The last time I wrote I was stuck in bed, quarantined with what would become known as "flurona" (COVID plus the flu). Of course, I took it one step further and somehow contracted both influenza A and B, cuz I'm an overachiever like that. This time I was hospitalized for acute cholecystitis and acute cholangitis, fancy terms for an inflamed infected gallbladder and duct, not to mention a bunch of gallstones. At least the British hospital was fairly posh, prioritizing a full tea service every afternoon. The fact that I'm just sitting down to write another entry now, two years after my last illness-induced entry, may be a sign that life is just a bit too busy. I suppose I should do a better job of slowing down and taking the time to write. One friend told me my body has figured out that the only way to get me to stop and rest is to rip the rug out from under me so I'll stop for a bit. She may be right. The past two years have been a lot. It was probably time to rest.
The past two years are more than can reasonably be captured in a blog post (and honestly, if I weren't writing this for myself and my kids, I wouldn't bother even trying to fill in the missing time), but since I've started writing I may as well do my best to capture a few of the highest highs, the lowest lows, and the specialest moments in between.
My parents were visiting us all the way over in Dar es Salaam, Tanzania back in 2022 when I was laid up last time. It turns out Mom is the world's greatest nurse and even though she and my dad both ended up getting sick as well, she nursed us all back to health in time to head out on a fantastic safari in the Serengeti and Ngorongoro Crater (except for poor Philosopher who spent most of the Serengeti sick), a trip to Zanzibar with Young Man and Philosopher, and swimming with whale sharks and scuba diving on Mafia Island. It was a fantastic visit (in spite of the sick days).
The rest of our time in Tanzania was a whirlwind. I spent several weeks on a TDY to Juba, South Sudan, as well as trips to Zanzibar and Mwanza for work (which I loved). We sailed and scuba dived and spent most evenings and weekends with friends. We spent a wonderful anniversary trip in Pemba, scuba diving and later went back to Pemba and to Fish Eagle Point for dive trips with friends. It was a busy time. We played hard and worked hard as we prepared to say goodbye to Tanzania. Despite attempts to keep him happy, the Paraglider grieved the loss of his sailboat, perhaps envisioning it as a metaphor for lost youth, lost freedom, and began wandering. He said it meant nothing, that he was happy and wanted to stay together. I chose to believe him. Probably the frenetic pace of playing, the constant searching for the next adventure was an impossible attempt to sate an unquenchable thirst. I should have seen the signs. I should have known what was coming. Somehow, I did not.
I left a couple weeks early to finalize the purchase of a new home in Albuquerque (yay!) and help Charming Child settle in after boarding school finished for the year. The Paraglider stayed back to finish packing out the house and to take the boys on a few more adventures. It only took a day for him fall in love and another few days to decide his future lay in a different direction from ours. It only took a moment for his voice across the phone to completely shatter me.
Did I mention already that the anniversary we celebrated in a romantic oceanview room overlooking the Indian Ocean only a few months earlier was our 21st? Or that the days before he met her he had been calling me multiple times a day to tell me how much he missed me, how he couldn't wait to be together again, how he was so grateful he had made the best decision of his life when he asked me to marry him? Did I mention that as much as I wanted to believe the avalanche of love and promises and apologies across the distance, they had begun to ring hollow? Did I mention the way my world shifted, stopped, fell apart when I realized I was being abandoned for a child, left with no job, no prospects, no plan, and only a suitcase worth of belongings? Did I mention the way my ability to trust shattered into a thousand irretrievable pieces? Did I mention the strange shock and how I kept living but didn't really keep living for the next few weeks while we were together but really his heart and mind were with her? Did I mention the way that Charming Child wrapped me in their arms and told me they were proud of me, that he never deserved me and that it might not be easy to see now, but that I would be better off without him? Did I mention they were right?
The next several months are a blur. I applied to hundreds of jobs, did my best to distract the Philosopher from the upheaval, to create a normal, happy home, tried to understand and forgive my intentional blindness, my unending patience (cowardice?), my naiveté, everything that had thrown me into such a vulnerable and precarious position. I cried, a lot. I lost my appetite for food and for life. I walked. I practiced yoga. I read and read. I refreshed old friendships. I worked on myself, poking at all the ugly truths I had hidden away. I got a tattoo. I planned a roadtrip to take the Philosopher to visit universities, to do some job interviews, to visit family, to fill the limbo of life unemployed and unsettled (and to get far away from the Paraglider while he took his new love to all of our favorite places, poisoning our memories, sleeping with her in our bed). I spent so much (but never enough) time with family, hiking through the Sandia and Santa Fe mountains as often as I could get away. There were so many beautiful moments to temper the nightmare. As lost as I was, I was already becoming myself.
And then the job offers started coming in at last. We chose a place with lots of snow, for the Philosopher. And once again we were packing everything we owned into our suitcases, jumping into the car for a new start, a new beginning. At last, I thought, we can make a home, we can settle, we can breathe. We planned to stay, if not forever, then at least a few years, probably until the Philosopher graduated from high school. We drove up to this place we'd never been, opened the door to an adorable little apartment, lugged our suitcases up the stairs, and relaxed. We were home.
The Philosopher joined the snow boarding team and tech crew for the theater. He made friends. I worked hard to master a job that was different from anything I'd ever done. We celebrated the new year in Chicago. We hiked the Ice Age trail. I went snowshoeing nearly every weekend while the Philosopher was on the mountain. And then, just a little more than a month after arriving, I got an email I was never supposed to receive.
Before I knew my life was going to change, I had applied for the Foreign Service (again). It was a little game I played. I liked keeping the option in my back pocket so that when officers looked down on me I could say I was in my role by choice, not because I couldn't pass the test. I knew I'd never actually join the Foreign Service since our family and sticking together was our priority. I guess I knew (or feared) more than I admitted to myself that year, however, because when the Paraglider started panicking, trying to fill an unfillable vacuum of need within himself, I'd scheduled the final test I needed to pass to become a diplomat. I took it and passed. Even then, however, it would take several months, a year or more maybe to actually get an offer to join the Foreign Service. The Philosopher and I decided it would be too disruptive to move again. I decided to put that career possibility on hold (again). I asked them not to consider me for openings.
And still, I got the email. The email that I almost deleted without considering. The email that I jokingly mentioned to the Philosopher, with the assurance that I was going to say no. The email that we couldn't quite put out of our minds. As we sat eating dinner, he said, I think you should do it. I said, No way. We just got here. You JUST started school. He took another bite, nodded then said, I think I miss it though. I said, Are you sure? I thought, this is crazy, crazy, crazy, I never want to move again. And also, I thought, Oh please say yes, this is what I want more than anything. We made a list of pros and cons. The list heavily favored staying put. The Philosopher frowned, said, I don't think that's everything. He added, subtracted, and edited until the list evolved, favoring another change. He looked up and smiled. We hugged each other. It's going to be really hard to move again, I said. I know, he said. But we can't not do this. I hugged him tighter. Have I mentioned that this kid is one of my very favorite people? And yet, deep inside my gut I worried, just a little. I'd be giving him a lot, no doubt, but did he really understand what he'd be giving up by moving again, by giving up the opportunity to put down roots? Did I understand what I'd be giving up? Would it be worth it? We laughed, a little nervously, and started planning our next move.
And then we were in Virginia. The Philosopher started another school (his fourth in one year). He jumped right into theater, made friends (and missed his old friends, old school more than he expected). Charming Child joined us along with Prince. My parents and sisters came out to celebrate my graduation, my swearing in as a U.S. diplomat. And to celebrate Charming Child's graduation from High School (as in most things, done on their time table, in their own way). We caught up with old friends, made new ones, hiked the Shenandoah National Forest, Great Falls area, and unending trail system. We explored the city's museums, festivals, and farmer's markets. The Philosopher flew back to visit old friends, then met up with Young Man to fly across the world to visit their dad.
And then we were packing again. Saying goodbye (again), exploring a new country, a new city. Making a new home. Finally, we've caught our breath, relaxed into this new place. I love my job. The Philosopher has new friends. Charming Child has found new love. We've all grown together, and as individuals. There have been some really hard things (there always are) and even more really beautiful moments.
There are so many things I could say about the past two years, about how hard and confusing and distressing they were, and also how many amazing opportunities and experiences we've had. Sometimes we just sit, the Philosopher and me, and look at pictures, talk about how things were, how they've changed, the things we are grateful for and the things we've had to overcome. There were times over the past two years when I was angry. Angry at myself for not setting better boundaries, for not leaving sooner, for pouring so much of myself into a black hole that I almost lost myself. Angry at him for his betrayal, his selfishness, his lies. Angry at society, at my upbringing, at my bad luck. But mostly, I am happy. I have grown a lot, learned a lot, and become more confident. I trust myself. I like myself. I have taken this space to stretch. I have some regrets, but mostly, I am grateful to be who I am, where I am, with the family and friends that I have. And there is so much of life ahead. So many adventures yet unlived.
I am ready.
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