All posts tagged: Toronto

on relationships, gain, and loss

Over time we’ve lost, relievedly, the quest for illusory perfection as individuals and in partnership. We’re flawed; we wear old glasses. The functional old is as good as the shiny new; as long as you can see that clearly (as well as, you know, oncoming traffic), you’re in good shape. We’ve learned to rely on what works. Marrying is typically appreciated as a process of gain: joint commitment; two lives indefinitely summed; the amalgamation of homesteads and accumulation of material trappings. Yet, there is loss. It’s inherent to gain and equally an element of relationships, albeit less advertised.

Advertisements

Travel Update: Long-haul tips and comfort foods

Been back in Hargeisa for a few weeks and, uh… I’m still unpacking. Anyone else slow to unpack? It takes me weeks, actually using each item in my suitcase one by one until they’re empty. Otherwise, I put toiletries in the bathroom and throw laundry in the hamper and leave the rest to marinate for ages. Oh, the unexpected luxuries of adulting! I used to get sick when I traveled, usually 7 to 8 days after arrival, and usually a dastardly flu that would linger for ages. This time around, I was gettin’ hitched on Day 7 and couldn’t afford to be under the weather. I did mountains of research, and here’s what brought miraculous success…

on the dots that connect

One of my closest friends talks to me about “upward spirals” of life lessons: Our baggage is ours, our faults and failings won’t leave us, and they come around again with cyclical persistence. But we face each approach differently, with a higher level of understanding. Each time, it’s a newer, better, stronger us that takes on those tired challenges. This is how you manage to accept the stuff that haunts you: it’s never the same you, even if it’s the same stuff.

Are you familiar with fernweh? A German friend mentioned it to me the other night over pizza. It’s all the nostalgia and longing of homesickness, but not for home–for somewhere far away. In the dry, dusty capital city of Bamako, at the edge of the vast Sahara desert, I cried over stunning loss and dreamed of the lush greenery of Ireland. In fact, I longed for it, I felt fernweh for Ireland, though I’d never been. In my gut it was a place I had to see, a place of my ancestry, and an antidote to the sand pit (literal and figurative) in which I found myself. Years later, after I’d moved on to work in the Horn of Africa, the Addis Ababa to Washington D.C. flight route was rearranged to include a fueling stop in Dublin. Embracing serendipity, I extended my layover on the Emerald Isle, my first trip as a solo traveler. It was, indeed, the tonic I’d sought, albeit delayed…