The third Sunday in ordinary time

I have always loved the concept of ordinary time: the parts of the liturgical year outside of the seasons of Advent and Lent and the holidays of Christmas and Easter. Mostly because it sounds poetic, and because I love the idea that even prosaic things are worth naming and recognizing.*

When I was home in DC a few weeks ago, I took a break from catching up on work and planning my wedding to go to the 5:30 Sunday Mass. It made me nostalgic for being in high school and spending Sunday afternoon on homework and then getting pulled away to go to Mass. I both resented it—since I was a) a teenager who didn't want to go to church and b) stressed about finishing my assignments—and secretly enjoyed the enforced break.

Since I graduated from high school, I haven't gone to church as consistently, but I will pop in every now and then. Somewhere along the way, I came to enjoy the Mass as a meditative space. It's quiet, outside the hubbub of ordinary life. The service is repetitive enough week to week that your mind can wander, but with enough novelty (the readings, the homily) to give your brain something to work with. And high ceilings feel conducive to deep thoughts.

This last time, I glimpsed a program that announced it as the third Sunday in ordinary time. I remembered how much I love that phrase. I thought of how January and February often feel like the very definition of ordinary time. After summer travel, fall bucket lists, and winter holidays, they feel like back-to-normal, like a deep breath. I love the feeling of hibernating. When I lived in DC and had a community garden plot, I loved that the garden was hibernating too and I could take a break. After a few years without that lull—grad school meant very little downtime and Liberia meant endless summer—last January and February brought feet of snow and a welcome pause before the crazy travel schedule of the rest of the year. (Along with omicron and seasonal depression but we are going to gloss over that.) So even though they are cold and dark and boring, they are secretly some my favorite months of the year.

This January and February have not felt like that. With our wedding in October (simultaneously nine eight months away and right around the corner), it feels like a crucial period to make sure we have our key vendors in place, and I've been stressed about everything we still have to do. Plus this year I have already traveled to Cambridge for strategic planning, DC for a final wedding dress decision, and Egypt to visit our office there.

So when I saw that program, I thought, man, I can't wait for this time next year when the wedding is over and we'll be in ordinary time again.

And then almost immediately I realized that's not how I want to be thinking. I don't want to wish away the time between now and the wedding, or anything after that. If we are lucky, the next few years will bring extraordinary times as we embark on starting a family. Why would I want to wish away these years, which promise to be full of celebration and transition and newness?

I realized I sometimes see activities and projects and events as hurdles on my way toward a quiet, peaceful, obligation-free life where there's nothing to be stressed about. Because as much as I love travel and adventure, I also love routine and normalcy. But so much joy lives in those activities and projects and events. I want to lead a full life, even when it stresses me out.

We had a good conversation the other night about how it's easy (particularly for me) to feel like all my free time should be spent wedding planning, like I am only allowed to relax once I've made it to the end of my list. But adulthood, in some sense, is an endless list. The trick is embracing it, and setting it down at some points to enjoy yourself. (Or, as a sign on a former coworker's desk read, "Life is not about waiting for the storm to pass, but learning to dance in the rain.") We are fortunate that our lists are full of good things that we chose. And I am going to choose to enjoy this full season.

* In writing this post, I googled it and apparently "ordinary" in this context comes from "ordinal numbers," not "opposite of extraordinary." Which ruins it a little bit so I am sticking with my definition.

I want to remember: Liberia

I want to remember how music from the church filtered into my days when I lived on 9th street. It was too loud and too frequent, but I definitely ended up singing along to some bangers and it came to feel like home.

I want to remember my lockdown routines. Eating dinner on the back porch and watching Friday Night Lights, then coming in to wash dishes while listening to music from the aughts. Drinking a beer, eating Pringles, and reading a book at 6 o'clock on weekends. Dropping what I was doing to do barre3 classes when they started on Instagram live.

I want to remember the flow state that I sometimes got into when coding in Stata or programming surveys in SurveyCTO. I went from feeling like an imposter to a "technical influencer" to a genuine resource for other staff in my office on survey and data questions.

I want to remember how nervous I was at the start about whether I would be able to pull off the survey, and how nonstop I worked when we were preparing to launch.

I want to remember seeing storms roll in across the ocean.

I want to remember becoming a connoisseur of sunsets and how I could tell when it was going to be a great one.

I want to remember watching the water and how it changed from hour to hour and from day to day. I feel so lucky that I got to see the ocean every day (with literally just a small handful of exceptions) for a year and a half. 

I want to remember coming back from hot, stressful workdays in October and November - when we were trying to launch the survey and weren't allowed to use fans in the office - and jumping in the pool and just washing the entire day off. 

I want to remember family dinners and the joy of sitting down together around the table after helping (or "helping") to cook.

I want to remember beering the margs.

I want to remember coming over the last hill in Robertsport and seeing the ocean and how even though it happened about once a month, it made me giddy with happiness every time.

I want to remember arriving at the beach on Sunday and how even though we went once a week, it made me giddy with happiness every time.

I want to remember the joy of coming back from a weekend at the beach or a trip to the beach in a neighboring country and... still being at the beach.

I want to remember the relief I felt when preliminary results started coming in and making clear that I hadn't messed up the survey.

I want to remember the jokes. I don't know if I've ever had as many laughs per minute as I've had here. 

I want to remember stopping for Korean on the way back from Robertsport: sunburned, dirty, slap-happy, and ravenous for pork and bibimbap.

I want to remember bobbing in the ocean and making jokes.

I want to remember the Sunday routine: stopping at Kaldi's for coffee and croissants. Driving out to the beach. Swimming, chatting, reading a book, drinking a beer, playing Rummikub, eating lunch. Home for a face mask and a call to my parents.

I want to remember the Mohammeds, our Guinean drivers who brought us on so many adventures and tolerated us (and our music) so kindly. Who knew our names and didn't need to be told where we were going, just who we were picking up (and even that they could usually guess). 

I want to remember the ten-second calls to Mohammed to arrange a car and his three-second call when the driver arrived: "Yeah he's there" or "Yeah ousside." I normally hate talking on the phone. But I think about going home and calling an Uber and getting sent someone I've never seen before and will never see again and I get a little sad.

I want to remember the public taxi rides, where everyone greeted each other good morning, debated teh political news of the day, and was instantly on the side of the driver against anyone else on the road who may have wronged us.

I want to remember grilled staffed fish, oregano grilled wraps, potato greens, and sushi pizza.

I want to remember driving at 90 down those country lanes.

I want to remember the music of Liberian English. The "eh-HEH." The "ehyouknow." The "thank you ya." The "Ah!" The o's at the end of sentences.

I want to remember my colleagues- the jokes we shared, the kindness they showed me (especially when I was alone during lockdown), and what we were able to accomplish together.

I want to remember the feeling of community. Of spontaneously popping downstairs to eat dinner or watch a few episodes of something. Of playing Ligretto or Ticket to Ride and drinking wine and processing our workdays. Of running into friends or the Mohammeds when out and about.

I want to remember stopping for a coconut at every chance I had and how it made daily life feel like a tropical vacation.

I want to remember monitoring the survey in the field and racking up a fantastic step count, getting to experience parts of Monrovia that I would not have otherwise, winding through crowded markets trying not to knock produce off anyone's head, the field staff worrying about me getting lost or sunburnt. 

I want to remember keke rides to drop off lappa at Michelle's tailoring shop or to buy produce on Benson Street.

I want to remember the rolling hills on the drive to Nimba and the joy of seeing mountains again.

I want to remember the lush green - the palm trees and banana trees and so much more foliage that I don't know the names for.

I want to remember stepping out on the balcony or walking home from work or popping up for air during a swim and breathing in the salty ocean air.

I want to remember the sights and sounds of daily life in Liberia. The motorbike drivers with their snazzy jackets and the extra long umbrellas during rainy season. The guys selling fuel and gas out of mason jars by the side of the road. Folks playing checkers under a tree or drinking beers in a bar. Haircuts and manicures happening in open-air shops. Drivers washing their motorbikes and kekes on the weekend. The guys with megaphones walking down the street: "Orange data, Lonestar data. Orange minutes, Lonestar minutes. Rechaaaaarge your phone." The guys with a handful of chickens hanging by their feet.

I want to remember the joy of getting to do something I'd long dreamed of.

I want to remember how happy I was here. My life in Liberia had three key ingredients: a sense of community, challenging and meaningful work, and the novelty of living abroad among the unexpected. How lucky I am to have found that.

Photos are favorites from the last few months. All are mine except for the sixth and last, which were taken by my friend Erik Jorgensen, and whoever self-timered that big group shot.

At 30

For a while, there was one moment in my life that I pinpointed as the happiest. I was a senior in high school, driving home from a party with a couple of my best friends. We were listening to Comptine d'un autre été from the Amélie soundtrack, and as we drove, I could see the moon through the sunroof, disappearing and reappearing from the trees above. I felt enshrouded in friendship and deeply content.

Shortly after I graduated from college, I was driving back from Baltimore to DC on a sunny day, feeling content, when I flashed back to that earlier drive, that formerly happiest moment. "Wow," I thought. "I had no idea then how much better it would get."

I had had many happiest moments between those two, but I wasn't thinking of any in particular. I wasn't at a particular pinnacle - I was still flopping around and applying to jobs. The party the night before and the brunch that morning had been fun, but not life-changing - so why was I so happy?

On one level, it was just the basic pleasure of adulthood (a Bloody Mary, yelling above the music as I was introduced to new people). But underneath that was the even greater pleasure of autonomy. The realization, as I drove, that I was steering the ship that had brought me to this moment.

+

The story of my 20s has been the story of learning how to choose.

In my senior year of college, while I was writing my thesis and trying not to think about what I would do after graduation, my procrastination method of choice was to read Mormon mommy blogs, which were in their heyday at the time. (Because everything on the Internet exists forever, it was this article that led me to my favorites.)

The bloggers' lives seemed... easy. Not just because they didn't need to write a thesis or find a job, but because their belief system made clear which path they should value and pursue - marriage and motherhood. They didn't really have to choose. There was a clear metric by which they could succeed. I didn't actually want to get married or have kids right out of college, and I knew intellectually that a life with fewer choices was not something to envy - but I was jealous of what seemed like a simpler path.

I hated choosing. In my senior year of high school, I agonized over where to go to college - to the point that I stood at the post office on the day of the deadline with two envelopes in hand. There was a ton of tears and suffering for everyone around me. (I remember sobbing to my college counselor: "this is going to affect who I marry!") My life up till then had been all possibility and few real choices. It was the first time I could see the paths branching ahead of me and realized going down one meant losing all the possibilities of the others.

In my early 20s, as I worked at my first real job and jetted between DC and North Africa and found my first real hobbies and worried about what I should do for grad school, there was a trail of bread crumbs. A sermon from Reverend Hardies at All Souls Unitarian about choice - the first time I'd heard a religious leader speak about "choice" without meaning "abortion." A poster I bought with the Harry Potter quote "It is our choices that define us far more than our abilities." A spirituality retreat at my alma mater where a nun spoke about developing our "choicefulness."

In 2015, I decorated a card every day and I applied to PhD programs. The cards came to include a number of pep talks and mantras as I worked through that overwhelming process. One of my favorites read "learn to let the future excite and not terrify you," which felt like a tall order at the time. How could I choose one out of so many possible paths?

And then I got rejected from most of the programs I applied to. It felt like my most spectacular failure to date. But while disappointing, it was also a turning point. I had tried something and it hadn't worked - but life had gone on and now I had an opportunity to try something new. The future started to excite me a little more and terrify me a little less.

+

Since then, I choose to defer grad school and instead headed to southern Turkey to work on democracy programs in Syria, while my boyfriend started law school in Cambridge. I chose to pursue a Masters in Public Policy at the Harvard Kennedy School and to spend a summer interning in agricultural development in Bangladesh. I chose to get excited about living in Cleveland but to go on an adventure in Liberia first.

And along the way, I have become more choiceful. I have developed a much greater ability to check with my gut on what I want to do. I have learned that if something is not the right fit, I can backtrack and pivot - decisions are rarely final. And I have realized that none of the paths branching in front of me is necessarily better or worse than the others - each offers its own adventure. (I mean, I'm sure one of the million paths leads to a Nobel Prize and another leads to destitution, but you know what I mean.)

It has helped that as you get older, the paths naturally get winnowed down. And decisions still stress me out, probably more than most people. (Just ask any of the ten people with whom I consulted about whether to evacuate Liberia during the pandemic.) But alongside the stress, there is the thrill of charting my own course. And so far, life keeps getting better and better. It keeps rolling right on.

I think back on all the experiences I've had over the last ten years - things I couldn't have imagined at 20 - and I get excited about all the future happenings I can't imagine today, all the different twists and turns my path may take, all the different experiences my life can expand to include. 

Steering this ship feels scary at times. But - much more than Bloody Marys or international travel - it is also far more fulfilling than I had imagined.  

What's up?

Of all the ways to ask someone how they are doing, my least favorite is "What's up?" Because the default response - at least my default response - is a hearty "Not too much!" Which is kind of a conversation ender (what do you talk about after you've declared that nothing very interesting is happening in your life?) and also often emphatically not the case. But it also feels weird to launch right into a detailed description of the many exciting things happening in your life as soon as you see someone.

So what's been up? Well, many exciting things have happened since I last wrote here.

+ Trump became president. Starting on kind of a bummer note, I know. I will hold back on sharing my full thoughts and feelings on this (like everyone else's, they could fill reams of blog posts and tweets). But in short, we spent Inauguration Day making signs for what ended up being a crazy-inspiring (and MASSIVE) Women's March on Saturday. The march gave me a burst of energy to resist and take action that has unfortunately abated somewhat since I've been traveling - I need to find ways to reengage. The insane new political reality has been a thread running through everything else that has happened this year. When I was in Turkey, the time difference meant that the crazy news would drop right as I was going to sleep or waking up, when my defenses were down. Once I was back in the DC office, I would check the TVs in the kitchen every day at 5 or 6 to see the latest Russia scoop revealed. And all throughout, I've been listening to political podcasts that become outdated in the hours between when they're recorded and when they're aired.

+ I cut my hair off. A pixie cut! It's the shortest I've ever gone and something I've been wanting to do for a while now. I don't get too squeamish about changing my hair (hair grows! the stakes are super low!) (though oddly I have never had it colored or even highlighted). I literally told my hairstylist that I wanted to look like Claire Underwood from House of Cards and she nailed it. I'm not sure the Claire Underwood is the exact right style for me, but I love having short hair. I especially love how easy it is to take care of (though the fact that it sticks up in 1,000 different directions when I sleep on it wet makes me a bit more careful in timing my showers.) I didn't really have an exit strategy when I cut it - my hair grows fast so I sort of thought I could snap my fingers and it would grow out - but I will probably keep it short long enough to play with a few different pixie cuts.

+ I worked in Turkey for a month, similar to what I did in the fall. This time around, I was helping out with public opinion research we conducted on sexual and gender-based violence in Syria. Working abroad is a very immersive experience and as always, I learned a ton - about Syria, about survey research, about violence against women, about working under pressure. This trip I visited Sanliurfa and Pamukkale for the first time, and hit Istanbul for the first time in five years. (My initial attitude was "been there, done that, can skip it" but as soon as I stepped off the subway I remembered how special that city is to me.) This was my fourth trip to Turkey and it's been fun to slowly chip away cities on the map of that diverse country.

+ I had a family reunion in Maui. It was my first time in Hawaii and needless to say, I loved it. The vacation snowballed until there were more than 20 people in our party, a web of parents and children and siblings and cousins and in-laws and friends where almost no one knew everyone but everyone knew someone. The group was divided among a few spots on the island - I stayed in the big house on the beach in Lahaina that served as the hub of activity for our crew. The week was the perfect blend of excursioning around the island and lounging on the beach and spending time with family. We drove the road to Hana, caught the very end of the whale-watching season, kayaked out to snorkel at a sea turtle cleaning station, went horseback-riding alongside the most stunning cliffs I have ever seen, enjoyed the Hawaii tourist ritual of a luau, ate breakfast on a coffee farm on the slopes of a volcano, and played with baby cousins on the beach. I also "learned how to surf" (because while my cousins were great teachers, you have to round up pretty far to call what I did surfing). (I fell off the surfboard but thankfully not the horse.) This vacation could be a giant blog post full of photos and Maui recommendations - but suffice it to say that an amazing time was had by all and I hope to be back someday.

+ I made a decision about graduate school. After hemming and hawing over how to move forward last year (not to mention with choosing a college and most other big decisions I've made), I was fairly decisive this time around. After thinking it over while traipsing around Pamukkale and pacing the beach in Maui and drifting in and out of consciousness on airplanes and talking to my parents and Austin, it's official - I'm headed to the Harvard Kennedy School in the fall! There were serious checkmarks in the "pro" columns for both schools I was considering, but for a variety of reasons, I'm confident that I'm landing in the right place for me.



+ I celebrated my 10-year high school reunion! We convened at a bar Friday night with just the class of 2007 and then went to the big shindig in the school gym on Saturday night for all the classes ending in 2s and 7s. It was equally fun chatting with girls I haven't seen in ten years, and getting ready and spending quality time with my BFFs who don't get together nearly often enough. Suffice it to say that we ended up skipping the pre-reunion liturgy (because Catholic school) to drink more champagne and perfect our "laughing while clinking glasses" pose. The only wrinkle in a magic weekend was the fact that we lost out on a free champagne bar (awarded to the class with the highest participation rate) to the class of 1972 (who comes to a 45-year reunion???). We'll beat those betches next time around. It is crazy that it's been ten years, but high school doesn't feel like "just yesterday" anymore - there has been a lot of growth and experience and good times in those years. I'm just glad that our bond is still strong.

+ I announced an end date and then left my job of 4.75 years. (Just three months shy of getting my five-year certificate). After lots of soul-searching and calendar-examining, I ultimately decided to leave a few months before grad school starts to have time to recharge and travel this summer. This was a big milestone for me and there are many more thoughts and feelings on this to come.

Suffice it to say that it's been a full and interesting year so far - one where my daily life has often looked totally different from one month to the next. What it all comes down to is - I am very blessed. With friends and family and opportunities of all kinds. I've been reminded often of a favorite quote from The Hours: "There's just this for consolation: an hour here or there when our lives seem, against all odds and expectations, to burst open and give us everything we've ever imagined, though everyone but children (and perhaps even they) know these hours will inevitably be followed by others, far darker and more difficult." Life lately has been bursting open and giving me everything I've ever imagined (with the major exception of political leadership that is not bent on destroying the planet). I'm in a full, exciting, happy season of life right now and I'm very grateful for that.

Looking back on 2016

Common themes in my Instagram best nine of 2016 - water, mountains, sunsets, Austin. Sounds about right.

On January 1, 2016, I felt like I was getting on a train ride that I didn't know where it would take me. I knew there would be some serious ups and downs, but couldn't picture the destination. I knew I would be in grad school in a new-to-me part of the United States -- but there were a lot of details missing from that picture.

And it turned out that the train was a rollercoaster (how far can I stretch this metaphor??) Because like a rollercoaster, I ended up in much the same place that I started -- still in DC, still at my job -- but my insides feel all different after the ride.
 

To recap-- January saw me submitting my last few graduate applications, then I heard back from schools when I was in Tunisia in February and March, decided on Fletcher in April, gave my notice at work in May and then accepted their offer of a promotion and a new portfolio if I deferred for a year. Over a summer of weddings and travel, we packed up our DC apartment and in August, we moved Austin to Cambridge for law school while I moved in with my parents. From October to December, I worked in southern Turkey on our programs in Syria. 

 

All in all it was a very good year for me personally (as much as that feels out of step with the mood of the country and the horror of a Trump presidency sneaking in at the end). While there were highs and lows, they were all in the service of growth.

Lessons learned

+ that I can trust myself to do the right thing when the right moment comes. I didn't consciously reference my word very often, but it was humming in the background. What I am taking away from 2016 is a deeper well of trust in myself, in my ability to make decisions and to steer my own life.

+ that while you can't control how people respond to you, you can act in a way that you can be proud of. I, like everyone else, am constantly learning that I can't control everything - but I have a new appreciation for the fact that I can put my best foot forward and let my satisfaction come from the knowledge that I did my best.

+ there is no "ready" and no "perfect time." This is a theme that came up repeatedly in conversations with my friends and Austin. Life is always going to be crazy, and it is only going to get crazier as we accumulate responsibilities. The things any of us want to do are always going to be at least a bit inconvenient. There is no sense in waiting for a quieter time or a more opportune moment to dive in.

Successes. 

Professionally, this was a good and busy year for me. I got promoted to a position that, for the first time in my career, does not have the words "intern" or "assistant" in the title. I authored (or played a major role in) two public opinion research reports. I took the lead on two major proposals that landed us more money. And I spent nearly three months working abroad in Tunisia and Turkey, the most in any year since I started this job. Like everyone, I sometimes get bogged down in the day-to-day and so it's cool to look back and realize that I'm now doing things I've wanted to do since the beginning of my career.

This was one of the funnest years ever. We went to four of our best friends' weddings, nicely spaced throughout the summer, and had a blast. While I feel like I worked more than ever before, I also took more vacation time.

New countries visited --  British Virgin Islands, Anguilla, Cyprus. The fun part about these is that I would not have guessed them at the beginning of the year. And between the Caribbean and Cyprus, I visited eight islands total.

Failures.

With everything else going on this year, I didn't too much creatively. Ironically, I did more blogging and creating even while balancing the grad school application process last year than I did this year, when I was excited to have more time and bandwidth for that. I am resolving to get back into the habit of finding little pockets of time to be creative because as referenced above, I am never going to magically have more time.

More miles, fewer races. I was 2/2 for signing up for races (the DC Rock and Roll half marathon and the St. Michaels Running Festival) and then being out of town and not running them. As I've done the last three years, I tried and failed to run 365 miles-- but I did run more miles (about 180) than I had since I started keeping track, so that was a win.

+++

So long to 2016! You were a trip. And with more travel and a move to Boston (for real this time!) on the horizon, 2017 promises to match it for adventure.

26 favorite moments

In the midst of my belated end-of-year blogging, I remembered that my birthday was back in July and I had yet to publish my list of 26 favorite moments of 26. Compiling these is one of my favorite exercises each year. It's always interesting to see that some of the moments I thought would make the list - some of the flashy, big-headline, gotta-be-important moments - had faded into the background and quieter, sweeter memories had bubbled up in their place. 26 was a good one - full of a lot of growth and a lot of fun. (And no spoilers, but we're six months in and 27 just might top it.)

Drinking beer on the dock and reading Station Eleven in beautiful Northern Michigan.

A private ferris wheel ride in Newport Beach.

An extremely fancy sushi tasting in Newport Beach.

When Austin got startled by a sea lion and fell off his kayak in Newport Beach. 

Running across the Chesapeake Bay Bridge feeling strong. 

Walking on the beach in Mauritania feeling like I was on the edge of something big.

Submitting my second-to-last PhD application right before I got on a flight from Nouakchott to Paris and then the very last right before getting on the flight from Paris to DC and (most importantly) getting to watch in-flight movies guilt-free.

Watching home movies with my family on Christmas Eve. 

Finishing the daily card project strong... and realizing on January 1 that I did not have to make a card.

Trudging through the snow and listening to podcasts during #snowzilla.

Drinking at a wine bar, eating at Maketto, and brainstorming about the future on H Street.

Austin getting into Harvard Law and spending the weekend toasting him with visiting friends. 

Going to our favorite neighborhood Mexican place at midnight after Austin finished a long night on Trump (working to defeat Trump, that is).

Dinner clubs with my friends where we lingered after dinner with wine. 

Driving through the Tunisian countryside listening to Manazel (and many other songs, but that's the one I remember) on repeat.

Racing through a zombie book over solo dinners in Tunisia.

Learning about a full scholarship to graduate school (after a series of defeats on PhD programs) and laughing out loud to myself in my hotel room in Tunis.

The birthday/mini-bachelorette party/dinner party/night at Wonderland with my girlfriends before the first of us got married.

Submitting the first grant proposal that I drafted all by myself.

Getting wooed by my organization to defer grad school and stay for another year.

When the rain stopped and the clouds parted for Raf and Ashley's sunshiney wedding ceremony in Roanoke.

Every moment of being back in Vermont - especially driving up Route 7 to Vergennes, drinking on a dock by sparkly Lake Champlain, and learning that there was a Bloody Mary bar at the post-wedding brunch.

Singing along to Like a Prayer at the top of my lungs with my best high school and college friends... at three separate weddings.

When the lights dimmed and the opening bars of Hamilton played at the Richard Rodgers theater. (Not to call it too early but that could possibly be the top moment of my 20s.)

Listening to Mashrou' Leila play an old favorite, Fasateen, the day after the Orlando club shooting.

That first day in St. John's, jumping in the Jeep, driving on the left side of the road, and happening to plunk down at one of the best beaches in the Caribbean.

                                                         
PS: 25 favorite moments are here and the original idea was borrowed from here.

'twas the season

A busy couple of months mean I am behind on that sacred rite of the blogosphere-- a recap of the last year and some goal-setting for the next. But first, December deserves a post of its own. Because oh man, December, you were one of the crazier months in recent memory and a fitting end to a full year. One that was somehow both packed with work but also full of travel and time off. One that will forevermore be my benchmark of how much can happen in a month and a reminder that busyness has the magical property of making time stretch.

On December 1, I submitted my application to the Harvard Kennedy School, then took off for a lovely solo weekend in North Cyprus - one of the few places you can reach by a direct flight from Gaziantep. The next weekend, I spent 24 hours in Istanbul for a policy forum for work and a few days after that, flew back from Gaziantep to DC. Austin came to down for a few days, then I celebrated Christmas in southern California with my family, then flew back to DC for a packed workweek between Christmas and New Years, then flew up to Boston so Austin and I could drive out to the Cape to ring in the New Year with the Countdown Cod.  In total, I took 12 flights, one of which involved extended questioning by US Customs and Border Control and three of which landed me with an SSSS (Secondary Security Screening Selection) on my boarding pass and patdowns by TSA, thanks to extra scrutiny on travelers to southern Turkey.

 

This marks the third year that I've spent a good chunk of December abroad - Tunisia in 2014, Mauritania in 2015, Turkey in 2016. (And as crazy as that feels, it's even crazier that if I stick with the grad school plan, that won't be my life next year.) And all throughout the season, I felt the familiar tension between home & away, the desire to lean in to adventure at the same time that I crave a cozy nest. I was a little bummed that I didn't have a chance to keep up my own little Christmas traditions this year, though equally glad that I didn't wait until life was more stable to start those. In that spirit, I was totally delighted to buy a grocery store poinsettia to enjoy for all of five days in my apartment in Turkey.

One of these days, I will have a cozy December at home, full of Christmas shopping, cookie baking, and ugly sweater parties. But I believe that life is long and, as long as we don't get stuck, there is plenty of time for everything we want to do. The flipside of missing the lead-up to "Christmastime in the city" this year is that I got to spend a weekend in the rolling hills of North Cyprus and to do some truly cool stuff professionally. I am grateful for all of it.

Currently: Turkey edition

I've been working in southern Turkey for more than a month now (crazy!) so I figured it was high time to record a slice of what life looks like right now.

Exploring: the mosaic museum, the old castle, and the Euphrates River. This part of the country is not highly-touristed by international travelers and it doesn't have the flashy Mediterranean views or fairy chimneys of other part of the country, but the corners I have seen of it have been delightful. You can't really travel in the Middle East and North Africa without tripping over a Roman mosaic, so I thought I had seen them all, but the mosaic museum here is mind-blowingly good. And last weekend we drove down to a spot on the Euphrates River where you can take a boat ride past an ancient castle, man-made caves in the hills, and a city that sunk during the Birecik dam project, and eat dam fish in a delightful village.

Enjoying: doing work that's in that elusive sweet spot where I'm comfortable enough with what I'm doing that it's not totally overwhelming, but it's challenging enough that I'm learning. Where I have enough work that I need to keep a close eye on my to-do list but not so much that I want to cry.

Writing: like I'm running out of time. Which I am for submitting a couple of additional grad school applications to Boston-based schools.

Eating: so well. During the day, folks in the office often order in or go out for Turkish or Syrian food. It makes for a quick and delicious route to cultural tourism. Gaziantep is famous throughout Turkey for its kebab and baklava since we are in a major pistachio-going region. In the evenings, I generally cook for myself and it's nice to have that familiar routine to balance it out. As snacks, I've also been eating a ton of pomegranates and Magnum bars. When traveling I am much more likely to treat myself - unfamiliar and sometimes challenging circumstances demand comfort food.  I only occasionally buy ice cream bars at home but here I eat one most nights and I am not sorry. Even better is the fact that they come in pistachio, hazelnut, and tahini flavors.

Running: a lot. I live conveniently very close to the gym within my already convenient gated community and I've gotten in a good habit of regularly going a few times a week. For the last three years I have set the goal of running 365 miles and then as my interest in running waxes and wanes over the year, I quickly fall behind. This year is no exception, but with no Bar Method to keep me away from the treadmill, at least I am finishing strong. Work trips often mean late nights, heavy food (so much shawarma!) and little opportunity to work out, the combination of which leave me feeling sluggish, so I'm glad I've been able to build in a consistent exercise routine here.

Listening to: Harry Potter and the Sacred Text. I am always reluctant to subscribe to a new podcast because I listen to so many, so new pods really have to prove themselves if they are going to stay in rotation. This is, as promised, a reading of Harry Potter as a sacred text. I initially thought that meant they would talk about the literary and biblical allegories ("Lupin means wolf!") in the text, which I feel like I've gotten plenty of over the years. Instead it's a close reading of Harry Potter with a view towards its spiritual lessons. done by folks pursuing non-traditional ministries at the Harvard Divinity School. It is like a balm for the soul, especially when my political podcasts have my heart racing and my head spinning. It reminds me a bit of Unitarian church (where, appropriately enough, the head minister looks just like Harry Potter to me).

Laughing: at myself for writing more in the Harry Potter paragraph than anywhere else in this post.

Watching: Outlander. As a story of a 27-year-old stranger in a strange land, it's proving to be surprisingly resonant for me at the moment. And the Scottish scenery feels very cozy this time of year.

Reading: Life after Life. Loving it even if the passages on Hitler's rise to power are hitting a little too close to home these days.

Buying: a lamp, wine, and cheese. Even though Turkey stayed on summer time this year (i.e. did not end Daylight Savings Time) and the sun sets an hour later than it might otherwise, it still gets dark early. Better lighting and creature comforts are making all the difference on long winter evenings.

Missing: Halloween and then the election and now Thanksgiving. I'm so glad to be here but a little wistful about being far away during such an eventful time.

Learning a ton - just how I like it.

Thanksgiving in Turkey

Thanksgiving at the Hagia Sophia seven years ago and Thanksgiving in my apartment elevator today.

This was the second Thanksgiving I have spent in Turkey, with all the delightful pun opportunities that provides (plus the sad irony that Turkey the fowl is difficult to come across in Turkey the country). The first was Thanksgiving 2009, when I was studying abroad in Egypt and a few of us took advantage of the long weekend to get out of dodge. Turkey felt like a breath of fresh air after the chaos and challenges of Egypt and I completely imprinted on it. I don't remember exactly what we did on Thanksgiving day, but we were probably seeing the sights around Istanbul. When we were back in Alexandria, our cohort simulated a Thanksgiving dinner as best we could.  I missed my boyfriend, whose studies abroad had been curtailed early.

I came back to Turkey for the second time in spring 2012, fresh off three months working in the West Bank and less than a year after graduating from college. Turkey again felt orderly and easy to navigate after the complications of life in Palestine. I stayed for six weeks, volunteering on organic farms near Yalova and Fethiye. I missed my boyfriend, who was on a fellowship having his own adventures around the world. I didn't know it then, but a few months later I would start working at NDI and begin the defining chapter of my twenties.

This year, I'm relearning Turkish phrases and paying careful attention to the security situation and focusing most of my attention southward. I'm remembering that travel, at best, lets us scratch the surface of a place. I celebrated Thanksgiving 2016 with friends from DC, roasted chicken and two kinds of stuffing, and a signature cocktail with pomegranate and rosemary. And I miss my boyfriend, who's embarking on his first year of law school.

Much has changed, much has stayed the same -- not least the regional environment and Turkish politics and foreign policy -- and I won't bore you with too much navel-gazing. Basically I have experienced the amount of growth and change that's only natural over the course of seven years in your twenties. But it strikes me that whenever I'm in Turkey, it's during a time of transition, of processing and figuring out next steps. For that reason and many others, it will always have a special place in my heart.

An elections retrospective

In  2008, I got to vote in my first election, amidst the excitement of hope and change and getting to elect our first black president (and the ugliness that arises when people other than white men run for office). I remember watching Clinton and Obama debate in a living room full of my college friends on Feb break. My boyfriend and I had just gotten together, I was surrounded by new friends, and the world felt fresh and promising. I seriously weighed the choice of candidates in the primaries, but ultimately got swept up in Obama fever. (A choice that I would occasionally doubt over the next eight years when the going got tough for Obama.) On election day, we got Thai food for lunch in our small Vermont college town and watched Obama crush McCain as the returns came in at the student center.

In 2010... I have no recollection. The midterm elections fell during the crazy fall semester of my senior year in college, when I had decided it would be a good idea to take two senior seminars in political science while preparing to write a senior thesis. But I am pretty sure I didn't vote because when a political consultant showed me my profile in the Democrat voter database at an NDI event a couple years later, it showed that I was an inconsistent voter, to my great embarrassment. I'm sure I excused it by the fact that I would be voting absentee in Maryland, a reliably blue state.

In  2012, I had just started interning at NDI - long enough to feel like I had a front row seat on some of the action as we held our big conference in tandem with the DNC, but not quite long enough to get the campaigning itch in time to really get involved. In the days leading up to the election, we hosted a group of young North African party activists for a study mission to learn about how the democratic process works in the US and to get a front-row seat for the campaign. We visited Democratic and Republican campaign headquarters and saw Tim Kaine speak at a campaign stop when he was "just" running for the Senate. On election night, we watched the returns come in from a hotel near our office, and when they called it for Obama, we paraded jubilantly down to the White House as the North Africans shouted Obama a gagne!

I had come to NDI interested in working in international development in the Middle East, and somewhat agnostic about NDI's particular focus on democracy and politics, but that week was a turning point for me - I got to see our work up close as democratic practitioners from across the world shared and debated about political processes.

I was also on pins and needles the whole time because I had applied for a full-time opening on my team. The Friday after the election, I learned I got the job, went to my part-time SAT tutoring gig after work, picked up Chipotle for dinner, then greeted my boyfriend who had driven to DC from Ohio to move in with me and find a job - kicking off four years there together. I remember thinking, giddily, that Obama and I found out in the same week that we would both get to keep our jobs.

In  2014... I shamefully did not vote. Working for NDI brought me to Tunisia for most of the fall to work on programming for their legislative and presidential elections, and I messed up my application for a DC absentee ballot. So the great irony was that as I was working (indirectly) to encourage people to participate in elections in Tunisia, I had failed to participate in my own. I reassured myself that I would be voting absentee in DC, a reliably blue non-state.

In  2016, I was again abroad for election day, this time working in Turkey for NDI. But this time I was prepared. I knew I'd be heading out of the country, so I was vigilant in ensuring that I got an absentee ballot - no way was I going to miss voting for our first woman president, even if in the flurry of packing for Turkey I neglected to get an absentee ballot selfie.

Before I left, I also did a couple days of door-knocking in Philly with the DC for Hillary team, and a couple evenings of phone-banking to contact other volunteers. Once in Turkey, I used the campaign's online call tool to help get out the vote in Pennsylvania, Ohio, and Arizona when people in those states were awake. All together, I made 200 calls. In the scheme of things it wasn't much, but it did ease my election anxiety.

I really wish I had gotten involved during the Obama campaigns, but I am proud that did what I could and glad that I've broken the ice. I also learned a lot in my brief canvassing experience. How to make the hard sell and not offer people an easy way out. How to not take rejection personally. And how to talk on the phone even though you hate it.

With the time difference, on election day I made a bunch of GOTV calls between finishing my NDI work, slept for a couple of hours, then woke up at 6:30 am to CNN and a text from my boyfriend saying "this is not going our way." At first it seemed like a solvable problem - some swing states had gone for Trump, but surely the pendulum would swing back and others would go for her - but by the time I left for work a couple of hours later, a Trump victory was all but assured. I went through the day stunned, refreshing Facebook for reactions from friends and #pantsuitnation and receiving condolences from friends and colleagues from across the world and thinking about all the ways this will affect my life.

I have so many thoughts about the outcome of the election that I will not weigh down this post with. But yesterday, I listened to the Keepin' it 1600 podcast - run by dudes from the Obama administration who have been confident in a Hillary victory - as they apologized for being smug and wrong. Throughout the campaign season, they have poked fun at "bed-wetters" wringing their hands about the outcome - and they reiterated that they did so not to allow people to be complacent, but to encourage them to channel those feelings into action. That politics are not a spectator sport.

People often roll their eyes or shut down the conversation when it comes to politics, but if anything is clear these days, it's that politics are deeply personal, and that they matter. I, like I know a lot of people are, am resolving to be much more active in them in the years ahead.

Fun facts

Sometimes I wish I started blogging in the olden days of the Internet, when people tagged each other in interviews and questionnaires and everyone shared their personal quirks. So I'm throwing it back to 2008 and sharing some fun facts.

1. I appear to be through the season of horrible lower back pain that was aggravated by jumping for this picture and I am so relieved that that wasn't the start of a lifetime of deteriorating health.

2. The most important decision when packing for trips and vacations, in my view, is what books to bring. The idea that I might not have enough reading material, or books appropriately themed to the destination, on a trip makes my palms sweaty.

3. I have my debit card number memorized. But also my library card number and my passport number (edit: at least before I had to renew it). So hopefully that balances out.

4. When I was a kid, I would count stairs going up and down, and plan it so I would always end on the right foot. (If there's an even number of stairs you have to start on the left foot; if it's odd you start on the right.) I wrote about this in one of those mandatory journal exercises in eighth grade and my (no doubt well-meaning) teacher suggested I get screened for OCD. I walked through the world like a normal person for about ten years - until I got a Fitbit and started counting steps all over again.

5. Two things that separate me from the rest of my generation - I like Lena Dunham and I do not like getting guacamole with my Chipotle.

6. It seems like 99% of bloggers describe themselves as "planners" and "type-A." I think those are excellent qualities, and when everyone describes themselves a certain way it's easy to think that you fit the description too. But while I am very effective at getting things done, planning is not my strong suit, if I'm being honest. I can fill out a planner with the best of them but rarely do so in advance.

7. My biggest pet peeve is when I'm eavesdropping on a conversation, but one person is speaking much louder than the other and so I can only hear one side. I don't know what bothers me more: the impression that one person is dominating the conversation, or the fact that I can't get a full picture of what they're talking about.

8. I lead a charmed life. In a check-your-privilege, #blessed sense, for sure, but also in the sense that flights I'm running late for are inevitably delayed, and I always get chosen off the standby list, and things that really shouldn't have worked out in my favor often do.

9. I have a very long attention span for things I am interested in. This is great for staying focused on a task, but not great if you are at a museum with me.

10. I do my best blogging when I'm procrastinating on something else. (Doesn't everyone?) 

Currently: September 2016

 Adjusting to life in the suburbs and a new routine. After a summer of lots of travel (I didn't spend more than a week in one place for all of July and August), September has been a long deep breath in some ways. The biggest change, on a practical level, is a commute that can be almost an hour long. The upside is that I have lots of time to listen to podcasts (current favorites are Invisibilia, More Perfect, and Keepin' it 1600). The downside is that it's no longer realistic to make it to Bar Method in the mornings. But after a couple days of bemoaning the fact that I could never exercise again, I got over myself and started going in the evenings. It's a much better fit for this season and a good reminder to be flexible. And on that note -

Figuring out where I should grasp onto my favorite aspects of life in DC and where I should use this as an opportunity to try new things.

Remembering what a long-distance relationship feels like. We've been through this rodeo a few times before across multiple different states and countries - that's just the reality of dating for eight years in your 20s when you have some moderate international aspirations. This round, while certainly challenging in some ways, feels like the easiest in others. The plus side is this time I have a Fitbit and I have gotten into a good pattern of evening walk-and-talks while pacing around my neighborhood - which is just getting more and more pleasant as the weather cools down. I did make it up to Boston for a visit a couple weeks ago and uncharacteristically took very few photos, except for this crazy-haired, windswept one.

Wearing lipstick. Since graduating college (when I pretty much rolled out of bed and down the hill to my 8 am Arabic classes) I have slowly been developing a makeup routine. But I have long had weird hang-ups about my lips. When I was in middle school, I would get horrible, painful, ugly lip rashes that would stick around for weeks at a time. Because of that I have never wanted to do anything that would make my lips look bigger, fuller, redder, or otherwise more prominent - which is sort of the point of lipstick. But a couple of years ago, I saw some photos of myself on the sidelines of a work event that a professional photographer had taken - my face looked super washed out. So I resolved to slap more color on it more frequently, and with four weddings this summer, I had an excuse to experiment with buy a bunch of lipstick. I've found that the trick is you just have to wear it long enough so you don't look weird to yourself anymore, because you probably never looked weird to anyone else to begin with.

Mourning my slowly fading tan. This summer I got probably the best tan since summer 2008 when I was a counselor at sailing camp and got super bronzed (albeit with the telltale lifejacket tan). I'm not sad about it.

I did my decluttering on a solo weekend and it started to show in this Kondo-inspired gratitude photo shoot.

Marie-Kondo'ing my childhood bedroom. As with juicing, essential oils, and a variety of other things that are popular on the Internet, I tend to be a little cynical about the minimalism craze. For one, I think it reflects a level of privilege (the principle being that if you get rid of something you need later, you can always buy a new one!) and for the other, I think it just offers a whole different way to obsess over material possessions. Moving back home, my temptation was to not deal with cleaning my room because this is just a temporary arrangement - but I am here for long enough to make the space work for where I am now. And it was time to let go of some of the stuff I haven't really touched since I was 17 or 22.  (I say as I look at the decades worth of belongings surrounding me.)

Three other big thoughts: 1) If I don't get rid of this stuff now, I or someone else will have to eventually. 2) If you frequently get rid of stuff you are no longer using or enjoying regularly, it doesn't have time to get sentimental (which is probably not a bad thing if you tend to hold onto every. single. thing. like I do) and you can skip the emotional ordeal. 3) The point of holding onto stuff is to smile and remember on the rare occasions when you come across it - so if you do so when decluttering, maybe it has already served its nostalgic purpose and you can let it go.

Learning to live with uncertainty again (as I referenced in one of my first-ever posts here). What this next year looks like will continue to be something of a work in progress, and while that is a little stressful at times, I am determined to make it a good one. The upside of uncertainty is that it's pretty exhilarating to have your life crack open and offer opportunities you hadn't imagined.

(Realizing that it has been a year since I last wrote one of these posts.)