Dear friends,
Happy holidays! As I write this in December 2013, I have recently felt snow, for the first time in nearly three years...
2013 has been a year of transitions, of movement, of family and friendship. The new year broke to laughter and dancing, nine volunteers in the yard of one of our homes, in a village in Kasama district, Zambia, after a memorable 60-mile bike ride the day before. The first third of 2013 was filled with projects, events, and visits to close out my work and life in Zambia. From watching the national football (soccer) team in Ndola stadium and meeting many of the players and coaches afterward, to being initiated by women in my village in a coming-of-age ceremony with two fellow Peace Corps Volunteers, to our village HIV & family planning event, to having my little sisters pile into my bed for a last-night sleepover before I left, teary-eyed, my village for the last time...those last few months in Zambia were filled with beautiful moments. Farewells came and went, and I found myself on a train to Tanzania...a plane to the United States...a bus to South Dakota, via North Carolina...a car back to Florida, via Wisconsin, Illinois, and North Carolina...and a plane to Boston.
Nine weeks after leaving Zambia, I was able to empty the suitcase and put my things in a drawer. The summer embraced me in familiarity--Harvard's campus, bustling with high school students and my 17-member undergraduate staff, new and old colleagues with whom I deepened both professional and personal relationships, new streets and old in Cambridge & Boston to explore and enjoy--but it, too, passed.
I asked my heart where it fancied to journey, and it answered Alaska...so off I went to work, however briefly, for Alaska Wildland Adventures, at two remote lodges. Though I initially entertained staying in Alaska, I decided that this was a time for reconnecting, and once the people who had drawn me north left, Alaska was going to become too cold, dark, and far away to be alone.
So I returned to South Dakota, realizing that in two and a half years, I had only spent a few weeks with my siblings, and that my lack of tethers gave me a wonderful opportunity for bedtime-story-reading, volleyball game and cross country-meet watching, substitute teaching, and bonding with the kinfolk back in my hometown. While I do not feel that South Dakota is the place I want to build my life, I always enjoy going home, and I had a wonderful six weeks
On Halloween, I got the call that a position was most likely waiting for me at Mediation Case Manager, which administers the Oregon Foreclosure Avoidance Program on behalf of the state Department of Justice, pending an in-person interview. Five days later, I was on a plane, two suitcases filled with essential belongings. Four days after that, I had signed a job offer and a lease on a lovely little apartment, and I rushed to Goodwill and Trader Joe's to buy a blanket, pillow, pot, spoon, and groceries--the basics for my first night in my new home.
Eight weeks after my arrival, I feel...really great. I feel comfortably settled into my house (though I'm still buying things) and job (though I'm still learning things). I'm starting to have people I call friends...even close friends. Learning that my brother was not going to join me (due to legal opposition from one parent) was an adjustment; I had structured my entire life at this time to support this goal. However, I've embraced the opportunities that this change allows. I've visited a lot of bars and coffeehouses, laughed and flirted and mingled. Socially, the atmosphere is laden with possibility; Portland is full of youth and energy and ideas, just as I had heard (and hoped). At the same time, I'm finding that though I didn't plan to live alone, and probably will not for long, I have loved my moments of solitude. In one way, it's a part of my life in Zambia that I can preserve here. Recreating aspects of my Zamlife that I loved, and adapting them to shape my life here, is something I hope to continue in the coming months and years.
As I approach my thirtieth birthday, a central question of this time of transition has been what am I building? Nearly eight years out of college, I have experience...yet I remain surrounded by open doors and paths untraveled. I sense that graduate school emerges nearer in my future, but I'm still toying with what sort of classroom I want to enter. I recognize that military service is still a possibility, and I'm deliberating how entering into service now might take a different shape than it does for those who enlist in their...youthier youth. It's an exciting time: I'm old enough to bring a degree of insight to whatever path I venture down next, but young enough that many avenues are yet open.
Both the short- and long-term future are rich with options, and sitting alone in my apartment, I consider all the things a small city offers me. I can take a class at a community college--Spanish, art, theatre, computer programming, EMT certification. I can join the Peace Corps community monthly book club and writing workshop. I can spend time drawing, painting, creating, and learning to read Tarot in my living room. I can join any of many "young professionals" networking groups or Meetups in the area. I can buy a membership at a fitness facility, or find a dance club/class, or explore something new, like tae kwon do. If my brother isn't coming, I can rent out my room, or host friends and couchsurfers, or move into a bigger, shared house when my lease ends in March. I can settle in deeply to Portland, or take advantage of three different summer job opportunities, or continue exploring career opportunities for the long-term future, while still investing my all in my current job.
In short...my life this past year has been composed of many delightful mini-chapters, each distinct, each introducing the next just as it draws to a close. I anticipate a continuation of this story structure in the near future; the stillness I feel amidst the ongoing change is not apathy but rather contentment at the pace and manner in which my life is unfolding. My itchy feet remain firmly planted in possibility.
I am grateful, too, to acknowledge the incredible blessings that this year has brought me. My family and friends in Zambia, who ushered in the new year and bid me farewell, who remain close in heart if ever so distant. My extended family, many of whom I got to see for the first time in years: my maternal side at my cousin Matthew's wedding, and paternal side at my grandmother's funeral. My immediate family, gathered in one place for the first time since December 2010, including my brother Michael, whose much-awaited return from his tour with the Army in Afghanistan came none-too-soon in November. My four nephews, with whom I had a renewed chance to become acquainted (and vice versa) this year, even if a certain seven-year-old among them likes to admonish me, "You should be married by now." And the gamut of friends across the country, with whom I got to reconnect, both in many of the places I've been living and en route here and there, from the first month of my arrival to last night. I'm grateful for the employment I've had of all different sorts, keeping me busy, teaching me skills, easing my transition from Peace Corps work, and making my 2014 taxes the most complicated yet, with five different states and overseas residence for which to account.
This letter comes post-Christmas, rather than before. Another new year has broken--this one in a much different way than the last. I felt more than a small bit of nostalgia for what I left behind, for moments like that one, celebrating at midnight under the brilliant African sky. I know for certain, however, that I've neither left behind Africa forever nor denied myself a promising horizon. I am grateful for 2013 and all of the incredible people who filled it with joy, and I am excited for all the fruit that 2014 will bear.
Peace and love,
Dre
