My Living Room
Welcome to My Living Room. This is a space for immediate observations and unfolding projects as I work to unearth what they mean.
Series
Reflections from the 10th Floor - limited series capturing life from a high rise building in Washington DC
A Year of Connection - a year of observations, reflections, and noticing behaviors and spaces
Designing a Place-Based Inquiry - an inquiry that documents the process of defining questions and choosing places to confront my assumptions about travel, observation, belonging, and the work itself.
Africa 2027 - A notebook of observations, questions, and reflections from a year traveling across Africa—exploring people, place, belonging, and the unexpected connections that emerge along the way.
As I prepare for my year in Africa, I often get asked: Why Africa? Why a year? What am I going to do while I’m there?
Last November, I spent a day with Isatou, a female Gambian entrepreneur. That day became the subject of this piece and a reminder of how the most unexpected adventures can leave a lasting impression on us.
This is why I’m headed back to Africa.
Want to read the full story? Head to the Feature Story on Stories from the Field (found in My Notebooks).
One thousand eight hundred ninety-one dollars to prove something to myself.
Camping Packing List:
Tent
Sleeping Bag
Propane Burner
Cooking Pot and Dishes
Outdoor Chair
Rainproof Trekking Shoes
Rain Pants
One thousand eight hundred ninety-one dollars to prove something to myself. What, I don’t know yet.
I asked ChatGPT to profile me. It wrote, “once you’ve chosen the uncontrollable thing, you try like hell to control it.”
See, I’ve planned a year in Africa. I booked a 60-day overland drive through Southern Africa. I’m climbing Mt. Kilimanjaro even though I have no hiking experience. I’m traveling through fifteen countries, several non-English speaking ones.
But the irony that Chat is referring to is that I’ve been non-stop messaging it about Mt. Kilimanjaro – how tall is it, what’s the grade, how many miles each day. I’ve booked a driving itinerary that sticks to the main roads. I have an Excel spreadsheet including a dashboard, packing lists, project planner, master planner, budget overview, budget reconciliation, place profiles, among others.
I’ve mapped the route carefully. And I know I’ll change it. Maybe ChatGPT is right…
I asked YouTube AI for feedback on a video fully narrated by me.
Apparently, my voice sounds synthetic and lacks authentic emotion.
Hmm, maybe I missed my calling for a second career as a robot 🤖 😂
When I left for DC, I whittled my belongings down to 100 totes. Sell, storage, trash, or take with me. I kept the size 4 pants and my bike, planning for a body comeback with a riding plan.
When I moved back to Chicago, I narrowed everything down to 31 boxes. I never got to a size 4 so the clothes went to a local shelter. I sold the bike.
Now as I prepare for Africa, everything I own fits in three duffels.
Want. To be necessary or needed. To have or feel need.
Need. Necessary, duty. A physiological or psychological requirement for the well-being of an organism.
One word leads me to the other.
I thought I wanted to be needed. I think I need to not be needed.
Two words. Tangled. Maybe Africa 2027 will help me see the difference.
Last March, I told my boss I was leaving and heading to Africa in 2027.
We planned to tell everyone else later this fall. And while I waited, I started preparations. A move back to Chicago. Flights and lodging booked. Money spent. Every payday, I would look at my spreadsheets. My balances shrinking. Expenses growing.
This fall came sooner than I planned. Now everyone knows. I’m not sure it matters though since my boss already started spending the salary savings. Or maybe it’s because I’ve already spent half of my total budget for the year.
I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t still uncertain if leaving my full-time job for a year of uncertainty was the right path. Ask AI, it can confirm.
15 platforms.
Notes or posts. Reels or stories. Shorts. Followers, subscribers, friends, community.
I’m launching a second career so I post everywhere. Last Thursday: four platforms, six posts, all before coffee. I see a notification pop up and play Guess Who.
I know which ones I want to give up but then my favorite LLM says, “Try this.”
The platforms are like the relationships in my life: the connections are scattered. And keeping hold of them feels precarious.
I walked about 40 miles while I was in Iceland. Most of those miles were on gravel with only slight inclines and weren’t particularly challenging. Then there was the hike at Skaftafell. The first mile climbed nearly 460 feet. My calves burned. My heart raced. My lungs burned. And I screamed in all caps at ChatGPT for recommending it.
Iceland showed me that walking miles and climbing a mountain require different kinds of fitness. My next step: a workout program built for climbing.
Photo: Behind Seljalandsfoss Waterfall - the day I kept going.
I’m giving away bags —> I just bought new duffels.
I hate bugs —> I signed up to volunteer 27 days with a conservation programme.
I am striving for stillness —> I keep filling rest periods with movement.
I wanted freedom —> I’ve obligated myself to mountains, conservation programs, the gorillas, and festivals.
I’ve heard that described as constant dialectic. I would describe it as an argument with myself that neither side ever wins.
My clothing layer system works (thank you, AI, for the recommendations).
My sleeping bag was cozy, and my tent was small but warm. My new Gore-tex trail shoes kept my feet dry. And my rain pants were the best purchase I made. I hiked farther than I expected and drove 30 KMs on a gravel road along the side of a mountain.
I wasn’t always comfortable, but Iceland taught me that I was more capable and better prepared than I thought.
Photo: I stayed dry even if my glasses didn’t.
Capital One Shopping has gotten the message: Tracy is traveling.
Atlas Mountain trekking and Mt Toubkal summit? How can I say no to a Kilimanjaro training ground?
Patagonia packing cubes? Of course I need more. And these match my 40L and 70L duffels.
At this point, the algorithm knows my itinerary better than most of my family and friends do.
I imagined camping in Iceland would mean sitting outside in my chair, enjoying a drink, and relaxing beneath the stars.
Instead, there was rain, cold air, relentless midges, and a chair too small to enjoy any of it. When the wind started whipping my tent around, I abandoned it for the car. For my final two nights, I booked a hotel.
Somewhere in the middle of all that, I also backed the rental car onto an embankment. It was a dumb accident, but strangers helped me get the car back on the road. The next day, I drove 30 kilometers along a gravel road on the side of a mountain.
Oddly, the embankment didn’t feel like the failure. Abandoning the tent did. The accident was something that happened to me; the tent was a choice I made.
Photo: Night 2 in a tent. I hadn’t quite figured out tent and car placement yet.
Follow-up to the spreadsheet confession: the trip isn't only tracked in Excel. It also has a syllabus.16 weeks, one per week until I leave, organized by space. Each week pairs one landscape with its real, documented history: how it was shaped, who's controlled it, what's actually happened there. I'm building it out one week at a time, and I'd love more eyes on it.
If you've read something or have something to share, send it my way or drop it in the comments.
This is how I’m planning Africa 2027. Anyone else out there love Excel as much as I do?
I learned that a new landscape doesn’t make me a different person.
Even in Iceland, I was prone to staying in the chair— or in this case, the car — rather than getting up and moving.
But since signing up for Kilimanjaro, I can’t escape the nagging question: How do I expect to climb that mountain if I won’t get up and move now? It followed me out of the car, onto the trails, and up the steep climb at Skaftafell. I watched my step count, reminded myself what I was preparing for, and kept going.
I couldn’t leave my old habits at home. Fortunately, I couldn’t leave that question there either.
Photo: The waterfall I was trying to get to.
And then I saw the Facebook post: wedding rehearsal tonight.
I’m immediately reminded of that Sunday afternoon, lying on beds at The Mattress Store. I asked him which one he liked. He responded, it’s your bed. I pushed back. “I want to get something you like too.” He didn’t budge.
That should have been a clue that he wasn’t choosing me and I should have moved on. But I didn’t. Instead, I tried harder.
I colored my wiry gray hairs blonde. I danced to music I didn’t know. I drank bitter and hoppy IPAs. I dressed up at Halloween even though I hated the holiday.
I eventually ended the relationship but I was left with questions.
What if I hadn’t backed out of going to Key West and Fantasy Fest that Halloween? And instead allowed myself to be seen with my flabby body on display.
What if I had been able to silence the non-stop questions that live in my head, those holding my inner most fear of not being chosen?
A friend reminded me yesterday that if I was still with him, I wouldn’t be the woman I am today. The one who bared her naked body in the Caribbean Sea and had her picture taken, her body still flabby. Or the woman who knew that booking a trip to Thailand would mean the end of a different relationship and I did it anyway.
Even as I actively choose myself, I still have to acknowledge the fear of being alone forever that creeps in if I allow it.
I drove my way around Iceland, camping, hiking, and exploring the famous Ring Road.
I went to Iceland to see if my plan for Africa 2027 was reasonable. I drove my way around Iceland, camping, hiking, and exploring the famous Ring Road. There were successes and there were challenges.
The notes that I share over the next few weeks will share what I learned, what went right, what went wrong, and what’s next.
as I prepare for Africa 2027.
With lots of time on my hands, the internal questions are non-stop, debilitating at times.
What if I have to come back and take another job that I hate just because I need the income? I started out with a great buffer but with every day that passes, I see it dwindling. And I find myself borrowing against my future even as I scream internally, this is not sustainable.
And then there was this morning. I slept in the car yet again — I have a tent. I don’t know why I’m not using it. One night I even put it up, only to take it down and retreat to the car before the sun even went down. But this morning, I didn’t want to move. It was cold and damp in the car despite the expensive sleeping bag that I bought, made for the cold Icelandic air. I laid there for more than two hours watching the sun rise through the condensation on the windshield. My full bladder pressing down on me is the only thing that got me out of my sleeping bag. And I worried, what if I really can’t escape the person I am at home, the one who doesn’t move?
My questions feel so selfish. Because I know this is a choice I am making. But choosing the risk doesn’t make the fear less real. And pretending I am not afraid isn’t helping.
Today, I feel completely deflated. Because this is one of the first times, I have wondered if I’m making the wrong decision.
It’s been five months since I first spoke the words: Africa 2027.
So I thought it was a good time to re-introduce myself to my readers. I’m Tracy. I’ve spent the last twenty years working in higher education finance. I’ve been divorced for the last twelve years and was the primary caregiver to three kids. I have a ten-year old mini-golden doodle that I mildly resent – cue people calling me a dog hater. I’m not. I just want to be finished taking care of anything besides myself. And let’s not forget, my elderly tuxedo cat, Shadow.
Four years ago, to the day, I left for a three week, mostly solo trip. I made my way through Iceland, Copenhagen, Norway, and met up with a group in Ireland. I had no idea at the time that my life would be irreversibly changed. Since that trip, I’ve been to thirty-five countries. Throughout Africa, Europe, South and Central America, and SE Asia.
After all that, I finally decided that the work titles, the salary, all the roles that I filled were no longer enough. The harder truth is that I no longer know who I am within these roles. And I am even less certain who I am without them. So I made the decision to leave them all behind.
At the end of this year, I’ll write my way across Africa. Fifteen countries. Some adventure: gorilla trekking, Mt Kilimanjaro. Self-driving my way across Southern Africa. Some fun: Vodun Festival and Carnival. Some volunteering. A lot of R&R — rest and relaxation, reading and researching. And then writing. And maybe I’ll come back with a better answer to the question of who I am.
I hope you’ll follow along as I share my planning process. Less logistics. More the reckoning.
Photo: Iceland, 2022 at Gullfoss Waterfalls
I went to my daughter’s graduation two weekends ago.
Her grandfather posted on FB about it. It was as if I wasn’t there. Walking down the hallway after I got back from seeing the kids the following weekend, I realized I didn’t need to be tagged in a FB post to show that I was a loving, involved mom.
I rented a storage unit when I left for DC last summer.
In it, I packed the Christmas tree and ornaments. Baby blankets and toddler toys. Pictures that the kids made at daycare. A mop and an empty suitcase. Things I wanted to keep but I didn’t need to take across the country with me.
But now I’m back in Chicago. The kitchen dishes are in the cupboards, and the bathroom supplies are unpacked. But my clothes, the paintings that I’ve picked up over the last four years, my favorite books, the diploma that the kids had framed for me all need to fit into that same 5x5 unit while I’m gone. These are the things I use to claim a space as my own.
Now as I’m preparing to leave, I’m wondering does the difference between what I stored then and what I’m storing now even matter?
It was pouring rain when we got to the pet park.
Oliver refused to go outside.
I’m headed to Iceland at the end of the month.
I rented a car and will camp my way around the outer ring of the country. I’ll sleep in the tent that I paid way too much for. I’ll try to prepare my food rather than paying someone to prepare it for me. Public showers and restrooms. Leaving the comforts of life that I have become so accustomed to behind for a while.
It’s preparation for Africa 2027 and the two-month self-driving trip between Namibia and Botswana I booked. Having too much time between booking and the actual trip means I have too much time for thinking. So I need to make sure I can make it through one week first.
Shadow needs medication every day.
Jonathan watches her while I am gone. He sends videos—her purring on his lap, content. I see her dark black hair collecting on the pillow. When I get home, she is waiting by the front door. Right next to Oliver.
It’s been a while. Three weeks actually. I’ve been gone.
I want to blame it on being busy moving and sure, there is some truth to that. I finally left DC and made it back to Chicago. But I haven’t been moving every day, every night. Maybe I can say work has been busy. It’s the end of the fiscal year and we are trying to get our budget set up. Possibly but work ends at 5 if I’m doing it right. So maybe I’ve just been lost, and I need some time to find myself.
I haven’t found myself but writing this note the other day is one of the first times I have actually felt like writing one of these notes. I’ll hold onto that feeling for a bit as I go look for camping gear for Africa 2027.
I live in a small studio.
Gray moving containers are stacked high against the walls. My daughter and her cousin visited for spring break. They slept in my bed. I slept on a blow-up mattress. The cat jumped on the desk and pranced by. Oliver waited for me to deflate it in the morning. After they left, I put the room back in order. Oliver didn’t notice. He had his chair back.
The dog barked.
Loudly. I stood on my tiptoes and looked out through the peep hole. A naked man was standing at the fire door. Two police officers offered him a blanket. He ran by them. I turned off the hall light and unpaused my show.
The back wheel of the 150-pound motorcycle pressed against the door of the elevator.
Oliver and I squeezed past it and the woman wearing a beaded headdress. We got off at the 10th floor. Walking down the hallway, I noticed the plaster on the carpet and the dark brown door covered in scratches. I didn’t look back. I already knew which apartment was hers.
How many accounts does a person need?
I’ve somehow accumulated twenty-one different accounts strewn across eight different banks. I’ve been with one bank since 2001. My entire financial life is tied up in it. It also happens to be the least useful one once I leave for Africa.
Tracking the accounts is easy. Ending the relationships not so much.