Krissy

Giving back.

My feet first touched African soil on July 23, 2009, when I arrived in Cotonou, Benin, to start my 27-month service as a Peace Corps Volunteer. I had left my job in corporate America and couldn’t wait to experience whatever was in waiting for me.

I was placed in a small village in west-central Benin called Agoua. I worked in a health center and a school and learned the language and tried to make a difference. That experience was harder than I could have ever imagined. I was desperately lonely, sick, harassed all the time, confused a lot, hot and sweaty, and wondered if I would make it. I also learned so much, found my passion in global health, made lifelong friends, and helped a few people, hopefully. I learned I was much stronger than I ever thought I was, and when I finished, I knew I wanted to spend the rest of my life trying to make the world just a little bit better and never stop exploring, learning, growing, and serving. The people of Agoua gave me so much of themselves, and for that, I’m forever grateful.

In the last few months, I’ve gotten in touch with other former Volunteers who have served in Agoua. I was the first, but not the last, and after some social searching four of us managed to have our first Zoom call about a year ago. We were deep in Covid, the Peace Corps Volunteers had been evacuated worldwide, and basically, we all just wanted to chat about our shared connection to that little village in the middle of the cashew orchards. Our stories have diverged dramatically; we live in three different countries working in a variety of fields, but we realized when we were chatting that Agoua was really central to all of our stories and wondered out loud how we could give back or continue to help this little place dear to our hearts.

We were able to connect pretty easily with our primary counterpart in Agoua, the chief of the arrondisement (small group of villages) and a trusted friend to all of us, and asked if there was anything we could do to help, what would he choose? He came back pretty quickly with what seems like an obvious ask: what they really need is a source of clean water in the health center. And this was definitely a project we could get behind! To ensure things in the health center are as sanitary as possible, especially in the age of COVID, we were all really happy to come around this community and provide something so very basic and critical to quality health care. It’s such a gift to have the opportunity to give back to this community!

We are asking for our families and friends to donate in the place of gifts this holiday season. We are donating ourselves. We are asking you, friends, families, communities, connections, to consider giving to this project. Agoua is an incredibly special place, and clean water is a basic necessity, can you help us to bring that to the health center?

Here is the link that provides more of the story, info about the former Volunteers who are a part of this project, and how you can help the people of Agoua have access to clean water when they are most in need!

LINK :https://www.gofundme.com/f/w42q4-bring-water-to-agoua-health-center

(updated – new link on 11/30)

Thank you!

On Boots and Beliefs.

These boots. Oh, the stories, if these boots could talk.

I bought them in 2002. I was in my first job, fresh out of college, running outdoor programs at a camp north of Seattle. It was the first time I lived anywhere but the north woods of Minnesota, and I was loving the cool-not-cold Washington rainy winter. I sent photos of the brilliant, always-green grass and trees and misty skies to my family after every Minnesota snowstorm, and after a lifetime of sub-zero cold winters that felt like they lasted forever I didn’t mind the constant drizzle. It wasn’t really rain, only tourists used umbrellas. I spent a lot of time outside, because if we paused our outdoor programming for rain we’d do nothing for nine months of the year; I would lead groups of students through trust games, ropes courses, nature hikes, field activities, and zip lines, rain or shine. One thing was awful, though – wet shoes. One short walk thru the field and my feet were soaked and subsequently freezing, and I knew I needed to do something about that.

I don’t think I had ever been to REI at that point either, having not had one in my hometown, and a colleague was always talking up the flagship store in Seattle. So one day a group of us took a road trip to the city and I headed straight for the boot section. I remember explaining to someone what I needed them for and trying on a couple of pairs before feeling like these, these are the right ones for me. They fit perfectly, were completely waterproof, and guaranteed for a really long time or a lifetime, I can’t remember. And they were also by far the most money I’d ever spent on an article of clothing.

I was deep into the post-college trying-to-get-it-together years, where student loans and a car loan and idiot credit card bills I’d amassed while in college were constantly breathing down my neck. I had to balance payments and bills and feed and clothe myself on a miniscule camp salary, and the majority of the clothes I wore and things that filled the little trailer I lived in were purchased at a local thrift store or were on sale or clearance at a discount retailer. I can’t remember how much these boots cost, but they were well over $100 which felt like an obscenely high amount to me then, but something in me said go with this and you won’t regret it. So I did.

And man, these boots. They were everything the sales person promised they’d be. I wore them every single day and my feet were dry and warm, and it changed everything for me, in that season. And they’ve been my constant companions ever since. They’ve climbed mountains all over the United States, Europe, and Africa. I’ve worn them on countless airplanes, because they were big and heavy and, as frequent cross-world travelers know, we wear the biggest, heaviest, bulkiest clothes on the airplane so we can fill that space in our suitcases more efficiently. I’ve bought specialty leather cleaners and conditioners and cared for them well, more so than any other thing I think I’ve ever owned. I feel like these boots really were different to me, a person who generally bought (and still do, to some extent) disposable, inexpensive things; to invest in something, to commit to taking care of them, to make them worth every penny I spent, was a different experience at that time.

Fast forward nearly twenty years. Twenty! Time sure does fly, doesn’t it? These boots came with me to South Africa, and one of the best things about where I live is the abundance of hiking opportunities. I get so much life from an early morning hike, when the cool is still hanging on near the ground and the pink skies are just starting to edge towards blue. This was my lifeline during long Covid lockdown weekends, and now I’m loving sharing this experience with my husband. But something happened a few months ago that I’m still pondering.

I got a blister when hiking.

In the nearly twenty years I’ve had these boots, I have never once gotten a blister. They have been perfect, from day one.

And also? My feet hurt.

A lot.

After a few miles, which for some I realize is a lot but in my reasonable physical shape it wasn’t, my feet would just ache as if I’d been standing on them all day long instead of just hiking a few miles. I would grit my teeth and bear it, assuming they ached because I was out of shape, or out of practice, as no one else seemed to have a problem so obviously it wasn’t difficult terrain or other outside reasons. I hiked miles and miles, grimacing in pain but trying my best to hide it lest I be forced to admit I was clearly a weakling. And then when I got a blister, I actually wondered out loud how that was possible, as I’d never had a problem before. I assumed, as always, the problem was me. Until my friend casually suggested, maybe you need new boots?

It was one of those moments when time seemed to stand still. I was speechless. Maybe I need new boots. The thought had honestly never once occurred to me. These boots were such a constant part of my life and story and existence, it never crossed my mind they might need replacing. Obviously the problem was me, not the boots – right? Even though the boots were twenty years old and had likely thousands of hiking miles on them?

Huh.

I spent most of my formative early-adult years in a faith community where I learned that the body is not to be trusted. This skin-enclosed bag of mostly water is weak, easily manipulated by the forces of evil, and is something to be controlled, ignored, or rebuked. Feelings are feeble and fleeting, desires are sometimes from God and sometimes the enemy leading us astray and somehow we had to figure out which was which, but just to be sure, assume it’s evil until proven otherwise. I must assume the problem is in me, is my lack of faith, or strength, or focus, or whatever else, and grit my teeth and be strong and courageous and know that whatever my body was telling me was not true because God is bigger and stronger and I can do all things.

Now I look back on that girl with compassion; I am slowly unpacking and unwinding myself from those unhealthy beliefs and learning to trust and be kind my body when she speaks to me. This old belief system shows up in a myriad of ways, this experience with my painful feet is only one small example. More than just needing new footwear, the bigger question is… What does it truly look like to trust myself? I’m sure I have a long way to go. But all journeys start with a single step, and in this case, this journey is being made in a pair of new, comfy, pain-free boots. They are not meant to last forever, and our bodies are meant to be listened to, cared for, and believed. I’m grateful to these boots for the stories they tell, the mountains they’ve climbed and the places they’ve seen. And I’m grateful for my body, and friends along the path, who tell me when it’s time to listen, and when it’s time to let go.

On art and why.

So I’m tentatively dipping my toes back in the blogging habit.

Why?

This is a great question, one I’ve been asking myself hundreds of times in the last few weeks and months. I love to write. Writing out my wonderings and ponderings help me to sort them out for myself in a way no conversation ever can. Documenting my experiences and travels allows friends and family to live vicariously through me, to see and experience places they may never have the opportunity to visit themselves. It’s an honor for me to do that, and I enjoy when others do the same… to share a glimpse into the abundant favor and incredible joys I am so privileged to feel and see and document. I don’t take that lightly. Sharing these things also helps me to remember them; to go back and read some of my blogs from my time on Mercy Ships for example, brings me back to those feelings and places in such a rich way I find myself on my knees in gratitude every time I wonder at this incredible life I get to lead. And, finally, somewhat selfishly, I do wonder if there is a book in me to write; when the time is right and the words are ready, and this is a good way for me to hone my craft, this art I love.

So why not?

Because people.

People can be cruel. And judgmental. And hurtful. And hateful. I’m lucky in that I don’t get a whole lot of nastygrams, but then again, I tend to write about things that aren’t controversial. That’s intentional. But I don’t really think it’s right. Maybe. For me. I don’t know.

I suppose one can say who cares what others think as long as it’s from your heart? To which I say yes, I get that, and I believe it, until… people change. Opinions change. Things I was once passionate about, sure about, wrote strongly worded blog posts about… I no longer feel the same way. Once you put words out there, as we can see with decades-old tweets landing celebrities in hot water, they will never disappear.

Personally, I’m relieved and grateful social media wasn’t a thing until I was in my late 20’s, as I can only imagine what kind of cringe-worthy idiocy I might have proclaimed as truth in my early years. Even now, when I’m reminded of things I posted ten years ago in my Facebook memories, some of them make me feel just a little bit sick to my stomach. Or irritated. Or just roll my eyes at my own naiveté, ignorance, and lack of perspective.

But that’s all a part of growing up; of expanding our perspectives and ideas and understandings of how things work in the universe… or maybe more accurately, expanding our understanding of all the things we don’t really know anything about, and we also become more comfortable admitting that. There’s just so much I don’t know and don’t understand, and who am I to think I have any reason whatsoever to share my thoughts and experiences?

I don’t know, I go back and forth. I guess it comes down to the fact that even if only a handful family members read this for the purpose of keeping up on my life, and I enjoy the process of doing it, then it’s worth doing. Working out words, massaging them and forming them to reflect and contain the exact feelings I want them to embody makes me feel alive. Even writing this I feel the blood humming in my forearms and in my fingertips, my brain stretching and searching to find just the right cadence and commas and creative allusions that, once found, I look at with pride, this thing I’ve created. I can only imagine that is why painters paint and sculptors sculpt and songwriters write song after song, regardless of who things it’s ‘good’. Because there is a painting or sculpture or song in them to create and not obeying that calling is depriving the rest of us of something beautiful.

So let us begin.

I Do, Forever.

After we had spent the majority of three and a half years on opposite sides of the Atlantic, as soon as he came to South Africa it was pretty clear, pretty quickly, that we didn’t ever want to be apart like that again. We knew we belonged together. Of all the big decisions we have made, this one felt like one of the most obvious!

The thought of a big wedding, or even a small one, with people, and opinions, and expectations, and so much money, during a devastating global pandemic, where at least half the potential guests would have to travel? The whole thing honestly made me nauseous. No shade to any single one of the beautiful, magical weddings I’ve seen in my feed in the last few months – you’re all gorgeous and I hope it was perfection! – but it’s just not for me. We knew we wanted to elope, and we tossed around several different countries and locations, but we decided that things are complicated enough, let’s not add a foreign government process to the list!

Gideon left his car in Boston, so we knew we wanted to go somewhere on the east coast. I’d never been to Maine and it’s beautiful and rugged, and we were able to find an online friend who could officiate it and help us navigate the paperwork and location and the details we had to sort out from across the ocean. She was a saint and in today’s divided, angry world, those types of people renew my faith in humanity.

Anyway, we each invited a friend to be witness to our promises to each other, which we wrote on the plane on the way across the ocean. Here’s a little bit of it:

Mine: I promise to always choose us. I promise to choose love, to believe the best, to be generous, to be kind, and never try to change who you are. I promise to love you more tomorrow than I do today. I promise to not get too grouchy when you beat me at board games or bowling, and to take care of you even when we are old, smelly, and senile. I promise to always laugh with you, to be honest, to tell you when you’ve missed a spot when shaving or when your clothes don’t match. I promise to be responsible for my own happiness and not put that on you, and to always dream together and do everything we can to achieve those dreams. I take you now as my husband, for as long as we have on earth, together.

His: I promise to love you, hold you closer with every hug, and live to fill our days with smiles and laughter. I promise to say yes to adventures, test my comfort zone, trust in your experience, and appreciate your willingness to share your joy of travel. I promise to be by your side through any challenge you may come up against, we’ll face life’s challenges together, especially if it’s finishing desert in bed. I promise to do the dishes when you’re cooking, be your sous chef, chief taste tester, and I promise to always tell you when you’ve got something stuck in your teeth. I promise to be your lifetime tech support and will put an end to any faulty electronics that stand in your way including the clock on the oven. I promise to care for Jay, your dog, as if he was my own, and cherish every moment we have as a family together. I take you now as my wife, for as long as we have on earth, together.

We put together a ceremony with all the bits and pieces we loved, including an exchange of rings, and went to a pretty place in Cape Elizabeth with our two best friends and an officiant and her friend who snapped a few photos with an iphone, where we said I Do, Forever. It was absolutely perfect.

The ‘wedding’ party – our should that be our elopement party?

Then we made it official at City Hall.

Then we made quick visits to upstate New York for his family and Minnesota for mine, before jetting back to South Africa and this loving monster.

Jay got a lobster toy as a wedding gift.

So we’re back in South Africa, heading into summer, and enjoying our lives together as a family! We decided early on in our relationship to keep it private, i.e., not for public consumption, and we know it was a surprise for a lot of people! Hopefully, you see it as a good surprise. I certainly do!

To answer a few common questions:

I’m not changing my name.
We aren’t doing a honeymoon right now because every day is a honeymoon with this guy 😉 and, this whole flying across the planet to elope and rings and everything was a bit of an unplanned expense, so we’ll take a trip somewhere exotic and call it a honeymoon sometime later on.
He’s working remotely from SA at the same job he had in Boston, and it’s working out great.
My contract limit in South Africa is still two and a half years away, so we’ll be here awhile longer before looking at where the next job might take us
Jay loves him ❤

The Story of Us.

We met in late August or early September of 2017.

I had just moved to Boston the month before. Having moved to a new place, city, and/or country about a dozen times in my adult life before then, I did what I needed to do: put on my brave face and go alone to social events and activities and try to figure out who my people were in this new city.

One of those activities was ultimate frisbee. I found a pick-up game on Meetup (a great app for finding those aforementioned social events and activities in a new city!) not too far from where I lived and I thought why not, it’s worth a try! I don’t remember if we met at the first game I played with them, or maybe it was the second, but I was sitting alone on the lowest bench of the bleacher seats waiting for a critical mass of participants to arrive so we could start the game. About five seats up the bleachers from me a guy was explaining to some other guys the rules of the game. I wish I could remember the smart-aleck thing he said that caused me to turn around and reply with an equally smart-aleck response, but after that unmemorable but clearly transformational exchange, we all introduced each other, and a friendship was born.

I remember chatting on and off throughout that game; I made comments about being new to the area, and shared I had ridden my bike to the game, so he told me about a biking event that happens about once a month in Boston called the Boston Bike Party. I’m pretty sure we played frisbee again the next week, and said hi to each other, but it’s all hazy until a few days later, when another friend invited me to go on the bike party with her. I showed up, and she didn’t, but this guy from Frisbee found me looking lost and alone in a sea of strangers, and gallantly rode alongside me for the majority of the bike party route! I kept telling him he can go bike with other people, but he didn’t, or wouldn’t, and he’s since told me he knew if he did that I would leave (which is true). At that point I think we found each other on one of the socials and kept in touch, mostly around frisbee and bike stuff, while he traveled to a bike trip in Maine and I traveled on work trips to New York and Tanzania.

Boston Bike Party ride – September 8, 2017 (I’m so grateful my photos are dated!) This was before he found me looking lost in this huge sea of people.

A few weeks later we did an event called the Ramen Ride together. It was simply a large bike ride where participants rode from one ramen restaurant to another to try all the different options. It was a super fun event, and Gideon and I rode together the whole time, along with a few other friends in our group.

(For some reason I can’t add a caption under a slide show – these are photos from that Ramen Ride! November 4, 2017)

During the Ramen Ride I remember talking about how, after so much salty broth and delicious ramen, I needed some chocolate. I’ve got SUCH a sweet tooth which will be no surprise to anyone who knows me! Anyway, he suggested we go to Burdicks because they have some really, really delicious drinking chocolate. Of course! So we went, and Burdicks goes down as our first ‘date’ or, at least, the first place we intentionally went together, without other friends with us.

Burdick drinking chocolate really is straight-up divine nectar from heaven!

Gosh, it’s fun going through my old photos! After the Burdicks night, I don’t have pics for quite awhile… We went to the JFK museum together, we went to a live music event in Cambridge, we chatted a lot, we played Frisbee, we biked, it snowed and I put my bike away for the year, I traveled the country a bit and went home for Christmas that year, and we kept chatting.

It was after New Years of 2018 we sort of became a thing – we started going out a lot, and spending a lot of time together. The thing was, I knew at that point I was moving back over to Africa in April. And neither of us wanted to commit to a long-term relationship across an ocean! So this time was especially sweet, in that there wasn’t any “I wonder if this guy is the one?” thoughts – there was only really the fact that we really enjoyed spending time together, so we did, without the pressure of trying to figure out if it was meant to be forever. Because it wasn’t, it was only meant to be a few months! It was such a fun time, without the pressure of commitment, and certainly one of the most fun seasons of my life up to that point!

The night before I left to go to Colorado and then Seattle before moving to Liberia we watched the sunset together, and I cried – I so loved what we had, and at the same time, knew this was the right thing to do, to say goodbye, with the understanding and belief that I would never see him again.

Fast forward a few months – I was living in Liberia, and he in Boston. I had stopped chatting to him for awhile, wanting it to be a clean break, but after some time we were chatty again on the socials. Life in Liberia was challenging, especially during the rainy season, so somehow, and I can’t even really remember how, we decided to meet up in Paris for a week in August! It was the first time we traveled together, and I wasn’t sure how it was going to go…. and it was absolutely magical. Even through food poisoning and falling off a ladder (crying while laughing emoji!).

The Eiffel Tower is behind us – August 15, 2018

When we said goodbye, I managed to not cry in front of him but cried afterwards – it felt so magical, but I didn’t think I’d ever see him again after that. He didn’t want my life, and I didn’t want his; long-distance, across an ocean, just wasn’t an option, and I expected he’d meet someone else and I would be happy for him – I always told him, I wanted him to be happy more than I wanted him to be with me, so when he met someone else special, to please just let me know, and I’ll wish him all the best in the world.

But time marches on, and neither of us found anyone else, and I made plans to travel the States in November – I attended a fundraising gala for the Liberian organization I was working for in Seattle, visited friends in Colorado, and went home for Thanksgiving for the first time in almost a decade. When looking at flights, we figured out the best place for us to meet up was Detroit (how romantic!) so we did! and it was. We ate cider donuts and enjoyed the fall colors and stumbled upon the largest food-truck rally ever. Every place is an adventure with this guy!

A cider mill somewhere near Detroit – November 3, 2018

I went back to Liberia to finish up my work there, and had by then been offered the job in South Africa. I spent Christmas in France, and then we planned a really fun New Years in Montreal! Canadians sure know how to have fun in the middle of the freezing cold winter!

At this point I still very much said goodbye every time as if it was the very last time we’d see each other. We both agreed we’d be dating other people (and we both did) and also just agreed that if/when we met someone special, or started to talk about commitment, that we’d tell each other, and be happy for each other, and wish each other the very best. I knew I was heading to South Africa for the foreseeable future, and he wasn’t interested. It wasn’t yet meant to be. And I was fine with that – but also, every single time we were together, it felt magical. And it was, to some extent – we got to see the very best of each other, to be together for short periods where we had 100% of the others’ attention, often in romantic or new exciting places, and didn’t ever need to care what day-to-day life looked like, because we weren’t living it.

I traveled a lot in early 2019, while I was waiting for my new job to get the paperwork sorted so I could start (there was an extended government shutdown you might recall) and in between Costa Rica and Seattle and Minnesota and Hawaii and DC, I stopped in Boston a few times.

When I was in Costa Rica I got to know a really cool couple who were staying in the same place as I was (I was alone). I remember, for the first time, seeing them and really thinking, wow, how great it would be to have someone to share this with. Until then, I was quite happy to travel solo and explore the world, but something shifted in that moment. I think it was around then, or as a result of that experience, that I decided once I got settled in South Africa, I was going to be a bit more purposeful and intentional about dating, as I hadn’t really given it much effort until then.

Anyway, one of the trips of that season was to the Congo to run an anesthesia training, and on the way back I had a long weekend layover in New York City! It was glorious in spring, and we both love Broadway, so saw two shows in two nights! Magical.

When I was finally able to go to DC in preparation and training for my new job, I also had a visitor. I can’t find a single photo of the two of us from that time in DC but we did go for cocktails at the restaurant on the roof of the Watergate hotel and snapped this photo of the sunset.

Then I moved to South Africa for good, and as I mentioned we both started dating, but after a few months of regular life on opposite sides of the Atlantic, we both had a hankering for another adventure, so we met up in Rome!

At the Coliseum, Rome, Italy – November 21, 2019

That was the last time we saw each other for quite a long time. Honestly, I really thought after that trip, I’d never see him again. I was dating in South Africa and settling into life there, and I knew he wasn’t interested in joining me. But by the end of 2020 we were both single, covid-weary, and desperate for another adventure, so we ended up in Costa Rica. This was the place I first distinctly remember thinking I wish I had someone special to share this with, and so it was extra special to share it with him.

Tamarindo, Costa Rica – December 18, 2020

After not being together for over a year, it was such a wonderful trip, and when I was back in South Africa I was determined to figure out how to convince him to join me – except I knew, deep inside, it needed to be him wanting to join me, not me convincing him somehow. So I just hoped.

A few months later, after wallowing a bit in loneliness, I started dating a South African guy that got pretty serious pretty quickly – to the point where we were talking about commitment. I knew I had to tell Gideon, as this had always been our agreement. Somehow I knew at that point I couldn’t do the long distance thing anymore, and was fully invested in seeing if this other thing would work. It was great, for awhile, as all new relationships are, but, unfortunately to me at the time but fortunately for all of us now, it didn’t last long.

I was a bit heartbroken at that point, having really thought maybe finally I had found my person to share life adventures with, and he turned out to be awful. After awhile I knew Gideon would never make me feel like this other guy did, and I missed him so much, and what did I have to lose anyway? We were basically broken up, so I might as well try. His work was in an upheaval, so I texted him:

And well, as you might have guessed, his answer was yes!

He almost immediately started getting rid of stuff and making plans to move to South Africa to be with me. I was already planning on being home in the States for a bit in May, as well as a surf trip to Costa Rica, so he joined me on that trip to talk through all the things we needed to talk through, and then when I came back to South Africa, he came with me.

And for those who wondered, Jay loves him too.

Shortly after that, we decided it was time to say I Do, Forever. So this blog post has already gotten wayyyyyyy too long, so I’m going to save the actual wedding story, including answers to the most commonly asked questions, for the next blog post.

Thanks for enjoying the story of Us.

On disappointment… and joy.

Like, honestly, how much disappointment can one person endure?

You work long hours at a feverish pace to prepare for the big thing that is coming, pouring not only your skills and work ethic but your hope and heart and soul and passion into making that big thing a success, making back up plans and back-ups for back-ups so that absolutely everything within your control is considered, documented, and read… and then someone else decides it won’t happen, based on shifty criteria that is outside of your control, and it feels like all of that work, time, energy is flushed down the drain, and you stand there feeling numb as you watch, unseeingly, the water swirl down into the depths, along with your hope, heart, soul, and passion.

You enter into a relationship even though your intuition tells you it might be a bad idea – fear, you think, is what is saying that, and you don’t want fear to run your life so you forge ahead and put your heart out there trusting the words of someone else who makes you feel amazing for awhile. But then, as it turns out, what you’ve thought a million times is too good to be true actually is, and he tramples on your heart like an unfeeling monster and you wonder why did you let yourself think this time it could be, would be different?

You spend an inordinate amount of time and emotional energy trying to prove to others you’re not the enemy; you’re there for them, you support them, you want to do everything in your power to see them achieve success… and then you get an email that feels like a punch in the gut, leaving you breathless and gasping for days and you wonder why you keep pouring your heart out when it seems you’re the only one giving your all to this.

Maybe it would be easier not to feel.

And you start to feel like your reality is just experiencing one disappointment after another, and is it worth it to keep feeling so much? Maybe just numbing out to the disappointment would be the way to go.

But, by numbing out and not feeling the lows, you won’t feel the highs, either. And that sounds like a terrible way to live.

Because even though those lows are real, so are the highs:

Snorkeling with seals in Cape Town (video below)

Flourishing avocados grown in lockdown

Being literally pulled outside my comfort zone to surf waves bigger than any I’ve tried before, and loving it.

Reaching deep down into the wells of courage to ask for something my heart is longing for, and getting a resounding yes in return.

Joining a new community I wasn’t sure about and absolutely loving it and loving the fruit of those efforts in my life.

Getting an email from someone above me in the hierarchy that is complementary, thoughtful, makes me feel seen, appreciated, and so grateful my dream job is still a dream even in the ridiculousness of this last year.

Feeling the excitement of my family all getting vaccinated, so I can plan a trip home that has been a long time in coming.

An old flame is rekindled and fanned quickly into flames of hope, possibility, adventure, excitement, and joy.

This last year has been an awful one. And it’s been amazing. And once again I’m grateful I can feel because it means I am alive. And that’s really the best way to be. Life, to the full, not life to the happy, means we have the privilege of feeling all the things… and yet, regardless of the moment, we know that truth always wins, love always perseveres, and hope remains though it all.

One particularly playful pup who was fascinated by the GoPro.

A sunny, surfy weekend.

I see most of the United States is under either a blanket of snow or an unusually cold, icy deep-freeze. Gross, I say. I’m not just missing it, like a Facebook friend pointed out (as in – look at what you’re missing), I’m intentionally avoiding it until the end of days. I do not like winter. I like an occasional ski trip in a beautiful location, but outside of that, no thank you.

So while you’re all freezing I am at the beach!

One of the perks of working for the US Government is we get all US holidays as well as all South African holidays off. An embarrassment of riches, I say, in that we never have a month without at least one long weekend. Combine a Monday holiday with the fact that a few years ago I decided Valentines day would be a great reason to make myself feel special, I booked in a cheap flight to one of the most beautiful places in the world – Cape Town, and stayed an amazing long weekend at one of the best surfing beaches in the world – Muizenberg.

Google Muizenberg and you’ll definitely get a ton of photos of these beach huts. The cover photo of this post I managed to snap at sunrise.

The water was not as cold as I was expecting, and really, you do get used to the wetsuit after awhile. That being said, I still prefer the warm waters of Costa Rica! There are sharks in this part of the world, as well as trained shark-spotters on duty. I got to experience the shark sirens on Friday, when I had been out of the water about a half an hour, their shrill sound bringing all surfers out for about twenty minutes. I used to think I couldn’t surf in a place that might have sharks, but when I consider it logically, I’m far, far more likely to be injured or killed driving to the grocery store or the airport than I am to get injured or killed by a shark; driving is statistically one of the most dangerous things we can do at any given time, and yet, it doesn’t keep me from getting in the car. I’m not reckless, I’m not going to surf during an active shark warning, like I wouldn’t drive during an earthquake or if I knew there was an active shooter out on my road. The siren didn’t sound any more over the whole weekend, and I had a really enjoyable time out in the waves!

When everyone had to get out of the water because of the shark siren, it got a bit crowded. Outside of that time, most people were really good about distancing and everyone wore masks except when actually in the water.

Outside of that, there was a lot of relaxing, walking, caught up with a friend I haven’t seen in years, reading, and writing. Overall, a really lovely weekend, and I definitely would come back to Muizenberg for a surf weekend again if the opportunity presented itself!

I wrote this yesterday before flying back home to my Jay, and didn’t manage to get it posted. I’m home now, feeling good, looking forward to my next surfy, sunny weekend.

On Change and Choice

Tropical Cyclone Eloise tore through Mozambique last week and made her way to South Africa, and then like that weird colleague who can’t ever recognize social cues she has refused to leave and instead has decided to park her remains right over Gauteng Province, providing excessive rain for a week now and for as far as the weather forecasting apps can project into the future.

Last Saturday was an idyllic summer day – hot, around 93f, and a couple of friends and I lounged on floating chairs in my pool and drank champagne because I’ve decided in 2021 I’m not saving champagne for only special occasions. We talked about this and that and all expressed our gratitude for the lives we lead, that our regular Saturday is the stuff of dreams for millions and billions of people, not without it’s costs, of course, but truly an embarrassment of riches.

Now I’m wrapped up in my nana’s cosy winter robe complete with snowflakes on the sleeves and slippers on my feet, as if it’s the middle of July in the far southern hemisphere and not the middle of the hottest season. My pool is so full it resembles an infinity pool and my plants are so happy it’s like I can see them reaching out to the heavens in gratitude. Or maybe that’s desperation to keep from drowning, I’m not sure.

And I’m just thinking about how drastically things change, like 93 and sunny one day to 60 and rainy the next… like a life filled with social gatherings turned to life in almost total isolation in a matter of days… like when one decision can change the entire course of the relationship, or the situation, or the future, in the blink of an eye… and somehow, we, as humans, are the only piece of creation that has the option to choose how we react to these changes in our environment and our lives. In that space between stimulus and response, we get to choose.

It’s not always easy to choose gratitude, or hope; to bite our tongue when lashing out feels like the right choice, or letting anger or bitterness or hurt or betrayal direct our next steps or words or actions or beliefs. It’s not always easy to get out of bed and go for a run or lift those heavy things or move our bodies even though we absolutely know that it’s the best thing for our mental, physical, and emotional selves and everyone else we interact with afterwards. The cost of this idyllic life is spaces of desperate loneliness, lack of motivation, and the creeping vines of depression always trying to find a place to lodge themselves and take hold.

I’m not saying everything needs to be sunshine and roses and all it takes to turn things around is to think positive and we always have a choice. Not at all. There are so many different bits and pieces and phenomena at play, including physiological and environmental that may or may not allow us to actually choose our response. But in those situations we still do have a choice – to change our circumstances. Or just be okay with the feels sometimes, because we’re human and that just comes with the species.

I knew January would be tough. I came back from an absolutely magical vacation to quarantine, lockdown, and isolation, along with the daily grind of work during covid and nothing at all exciting on the calendar for 2021. It took me weeks to get back on my regular sleep schedule and over jet-lag and I had some nagging pain in my back from sleeping on airplanes and hauling a heavy backpack through airports. Shortly after I got back there was an insurrection in my homeland and covid cases were skyrocketing and my new boss was delayed in arriving and it felt as though absolutely nothing was going the way I had hoped, dreamed, anticipated, desired… and I felt guilty about it all. I should have come back refreshed and renewed and I felt all the guilt and shame associated with the fact that it was harder than it should have been.

But the reality is sometimes things are just hard and at one point I just decided to give myself until the end of January to get it together. January could be a buffer month between the train wreck of 2020 and the long unknown of 2021, where I would be okay with the feels but also do things, too, so that by the beginning of February I’d be back to a functional level of okay-ness and not losing all of 2021 into the pit of despair. And I decided that if I wasn’t okay or wasn’t able to look at 2021 with hope instead of despair by the beginning of Feb, I’d get professional help.

And then I got out of quarantine and started to see people. Friends, people who bring me life and joy and laughter (in the safest way we can). I went jogging with Jay, little by little, and started a new workout program. I cleaned the junk out of my fridge and pantry and got back on the food bandwagon that I know helps me feel better, both physically and emotionally. I got back on the sleep schedule that I like best and committed to reading more and scrolling less. I did some things I’d put off for awhile and did some other things that I needed to do and both of those things remind me that I really am capable and strong and good and all the things the pit of despair says I’m not.

And here we are, at the beginning of February, and I can honestly say I’m looking at 2021 with hope, and it feels so, so good.

Now it’s Sunday night, I started writing this yesterday morning. It’s still raining out, but I managed to have a good weekend, with the perfect combination of movement and rest and productivity and relaxation. I feel ready for the week ahead and looking forward to what it may bring instead of dreading it, which, for me, is one of the indicators of health in my day-to-day life. Another is preparing/eating well-rounded meals that take longer than five minutes and more than one dish to prepare. I know I’m not in a good place when all I can manage for multiple days in a row is peanut butter toast.

So as I’m finishing up my really delicious taco salad and close out my evening with a quick walk between the raindrops with Jay, I will say welcome, February, and welcome, the rest of 2021. Lets go.

Forty.

I remember when my mom turned forty. We celebrated her summer birthday at the lake, as usual, and I wrote on her card “lordy flordy look who’s forty”. I remember reading it in a magazine one time and finding it funny, but not truly understanding what it meant or what the world believes (or tries to make you believe) about a fortieth birthday. I was nine years old. I do remember thinking forty seemed ancient, as anything over twelve seems to feel to a nine-year-old.

Well, here I am.

I think I’m supposed to feel terrible, or depressed, or old. This is the line where single women become spinsters or old maids; this is where I’m supposed to question all my life choices and regrets and have a mid-life crisis.

But the thing is I don’t feel any of those things. Well, I do feel a little bit sad, but that’s because COVID crazy has limited my ability to throw a smashing party for myself. The reality is I’ve never been one to do what society expects, and I’ve set up a life that looks different and feels awesome. The older I get the more fun it is – because the older I get the less I feel constrained by what others think of me or what I ‘should’ do or look like or feel, and the more I embrace me for me.

So bring it on, forty.

And get it together, 2021, so I can go back to my regularly scheduled programming!

Wishing I could be back on the wide open beaches again soon….

Bookends.

So 2020 was a #trainwreckdumpsterfire for the vast majority of us, with lockdowns, cancelled plans, loneliness, fear, grief, illness, and the myriad of other experiences wrapped up in the global pandemic. If I never hear the word unprecedented ever again I’ll be happy. However, as I look back on 2020 I must say, it had some really great bookends.

In January 2020 some of my family came to visit, and it was the first time I’ve gotten to meet someone at the airport, instead of the other way around. It was such a wonderful time, going on safari and to the beach, and it’s a special thing when someone else can finally understand what my life is really like instead of just hearing stories. I’m generally the one who does the traveling, which I love, but South Africa is a special place and it was an incredibly special experience to have them here. We are all hoping we can do it again before it’s time for me to leave this country!

My sister Karin’s family visited South Africa in January, along with my mom.

And then on the other side, I spent most of December in Costa Rica! I think the awful-ness of most of 2020 made it feel all the more special. I’ve been there before but this time stayed in different places, and it was just as magical as I remember; actually, even more so because I got to share it with a friend who hadn’t been there before, instead of exploring alone.

We surfed, swam, wandered, ziplined, explored hot springs, a coffee plantation, the rainforest, rappelled down waterfalls, saw sloths and macaws and toucans and other amazing creatures, and in general squeezed every drop of goodness possible out of every single moment. It was magical.

Ziplining and rappelling near Manuel Antonio was particularly epic. I’m about to release my lines to drop into the pool below.

Just a note on travel – we spent extra money, and worked incredibly hard to be able to stay safe and healthy, and it was worth it. I recognize my incredible privilege that made it possible. I tested (twice) before leaving SA; we both quarantined before and after, we were incredibly careful while there, and tested again to make sure. We spent extra$ to fly delta as they are the only airline still blocking middle seats and consistently getting the best ‘grades’ when it comes to passenger safety. Costa Rica was an ideal location, as everything is already outside – all the restaurants, activities, beaches, etc. and the people there were very good about masking, hand washing stations everywhere, hand sanitizer, and staying spread apart. It was really wonderful and we both made it through without getting sick. I absolutely DON’T recommend traveling right now, but if you’re going to do it, do it in the most safe way possible, and it is possible.