I’m not writing this blog post after any particular ‘critical incident’ or from any specific source of inspiration. I hope you’ll continue reading anyway.
I’m writing because I’ve been using, “but there’s nothing new,” as an excuse for not writing for almost three months. This is partially true. There really isn’t ‘much to write home about.’ I am here. I have been here for a long time. And I have kind of forgotten which incidents are unique, or special, or noteworthy. They are just part of my life. It’s as if I’ve forgotten that there’s something worth sharing, worth writing. And maybe there isn’t; and maybe my parents are the only ones who will read this; and maybe that’s o.k.
My life has gotten smaller. I don’t watch the news everyday or read the newspaper. I am not in communication with a great many of my friends and family on a daily or even weekly basis. I am also not really lamenting this distance. I don’t mean this to sound harsh or callous. I do miss and love many people from home, but this wound just isn’t so excruciatingly fresh anymore. It’s more like the scar on my right shin. With time, Vitamin E supplements and sun exposure, it has mostly blended into the pale, freckly landscape of my leg. It’s there; you can see it if I point it out to you; I could explain in vivid detail the act that initially formed the wound, if you were interested, but most days you probably wouldn’t even notice it. I love my family, I love my friends and I will be happy to see them again, but I’ve healed. I’m here and I’m at peace with this.
I have a community here. I have co-workers and a parish and a neighborhood of people whom I see everyday and greet and pray with and share my life with. I guess this is immersion. This is the whole point after all, right? Then why does it feel so devoid of significance? of blog-worthy moments?
Last Sunday, I went for a run, showered, went to Mass, made fruit salad, graded essays, sorted beans, baked bread, ate with my community, read my book and . . . went to bed. I think my life as a five year old actually may have been more ‘blog-worthy’- at least then I played out imaginary dramas and wrote raps with my big brother.
My daily life is quite remarkably ordinary. I wake up at around 5:00 a.m., exercise, make coffee, read the readings of the day while eating breakfast, go to work, come home and do something very similar the next day. It might sound dull, but it isn’t. There are still those moments of joy I wrote about in a previous post, there are still moments of confusion and misunderstanding, but I’m just more balanced. I’m happy, healthy, joyful, enthusiastic and at peace. I am grateful for this peacefulness and I’m grateful for the ways it has allowed me to be present to God in others, in the everyday details of life in Mabibo.
