Open to life/saying goodbye

I have one week left in this strange and captivating sliver of the universe.

A lot has happened to me, to the people I love, to the U.S. and to the world between 2014 and 2016. I’ve learned a lot about Lesotho, myself and the nature of humanity, some of which I’ve written about here and a lot that’s been too difficult to put into words that other people would understand. I’ve been able to travel all over southern Africa, and have found a deep sense of peace and satisfaction during innumerable hours spent alone in and around the round walls of my hut. I’ve had the highest highs and the lowest lows of my life here, and in some ways it feels like it’s been four years instead of two.

And just when I thought I had gleaned everything there was from this experience, when I expected to just coast through my last few weeks, something happened to me that forced me, yet again, to face up to the unpredictability of life.

About a month ago, I went to Pretoria to get a visa to go (back) to Ghana, and was away from my house for a week. When I got back, emotionally and physically tired from my last trip out of Lesotho and from a weekend spent saying goodbye to my host family from training, all was not as I had left it. I went to put the rest of the money for this tuition assistance program for high school students in the envelope with the money that I had left by the window. It wasn’t there, and the window had been broken. The first punch had been thrown.

By the end of the week, I had talked over the situation with my teachers, the priest, the Peace Corps safety and security dude, and my host brother, the only one who had been home the week I was gone. I had reported it to the police and had received a scary facebook message out of the blue from my brother that said he was going to kill himself because everyone in the village was blaming him for what had happened. I won’t go into details, because that’s not really what this post is about, but it became clear that my brother was indeed the person who did it. After a peaceful two years spent building a relatively close relationship, with him, the person I had come to trust the most in my village ended up betraying my trust and spending a whole lot of money that wasn’t even mine to spend in just two weeks. That was the second punch.

But again, that’s not really what this post is about. It’s about being open to life.

Obviously, I was distraught, not only from the betrayal of trust but also because I ended up having to leave my beloved house weeks earlier and stay in a hotel in town, away from my school and my community. The third punch had been thrown, and I sank to my knees, crying uncontrollably, the night I was told I’d have to pack up early. I had already been more than ready to leave Lesotho, and this felt like a sign from the universe that it was high time to get the fuck out. I was angry, disappointed and hurt by the fallout of what he did. I also felt a deep sense of hopelessness and sadness, because he may or may not get to return back to school now, and who knows what will become of his future.

Then I began re-reading The Untethered Soul (basically my bible) and the chapter on being open to change struck a chord with me, yet again (because aren’t the most vital lessons always the hardest to learn?).  And here it is, the whole point:

If I want to grow spiritually, which I do, I have to make the choice to be open to life unconditionally.  That means keeping an open heart all the time, and not closing it when I get hurt. It means I don’t get to choose the curveballs that life throws my way, and I don’t get to only accept the good things that happen. I have to accept it all, and use it all as an opportunity to grow, to learn, to let go.

So I did. I let go. I knew that if I let those feelings of disappointment and anger block my heart, I would regret it, and I would leave Lesotho with a bad taste in my mouth. I let go of what happened, and was reminded yet again about how little control I have. And that’s okay; that’s just reality.

I went to my village for the last time this week. I visited my thinking rock, the place I would go over these past two years to breathe and write and look out over the wide world beyond. I went to my school and gave some photos to my teachers and said my final goodbyes to these boisterous and loving women who let me in and loved me. I went to the high school and got some signatures for the forms that will allow Peace Corps to refund the money. I ate dinner with my dear friend Moliane, and played with her baby, hugging her repeatedly before I got on the taxi back to town. Who knows when I’ll see their faces again.

This week, I said goodbye to the jovial couple at my produce stand, my host Mme who got very sick the week I was away, and my brother for the last time, right before he got into a police van.

Tomorrow, I will go to Maseru and spend my final days eating my way out of this country with the other PCV’s who have kept me mildly sane here; it’s really not a goodbye with them.

And next Sunday, I will be back in Ghana, the country and the experience that really inspired this journey in the first place, because life moves in circles and cycles and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.

And it all is. It just is. I’m ready to go, but I’m calm. I’m not chompin’ at the bit anymore, not fighting to get out like a dog in a cage.

It’s all reality. It all is.

And I’m happy.

Photos from my goodbye party and last day in my village coming soon.

I'm out of here next Friday. Terrified for the future of my country and the world, but more than ready to be back in the arms of the ones I love and ready to join in the fight. 

Khotso ya'll. I'll see you on the other side very soon.