This will come to no surprise as avid readers, but I'm back in Rwanda. I kind of stopped posting about my travels, mid-to-end of last year - when my life stopped resembling a 'life" and more like a pinball machine of the African continent.
Although its had its ups and downs, my job continues to surprise and invigorate me - as well as as frustrate and abuse me. I guess it's not unlike any other long-term relationship; there are hard times, but you stick it out because overall, it's a stable, mutually beneficial relationship.
I was kind of on the fence about coming back to Rwanda this time mostly because a) last time was so ridiculously stressful, and b) I'm kind of over the hard-work thing. But then I land here and I deplane - right onto the tarmac just like in the movies - and the rainy fog envelopes me, rich and heady with the smell of lush greenery. I'm hooked, again. I'm a user. I'm addicted to - travel? Africa? I'm addicted to something, because I keep finding the energy to come back.
I'm not sure if I'm world-weary (or even old enough to be world weary?), but I'm certainly not as excited about things as I used to be. The bloom is off the rose, so to speak. I hate that that would be the case, because life is so fully of interesting and unique experiences, who am I to grow tired of them? But I am. I'm tired of those crappy airplane meals, working out in hotel rooms and not being what anyone every expected of me - and not what I expected of myself.
These feelings keep coupling with the thought - when will my life start? Today, I walked onto the verandah during a massive downpouring rainstorm, and watched people struggle uphill getting soaked, thinking "Where is the beginning? When does my story begin? When will my life have meaning?"
I admit, this probably sounds ridiculous to most people. From the outside, I'm sure it seems like my life has taken a roaring jump. And, even in writing it, it sounds like something a person of privelige (and anxiety) would thing about. But I can't shake this sense that I'm still waiting around for something.
I don't know. I don't know when life becomes habit. I'm not sure where my biographer would pick up my storyline - if at all. I am happy with my life here, now. I have interesting friends. I go interesting places. I do interesting work. I don't see what the "more" might be - but it's out there, lurking. And for now, I don't know what I'm waiting for, but I'm a bit bored for it to show up.