was awful, and I’m terribly out of shape, but the fact that I got out of bed and went counts as a win.  I know I am a nicer person to be around when exercise is a regular part of my existence, but haven’t had the capacity the last several weeks.  The story I am writing includes discipline, intentionality, and persistence.

I’m keeping time aside to reconnect with friends and feed the part of me that loves deep heart connection with others.  I’m regaining the love I have for my job, for this thing I’m called to do and these people I’m called to serve.  This story I’m writing, it is filled with good things, and I’m desperate to see them and appreciate them and be grateful for them;  for what they are and what they represent, and not miss them in the chaos that has been.

I’ve got so much to write about, but this is where it starts.  Begin with the end in mind.  Who am I becoming? Thank you, dear friends, for joining me in the journey. 

xxk 

Rhythms.

I wrote the below words last weekend, but never posted them; it was such an interesting mix of awesome and awful, and I wasn’t sure what to share and I think I got distracted and then it kept slipping down the to-do list.

This morning I am reveling in a day off.  Completely off.  No school, no work, and that hasn’t happened in several weeks, I’m really, really excited about it. When I started this year I was determined I would take a Sabbath rest every week, but knew for this little chunk of three to four weeks that would be nearly impossible; two courses to run and a conference to attend in the span of three weeks, plus other things, meant pushing hard.  I don’t mind it, really, as long as it’s a short season and there is an end in sight.  We need, in our lives, rhythms of rest and work, and I know when I lose my rhythm everything just gets hard. As I read my words from last week, I recognize myself out of sync with the most important of things…

~~~

September 24.

This week was our first medical training course in Benin.

My job is to organize all aspects of the course except delivering the teaching.  I recruit instructors, sort out their arrivals and flights and collaboration and connection; prepare and organize all teaching materials, equipment, supplies, and paperwork; ensure everything is translated and provide translators when the instructors aren’t French-speaking; find and organize and pay for a venue and catering; coordinate with a zillion different people involved in providing participant lists and try to identify the best participants for various courses; organize participant invitations, delivery, confirmation of attendance, etc.; take care of various random things throughout the course like making sure people are where they are supposed to be, reorganizing room setup, etc.; and then follow up with every hospital represented, the instructors, the participants, and close out any outstanding logistical concerns like payment and reorganization of the now-disorganized supplies.  I have a great team and am teaching a colleague how to do all of this so she can take over in the future – while this is wonderful, it does lead to many, many more questions needing answers.  We also organize transportation, other activities for the facilitators, and airport transfers and hotel accommodation if there isn’t space on the ship.

This week’s course was SAFE Obstetric Anesthesia and it went super; the participants were eager and engaged, the instructors really fun and great teachers, and logistically everything went relatively smoothly even with a few unexpected hiccups.   It’s a long week for me, as an introvert I recharge my batteries by being alone or being able to focus so an entire week spent pinging around putting out fires, solving problems, and answering questions in two different languages really wears me out.  I really enjoyed the week; last night we all went out for dinner together and it was just really fun; kind words of encouragement from the team that this was one of the best trainings they’ve ever run left me feeling that the tired was very worth it!

While the week was amazing, running this course isn’t my only job.  I’m also thinking ahead to the next course starting in a week; the conference I’m attending this week and was just asked yesterday to present at in a few days; the country-wide safe surgery training program I’m creating and managing that is in its busiest planning weeks right now; and the master’s degree program that is always lurking in the background, the deadlines of which are not flexible according to my working schedule and the 2500 word Ebola mitigation and prevention analysis and proposal due this weekend.  I didn’t sleep well last night and I would rather not talk to anyone today, however in order to even get breakfast I have to face the dining room full of people which means I can’t spend the day in my pajamas as I would really like to…. Also in my head is that one person I am avoiding in the hallways because I know I upset her this week but I just don’t have the energy for one more crucial conversation, the other kind-hearted people who mean well but seriously, if another person asks me if I got hit in the face and I have to explain that no, I’m fine, I just have dark circles under my eyes because I’m tired and stressed and no, it’s okay I’ll be okay I just need to STOP TALKING so please take the hint… sigh.

Always in the back of my head is wonderings of the future, anxieties about more difficult conversations that will likely need to happen this week… I get a phone call from a colleague who needs some advice and I honestly just burst into tears. Some days the decisions of my own life feel overwhelming, I can’t possibly appropriately problem solve for someone else, too.  How do you enforce boundaries in that situation, when I want her to feel supported and encouraged and not left on her own, when at the same time I desperately just need to be left alone and for her to just figure it out?

Sometimes this place is amazing, and I feel so blessed and honored and grateful I get to be here and do this thing.  Sometimes this place is the hardest place ever.  Sometimes I think I can’t possibly stay here even another day.  So I look at hotels to get away for a few days soon or a weekend, and remember that grad school has drained my savings account and oh yeah, another bill is due in April for $9k and where is that going to come from, and I realize a getaway is not going to happen. Then anxiety about money kicks in and I start to wonder what was I thinking doing this thing without a consistent salary (though my donors are AMAZING). Maybe a job with WHO or the UN wouldn’t be so bad, though in reality working behind a desk might just kill me… but if it means I don’t have to face the possibility of seeing any dozen of 400 roommates just to pop a bag of popcorn that will be a suitable substitute for the lunch I forgot to pack at breakfast, maybe it’s worth it.  I don’t know.

For now, I need to focus on the next thing on the to-do list. 

~~~

Today, October 1

Well, I’m happy to report that the difficult conversations I was expecting this week were indeed difficult but ended well.  The conference was great, the paper got written, we’re ready for the next course, the instructors of which arrive today and tomorrow.  My Beninese family got to visit the ship and it was SUCH a joy to have them here.  I got some sad news in an email and some good news in another; the waves and the rhythms of life keep rolling on. 

Thanks, friends, for your support and love and encouragement through it all.

xxk

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