On the way back from a trip with close friends, I am trying to hold back a persistent nausea. I have begun the process of saying goodbye. These friends I said goodbye too are the men I have learned to be a man with. Men I could look to for help when I had no where else to turn. Perhaps two years is too long.
It seems that goodbyes are proportional to the extent of change. When I left these same friends to return to New Mexico, goodbye seem less significant. New Mexico is infinitely closer than Guinea. Perhaps also, I saw them every day and absence had not yet made the heart grow fonder.
But goodbye before Guinea is a different creature altogether. What will have changed during my 27 month absence? What events in these people’s lives will I have missed? If I have perhaps 40 good years left, why spend two more alone and far away from the people that matter?
It is a tragedy of the modern small world that ease of transportation has increased the physical distance between friends. As we pursue our goals, we drift away from each other until contact becomes bi-annual trips and semi-annual emails. We all shudder at the idea of living in the same small village doing the same thing your whole life, but I can see the attraction of living in the same place with all your important people.
My excitement and morale as Guinea approaches are markedly variable. Some days I am very excited to be in Africa, excited to be learning new things and doing good work. Others have me wondering if leaving is crazy, if my desire to go is a vain attempt to avoid what feels like narrowing options in a professional field that is not where I want to spend my life. Or worse, to confront the essential loneliness that seems at times ever-present. The imagined loneliness of Guinea makes the goodbyes more poignant and leaves me sharply aware of the importance of close friends. But the learning excites me. The challenge excites me. Even the unavoidable mistakes I will make excite me. All of it rolls into two years of potentially unparalelled new experiences. Or two years of extreme loneliness.
I’ve basically postponed any actual consideration of whether or not I’d actually go. At this point I’ve done a lot of work to be able to have these two years, and I don’t want to decline that because I am afraid of what it might bring. The reality is likely to be less extreme on both ends of the spectrum.
