way station

lately i've been finding myself asking people who i meet, how long they are staying.  this is because so many people are leaving- or will leave- like this is just a chapter in a long book- a way station- a place between. 

lately this has been making me sad because saying goodbye is hard.  it makes you question your own staying, and what you're doing here anyway.  so i've begun to prepare myself right from the start. 

the other day i was talking to a friend who i don't know too well about their plans- as if it's a gauge on how much to invest in the friendship.  she said they were leaving in two years.  she said that after two years she gets antsy anyway and is ready for a change.  on one hand i get that.  but what about roots? what about digging in? what about community? and friendship? and commitment?

she had a great answer.

she said she has incredibly solid friendships that she holds onto and takes with her.  she prioritizes keeping in touch with those people in life who are her roots. her supports.  her community is mobile.  she said as long as she has a small group of people she enjoys being with where ever she is-she is fine.  she doesn't need to put down deep roots and rip them up again every two years. she puts down enough to keep her from floating away- but they're easily pulled when it's time to go. she stays connected to the people she connected with- from all over the world. 

i was imagining her beautiful collection- full of different places, and languages and times in her life. and it made sense in a new way - there can be depth and richness- maybe even more of it.

i've met so many interesting people in the past 9 months- some of whom i've known only briefly but have left me with a gem, a piece of wisdom, or a memory that will stay with me. others are still here enriching my life often, sharing this crazy space and time with me. some who i know will become my roots too, where ever i land. 

on transient ex-pat life

how do we think about where we are?
how do we think about place?
how do we define home?
what moves us? (i mean physically, but what moves us inside, sometimes moves us physically too, doesn't it?)

these questions sit with me.  they always have, but here even more because the nature of living as a foreigner in another country is to ask these, especially as people leave.

this week we found out our friends/ neighbors are leaving- moving back to the US.  a few days later, i was speaking to a mom at the boys school and she said,

"...then in a few months we leave."

i said, "oh are you going home for the summer?"  

"no, we're done here.  moving to the middle east next."

and i'm realizing this is what people do here.  they come, but then they go.  this is why all the ugandans ask me when i'm leaving, or how long i'm staying - because everyone leaves. it seems most people come for about 2-4 years, they experience africa, do their work, and go- either home, or to the next place their NGO sends them.  but there is fall out.  people have this rootnessless, this transient way of relating.  it's self-sustaining, but not community building, it's meeting certain needs but not full investment.  it's being with an awareness that being here is temporary.  it's velcro not stitched. it's rented not owned. 

and this is hard for me.  i like real real.  i like knowing people.  i like going to the deeper levels that people who are always leaving don't usually want to go to.  and i don't like the sound of velcro.

so i find myself wanting to hang around people who are 'staying'- or at least not planning on leaving- or if they are leaving, even in two weeks, they're not afraid of connection, they can be vulnerable and honest and are okay with cutting the threads they stitched because they too, don't like velcro (simone i'm talking about you).

i know i've only been here for 6 months- so maybe in three years i'll be packing my bags too and regretting this post, but i just don't think so.  i feel like we're here here- that we've arrived at where we are supposed to be- in a long and committed sense.  i feel like digging down deep into this red dirt and growing some roots.  i feel like planting some corn without tilling the soil, laying down mulch, and then watching it grow good and tall. i feel like knowing the people of this place, learning their first language and becoming a part of things- as much as i can as a foreigner.  i feel like learning to sew- to hem and to stitch- to attach myself to this beautiful fabric of people and this beautiful land. 

this is how i think of where i am.
this is how i think of this place.
this is how i think of home.
and it moves me- to be still.