Homecoming Thoughts

1.12.07
Coming home. I think my eyes have been covered by a thin veil that makes every ice edged ivy leaf and dried blade of grass shimmer with beauty. I watch the hills and lake and wintry trees slide by on that familiar drive to town and imagine truthfully that I may have never seen such splendor. None of the oases and cliffs and busy street markets of Africa or the grand art museums and architecture of Europe touch me in quite the same way as this somber, overcast morning of frost and dry grass. This is my home and right now, home is more awe-inspiring than any distant corner of the world.

This desperate connection to the place I was born and raised extends far beyond the landscape. It is the people who make this space so unique. Again, my eyes may still be shrouded but I see in each rosy cheeked face the potential, and especially the desire to achieve wholeness. I sit in the coffee shop surrounded by strangers, sipping tea and absorbing the gentle voices around me. An old man with one crossed eye is teaching his grandson how to play chess; a large man in Carharts studies a fish and game manual over his latte; two women share intimacies and wild hair, cupping mugs of steaming coffee. I suck it all in.

This leisure is like a drug to me: it lures me into comfort and appreciation, giving me the illusion that I can’t live outside of such a fulfilling space. I try to absorb it so that I can understand how to bring back to Africa this concept of easy living, this engagement with one another, and do it without the props of easy Saturday afternoons or hot coffee shops.

11.12.07
The season is folding into itself in sheaths of cold air. I pull my scarf closer around my neck and experience the shift with joy in my cheeks and a knot in my stomach. I open a new journal today with decidedly less hope than my last, but with a vision perhaps more open to the realities I am facing. Coming home has been both an enormous gift and a challenging shift in perspective. My spirit soars into this cool space but I find with every homecoming that elements of this American life become harder and harder to accept. I’ve dreamt of this: crosswalks and snow, coffee shops and bookstores; but the abundance of the season, the excess of it sometimes sickens me- especially because I am a part of it.

I just received an email from Yann who fears that famine will strike his country in the next year due to poor rainfall. I contemplate while sipping my latte and try to avoid reaction by thinking about the fresh tracks I’d like to carve the next day. But my mind drifts back and I remember images from a photobook at Powells. Emaciated children, men, women from the Sahel; they could have been my neighbors; they could be his family. What kind of person am I that I want so badly to turn my head, to believe that this doesn’t exist? That I succeed in doing so?

My reaction to these clashing realities is inertia and a sense of only being halfway in my experiences, whether I am in the States or in Africa. I get lost, my head and heart swinging in an endless pendulum between what I want and what I know. I tip and sway out of balance because I can’t seem to find the reconciliation between myself, my hopes and the situation of this world.
23.12.07
As always, I find peace in the small moments, joys that bring me back to the unconditional knowledge of who I am regardless of the relentless questions and challenges I put myself through. My grin spreads across my face as I arc my first turns in two seasons. Knowing that my body remembers the movements and adjusts so easily to steep terrain as I slalom through fir tree tips reminds me of that woman who is strong and sure and always knows where her next move will be. Watching the fire on a cold winter night while neighbors, friends and family share stories, laughter, and music reminds me of how easy it feels to belong to a community, and of how simple our joys can be. Sledding through the trees by the light of the full moon, tumbling from the sled as dark silhouettes spin above my head shows me again the laughing child who sees potential for celebration and discovery around every bend. Hearing from you, the people that read this blog, makes me realize the worth of the journey I have chosen. I am truly blessed.