The day before I moved back to Haiti, I met the man that I'm dating at the river for a coffee, followed by a late farewell dinner with my dad at Balliceaux. We then played the minimum amount of acceptable games of ping pong (three) a mere five hours before we had to depart for the airport the next morning.
We were tied with one victory each and when I lost the third game he ACTUALLY made me pay the twenty dollar bet, prior to heading off to a third world country. Can you believe it? My mother has no sympathy for me as she finds it ridiculous that anyone would place a twenty dollar bet on a game involving two wooden paddles and a bouncing plastic ball, but as we like to remind her...she may be a Whitmire, but she doesn't have the burden of being born one. It's in our blood!
Parting ways at approximately midnight, I went to say a final goodbye to C. Three months is a long time to be away when you've only been dating for four, and we passed an hour, sitting on a brick wall in the fan, talking about the summer, about the upcoming fall, and trying to make light of what was to come. How much we would miss each other, and just how intricate the complexities of relationships are. of navigating the next step, of doing the good work, and all of the whys and the doubts. all of the emotions and decisions.
And in all those things, I knew, that I only had one. Prayer.
The only combatant of doubt.
My second to last impossible goodbye down, I headed home, to the inevitable 'final few things' I needed to pack away before I could sleep. It's amazing how those minor details always take much longer than expected, and even more amazing, as my mother would note, is that I always seem to recognize and accept said difficulty when I'm setting an alarm for 4:05 a.m. and it's a leisurely 3:40. It's not like I haven't been on one OR ONE THOUSAND trips, she would say. and she'd be right. But there you have it. Fortunately for both of us, she was in D.C. with my sister, and my father sleeps like the dead.
I don't mean to make light of my mother's absence at all. In fact, heading to a third world country by myself, without saying goodbye to her is one of the most difficult things I've ever done. It's amazing, what the physical presence of the ones we love can offer. Why a hug is more powerful than a phonecall. Why a held hand or a wiped away tear or a squeezed shoulder matters. Actions speak louder than words. I think it's always been so. My mother's actions were non negotiable. My sister was sick and had been hospitalized- in and out of three surgeries. She needed my mother. My mother had to be there, and I had to grow up. Just a little bit more, than ever before. A baby step, if you will.
When the alarm went off at 4:05 a.m., dad and I stumbled out of bed. He turned on the coffee and I splashed some water on my face. Had it only been 25 minutes ago that I laid down in my bed for the last time?
Bags thrown in the car, coffee in hands, we griped and poked at eachother. He, that I micromanaged the cream and sugaring of my coffee. Me, that it would be ironic to die on the highway on the WAY to Haiti. He, that my bags weighed more than 50 lbs (they did.) Me, that he looked like an eco-friendly nutcase carrying the stain remover, Woolite, yoga mat, and sunscreen that I'd hastily pulled from my bags to get them under 50 lbs. He, that that was in fact, my fault (it was).
I said it was always hard to tell, right before I went back, if it was the right thing. I said that things in Richmond always seemed so good, right before I had to leave. I played a gig on Friday night. It went really well, and I was asked to play more. I'm dating a guy I really like. The fall is coming, the folk fest is coming, and some things about living a normal and daily life appeal to me. I'd like to bike to work, go to the gym, go to concerts, go to church, go to yoga classes, go to dinner, and so on and so forth. I knew Haiti was a 'good' thing to do. But did that make it the 'right' thing? And if there are SO many good things to do, what does it matter which one you choose. The next step. Always rattling around in my brain. And time, always moving to fast.
My father pointed out that all of those things would be waiting for me if I chose to come home in December and stay. If I came home in June and stayed. If I came home when I turned 29 and stayed. That my kids missed me, and that he had a sneaking suspicion I was really talking about leaving one person in particular, and that the work I was doing in Haiti was good.
We said a blurry-eyed goodbye, and I walked through airport security. Alone, again.
I don't know if this ever occurs to you. But sometimes. When I'm traveling alone. When I'm moving to a different country. When I've packed all the things I need to exist into two bags and a guitar case, when I tell my mother I love her on the phone, and hug my dad, barely able to look back as I walk through security, I think something along the lines, ' Who on earth is driving this thing?'
It's just me. I'm responsible for myself. I'm traveling alone. This isn't a guided tour. There aren't arrangements being made for me. There's no parameters being set. This life that's being lived. This open ended, universal, time we have on earth. It can be and do anything, and I'm in charge.
But I've lived in Haiti now, for some time. I've made my choices, and I've taken the reins. And to some extent, it's true. I have to put one foot in front of the other. I have to make decisions, step by step, and plot out my life. But to some extent, it's preposterous. Who we meet, where we cross paths, the things we see and the events we experience. The things that happen to us. To the people we love. The things that dont' happen. In all of that, there is so much that is outside of our control. It's all a wondrous gift. And what's more- we didn't necessarily do anything to deserve it- the good, or the bad. And in all of that, I have only one thing. Prayer. The only combatant of entitlement.
As I turned the last corner into the terminal and my dad disappeared from sight, there was a moment of clarity. A thousand 'next steps' don't change the fact, that the most important thing to me is love. Who I love, and who loves me. Love, which can be lost, because it is had. I walked away, and I knew, I only had one thing. Prayer. The only combatant of fear.
Arriving at my gate, gum, water, coffee, and banana in tow, I strolled through the magazine aisle, realizing I may or may not be doing some consumer therapy. Normally, I'd get three. Vogue, Instyle, and Glamour. Fall fashion secrets, people! Great hair, great shoes, an inspiring editorial piece, and the latest celebrity novel craze. But as I looked at those polished faces, the colors that were hot for Autumn, and the boots I'd probably cut off a pinky toe for, I thought- how ironic. I'll be in Haiti for the duration of the fall. Not only am I not taking boots, I'm not taking a hairdryer, and what's more, the whole idea of fall fashion doesn't apply to this place. And so I marched on- one step at a time. Take what you need, Elizabeth. And for the first time, in my whole life, I didn't buy a magazine for a flight.
If you heard me speak at the ECW or the Sunday morning forum, I'd go out on a limb and say, you may have been inspired- because the people I work with are so inspiring, and it's been a life changing thing, this time in Haiti. And maybe you even gave a donation to support me in my mission. If you're one of those people, I bet you're wondering why you gave money to support some bimbo who is grappling with magazine purchases at the RIC, but read on, people, for there are highs and lows in everyone's walk, and there are battles- both small and large. baby steps, if you will.
In fact, I'd like to belabor the magazine point even longer than I already have. If you know me well, you know that in some ways, it's ironic that I'm working in Haiti. I am a material person. My parents still talk about how they had to limit the amount of BAGS I could take to church on a Sunday morning. Not 'dainty pink little girl purse' bags, but Ukrop's grocery bags. I've always surrounded myself with the things that I like. Pretty things, and shoes, keep sakes, and boxes. Old photos and drawings. Letters, and jewelry. I am my grandmother's girl, and while this has put me in a position to find beauty in everything I see, it's also made me a consumer. I like new clothes, I like pretty things. I like expensive dinners and extravagant parties. I don't like to miss a thing, and in fact, I like to buy something to remember it by.
In Haiti, I live in an alternate universe. I wear the same simple things, I don't dry my hair. I don't get pedicures. Hell, I rarely have electricity. My face looks exactly how it looks, and so on and so forth. There are no luxuries. You come, as you are, and you stay that way, or a little worse off. And it doesn't matter. It just doesn't. Because I can be this person too. Simple, and basic. Hard working, frugal.
When I get back from Haiti, I'll get a pedicure, and probably buy some new boots for Christmas, but in the mean time, I don't need a magazine to get there. And I can feel it. It's probably an obscured point for you all, and it's subtle. A baby step.
A middle ground, between necessity and luxury. Something I've grappled with my entire life, and will continue to do so. The eternal extremist, I can live in Haiti with nothing, or I can live in Richmond with an insatiable appetite. But what makes me the happiest is moderation. And I have to fight for it. It isn't built into my bones. But fortunately, we are evolving creatures, and I know that I can pray to be the things I am not, and to not be the things that I am. I can try. And I can pray. The only combatant of excess.
Prayer. That is, in fact, all I've got for you tonight. I can't talk about Haiti yet. The sorrow or the joy. I don't want to write about missing C, or my parents. My friends, or the folk fest. Playing music at open mic on Thursday nights or the gym. In fact, I can't really believe that I ate at balliceaux on Saturday night, splitting a bottle of Malbec with my dad and talking about the seasonal decor.
I don't want to think about the next step, or the right step. the baby steps, or the decisions. Being on our own, being alone, being brave.
I just wanted to tell you about prayer. And how I've come to find it is the most important thing.
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