You’re leaving when?!
I opened the calendar and saw that November was warm and dry.
But then I started thinking about Christmas and not sharing it with my kids. I fought for Christmas with the kids when I got divorced. It was a dealbreaker. I didn’t want to change those rules. Then I calculated what six extra weeks of salary would get me. I looked at my planning document and pushed the date to December 28.
Instead of waiting for a perfect date, I chose the one that made sense for me.
Practice: Same Outcome, Different Environment
I carried my lunch tray with one hand, my other holding my backpack on my shoulder. My eyes scanned the crowd for a seat.
No one waved me over.
~~~
I opened the app.
I scanned its feed, looking beyond the posts for friends’ updates. A silly twenty question post.
No one tagged me.
I still have expenses at home.
I woke up the other night, grabbed a pen and paper, and wrote car insurance on it.
I had forgotten to account for it in the place-based inquiry planning document I am building. It already includes expenses like storage, cellular service, and credit card bills. But these other expenses aren’t in the planning document yet. They are the ones that wake me up in the middle of the night, the ones I am likely to forget, the ones that have the greatest consequences.
As I prepare for my Africa place-based inquiry, I’ve had a lot running through my head — logistics, research, confidence.
I’ve been deliberate about not leading with my academic background but I keep finding myself returning to Google Scholar.
Today, I read an article by Kuurne and Vieno that affirmed the research is there, so rather than resist it, I am going to follow it.
Practice: Two endings
I brought her with me.
Now her voice is louder. Her presence is bigger.
I let it happen.
~~~
Vietnam used to feel like mine.
Now someone else has the same stories.
I gave it away.
That’s why West Africa.
Last November, I met a woman named Isatou and spent the day with her.
She introduced me to several other women. I watched how she interacted with everyone. The smile that reached her eyes, her beads clacking as her legs took long steps, her casual as-salamu alaykum to those around her.
After my day, I wondered what belonging looked like for women when culture and religion shape the rules of it. Isatou was the first glimpse.
The dark half-moons under my eyes have disappeared.
I remembered my dream last night and the night before.
I’m sleeping.
In Vietnam.
Goodbye Africa for now…
After three weeks of solo traveling in West and North Africa, not once did I feel lonely.
I spent evenings eating dinner alone and savoring the quiet time. I rode piggyback hour after hour, mile after mile on a motorbike, not saying a word, just watching the scenery unfurl around me. In French-speaking Senegal, where English is almost absent, I fumbled through hand signals and Google Translate. And despite all of that, no loneliness.
And now I’m wondering how to go back to my life.
My question is…
It started with me. I had always tussled with fitting in and belonging.
I didn’t know what it looked like. As I wrote The Purpose of Getting Lost, I realized I had found belonging whenever I was on the move.
Since college, I had always been drawn to other cultures and what makes us different. But I’ve never been comfortable asking people about it. It feels intrusive. So I watch instead. And that is where this project started.
I signed the title of my car.
I’ve spent twenty-five years building up to owning that car. I loved it — maybe I loved what it meant.
I don’t know if I’ll ever have the money to buy another one. And that has me thinking too.
More soon.
She held her spot. Her fingers grasped the silver bar. Her oversized purse blocked other passengers from moving into the empty space behind her.
A second passenger passed, a third, a fourth passenger squeezed past her. Her gray gym shoes remained planted as her gloved hands twisted around the bar.
When she exited the train, her large bag once again pushed up against other standing passengers. Her eyes barely visible under the bowler hat perched on her head, she mumbled sorry.
I need glasses.
Anyone who wears them knows how critical they are.
Its been a couple of years since I got new ones and my vision isn’t getting better. So last weekend, I went to the eye doctor, updated my prescription and ordered two new pair.
When you work is observation, you need to be able to see.
Getting started
A few weeks ago I shared that I am designing a 90-day residency in West Africa and the process itself is worth documenting for anyone considering a place-based inquiry of their own. This is not a trip.
It is a deliberate, structured effort to understand how belonging is signaled through posture, behavior, and movement, and how it is shaped by culture and environment.
The planning itself is part of the work. Throughout this process I will share logistics, as well as the methodology as it develops and short articles on what the research is surfacing.
If you are interested in designing your own place-based inquiry, or simply want to follow the questions this one is chasing, you are in the right place.
Packing for:
— Vietnam for a wedding
— Seattle for a funeral
— Alaska for family
One suitcase.
Until One Day She Doesn’t
I see this woman everywhere.
She remember her dreams and wants to take the leap, but she is afraid. There are responsibilities that she can’t walk away from, and she probably doesn’t know who she is outside of being a mother, wife, employee. Her family may make her feel guilty for choosing her. She recants and puts those dreams on the back burner.
Until one day she doesn’t.
I got on the down elevator.
Pushed 10. Ping. The door opened.
Again.
Again.
I was already on 10.
I needed 2.
Practice: Contrast
Her arm blocked the elevator panel.
I reached behind her for the button. Her eyes locked on her phone.
The dog and I got off at the dog park.
The dog’s tail wagged.
Today, “Movement, Still” was published. I wrote it a month ago.
Yesterday, I submitted a new piece. I had forgotten about the other.
Today, reading the published essay, I noticed a connection between the two.
Both are about holding onto something that might not hold.