moving, unexpectedly (as usual)

December 20, 2010

There is an old water color of three white adirondack chairs on the floor in my father's office. This morning, I squeezed between it and my grandfather's old military chest, full of my things, to get through my sister's closet and into the nook on the North side of the house, where I sleep with her. The chest is mine, waiting for me to drag it past the cradle for a dark skinned baby doll Beta's Aunt Terri bought her last year, and an armoire where I'm hanging my coats.

I live with a seven year old, now. A seven year old in my room, and my parents down the hall. Brothers on the left - a visiting high school friend of one brother usually on the couch.

I graduated this weekend, and in the midst of grinning at the people around me throwing their caps in the air, I thought of the diversity in our group - the girl beside me returning home to Colorado for a job in production, my housemate across the room soon to be at grad school at USC, another friend working with a Spanish radio station. And me, becoming roommates with a seven year old, and preparing to return to a place where I wrestled with the deepest parts of me.

I had plans to move to Washington, DC before I became Beta's roommate. They were the practical kind of plans - like a room to live in, job interviews - two contracting deals. I knew where I was headed, and what I was doing.

And I felt uneasy. Uneasy with all my plans.

I trusted my gut when something inside me said that I needed to return to Africa, instead.

I'll be blogging my journey over the next few months, from Northern CA, where I live in a corner bedroom with my sister. I have a small desk with a pull top in a corner of my father's office. I have half of a closet filled with pink ballet shoes and doll houses, leggings and small turtle necks. I took a bath last night in our claw foot tub with sister's basket of bath toy's hanging near me - my little ponies, Vanity Fair and wet hair. If I could have taken a self portrait of myself, I would have stuck it in a journal to keep and look back on someday - to remember the months I spent here, choosing the path less traveled by. Wouldn't Robert Frost be proud?

Here, in a town my mother's friend whispered was the "most gossiping small town in California" this morning, as she kissed my face, I'll be freelancing for a few months. I'll be getting my business, the Nakate Project, off the ground. I'll be educating myself further on the ins and outs of microfinance, in order to set up a program in the Luwero district, and (hopefully) teach some classes while I'm there.

I'll be spending a lot of time at the coffee shop down the street. I'll be traveling back and forth to LA and San Francisco when I need city lights, and the ebb and flow of people, again.

I'll be leaving for Africa in May or June.

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