It used to be that thinking about home was a retreat from the stress of life here—a nice oasis of warm thoughts to fall back on when I’d allow myself.
Now, I’m not sure which is more overwhelming—a mind swimming with Lopit words and community problems or a brain jumping with anxiety about all things America.
‘Cause, wow, all I get is stress when I go to my former Happy Place.
It used to be funny to think about being a social freak, out of place in American culture. Now, I’m genuinely worried about how much I’ll embarrass myself at my friend’s wedding, a little more than 24 hours after I get home. Yikes.
The soles fell off my best sandals last week. Now I literally have one pair of flip-flops I’m bringing home, and no other footwear. Clothes? I think maybe a pair of jeans I bought second-hand in Nairobi, my trusty Illini hoodie and a few other secondhand finds have survived the wear-and-tear out here. That’s going to make crash-landing in America even more difficult.
And then there’s a car and an income and a place to live and, and, and…
Anyway, just pray I would stop worrying about things, and that I’d be able to focus most of my energy on being here. And maybe also pray that it’d somehow all be prepared for me when I get home… and that I don’t make a complete fool of myself. :)
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