Sand

When you lie down in water and get up, the place closes over as it if never was. But if you lie down in sand, your indentation will still be there when you leave, for sand remembers. This comparison came to me in the last few moments of a dream, and when I woke I didn’t know what it meant, except that I would prefer to lie down in sand.

When I left for Africa I was far more attached to things in the United States than anyone leaving for a far place for a long time should ever be. The things I had there were very pleasant and very satisfying, and it’s very difficult to abandon such things without knowledge of what their replacements may be. It was a trade of known good for unknown good, and the unknown good may in fact involve a lot of bad.

The bad may be the superfluous bad, like the passing sickness and unusual accidents that in the end are worth it for the spellbinding stories they result in, or the bad may be the sort of more integral displacement and doubt that makes you wonder who you are and how good this person may be. It was in this sentiment of dissatisfaction, then that I missed my old life with all my heart, hoping that much of it would still be there when I returned, and feeling crushed when parts of it broke apart. When what I thought was sand turned out to be water, I felt betrayed. Many melancholy months passed.

But I discovered, eventually, (for everything always happens eventually), that my destiny in life is to be happy. It’s a childish sort of happiness, promoted by commonplace things like black and white butterflies that somehow seem like flying zebras or my full moons that look like they were plucked from movie sets. When I buy sausage, I am not only buying sausage, but tapping into world full of wonderful things to eat. And when I sit in church wearing a new dress, I remain giddy over this fact all throughout a two and a half hour service. Sending international letters is not only sending international letters, but proving that oceans can be crossed and distances can be surmounted, and kissing black-eyed children is realizing all the joy that human beings can bring each other.

I am relatively unaccomplished and untalented and have no certainty for the future nor reason to believe that it will be shiny and smooth. I wish I have done things I haven’t and sometimes wish I were someone I’m not. I admire and sometimes resent the souls that never have believed anything other than that they are wonderful human beings destined for adoration and success, and with this belief, follow through to be exactly what they think they are. I don’t face difficulties with the certainty that everything will work out, sometimes I worry that they won’t.

“How long have you been in Africa? How much longer will you stay?” I’m questioned almost weekly by a new acquaintance. “It’s been about a year and a half,” I respond. “I finish my contract in December.” And in December I will either return to my roots and all of the things I prayed would remember me for these years, or myself turn into water and fall into something new.