Seven Years in September

Dear Ken,

It's been a while. Seven years in September. I thought you'd like the update on a few of the pieces of the world you and I had in common. Like, I can't update you on comics, or at least not well... I'll save those things for B. and Zack and John, and probably some other dudes. And S., who knows more than she ever lets on about comics. I can't update you on your favorite living theologians or even the weather in Pennsylvania.

B. is still the kindest and most generous person in our group, maybe in the world. He just moved this year, living in Virginia and working at a job that's important, but that I don't understand.

K. is making art that makes me want to cry and laugh at the same time, and not because it's bad, because it's good. Her cat features in it a lot lately, and I think that's what makes me laugh. As kids she drew dogs, dogs, dogs. She laughed at my fondness for cats, always declaring herself "more of a dog person." Well, time changes people, sir. And shut up. Cats and dogs are both great, so stop being all "Evie is the best dog," because it's not a contest.

S. and P. are still sweet and adorable with each other, as best I can tell. They will travel this summer with little E., and come back tanner, wiser, and sleepier. But they're making a family work. It's so ****ing amazing, I know you'd be totally proud of them. Their parents have been heroes all along the way, too.

Man, your parents. I miss them, too. They've been in Alabama for the last few years, looking for a change. Missing you. Starting over. But we never start over.

Everything I can tell you sounds so hollow when you're so far away.

You'd be glad to know I'm doing what I said I would do. I'm teaching high school English in Morocco. I don't know, Ken. Some days I don't think much about how it is part of my life's vision fulfilled. Some days it's just living, but with more dirt and fewer trees; more Arabic and less English; more strangers, more traffic; more bougainvillea on everyone's fences, and a mourning dove right outside my window, with a mosque just beyond my gate. We can do no great things, though. And, believe me, I am not. But I am trying to do small things with great love. So in all things it is God who will receive the glory.

I decided to draw a tree for every day I teach. I thought you might like that. I will begin the school year with a blank piece of paper, and at the end of each day I'll draw a tree, slowly making a forest. And each year I'll add a new piece of paper, and maybe laminate it at the end of the year? Or let it age? I don't know. But time keeps moving, building something and dying. I miss you.

Love,
Carolyn

So Angry

If I were you, there's no reason I would read this. We get enough complaining without searching for it.

This week, here's what makes me angry.

1. People defining themselves by traveling. Collecting friends like souvenirs. I see my hypocrisy. It will take years to remedy.

2. Dudes hollering at me on the street. Yesterday, as I was walking past Beausejour on a main road, I had just passed two young men when I heard that kissy noise every woman knows. I turned around, walked the few steps back to them, and shouted in English, "DON'T DO THAT. DON'T EVER DO THAT AGAIN!" I was livid. Jaw set hard, lips pinched, eyes wide and fixed; I curled my upper lip in disgust. They don't speak English, but the words didn't matter. They nodded, ashamed and uncomfortable.

I have been told to not make any eye contact, to keep my eyes down so as not to draw attention to myself in any way. It doesn't seem to matter. Men here (and in Pennsylvania, and lots of places) think a woman walking on the street is an easy target for their libidinous guffaws. Usually, I walk on for my own safety. But yesterday I had it in my head that I really could, and would, fight. 

3. Students who put forth an extraordinary effort in making excuses and arguing while their work remains incomplete or not begun. In the same category, a senior who shows up at their final and doesn't have a pen.  

I've Been Almost This Lonely Before

I remember the last time I was this lonely. It was my first year of teaching and being a dorm adviser at LMH.

• I never had enough sleep.
• I didn't hang out with people regularly.
• I always had grading hanging over my head. 
• I was responsible in part for the well-being of so many kids, and the job just never seemed to end. 
• I had no idea where to make boundaries. Of course I had to move all those boundaries over the next two years. 

It was all a bear of a task. What I remember, though, was feeling so lonely. I remember kneeling in child's pose that winter, crying out to God about how damn uncertain and tiring the whole thing was. Was I in the right place? Was I doing this right? How would I know if I was doing it right? Why do I feel so alone, God?It was the loneliest I had been up to that point.

This is a harder life in so many ways, but the fact that I have that experience as part of me makes this one easier. It's a lot of the same, but at least I've done some of it before:

• I never have enough sleep.
• I don't hang out with people regularly.
• I always have grading hanging over my head.
• I'm responsible for my own well-being, and I don't know what that looks like.
• I have no idea where to make boundaries.

Why not just solve one problem, and at least hang out with people more regularly?

It's partly because I need to make new friends to hang out with, and that is a slow process. Deep friendships take time, and shallow ones take energy.

I'm afraid of hanging out with only Americans, because, as I've already seen, they come and go so quickly. I've only been here for nine months, and already I've seen people leave who came here with me. That leaves local friends: Moroccan and other African friends who are likely to stick around. But there's the problem of the language barrier. And there's the problem of my disillusionment with Morocco stemming from the students I teach. It's not been a conscious decision, but if all Moroccans are like my students, how can I ever trust anyone? They lie to me like it's their job.

So, I'm lonely. But I'm not ashamed of it. It's like Jessica and the Reverend Mother, talking together in Dune... 

"I've been so lonely."
"It should be one of the tests," said the old woman. "Humans are almost always lonely."

Troubled Sleep

Remind me what you say about peace

and all will be well.

Remind me what you say about fear

and all will be well.

Remind me what you say about never leaving

and all will be well.

Give rest to those you love. 

There's this sweet sea breeze over the hill that pastures simpler beasts. 

Today I found myself wishing I could join them there. 

Give rest to those you love.

It would be trudging on if not for love.

It would be entirely will that trained my course, 

but it's yours.

Give rest to those you love.

Ah, it's these sweet smiles of discovery. 

Ah, it's those broken hearts that have begun to know too much. 

Give rest to those you love.