It just feels different

Many times over the course of the last couple of months, we have reflected to each other that our preparations (mentally, emotionally, physically) for our new term of service have a different feel to them.  There is much that is familiar.  We have moved to a previously unvisited country before.  We have worked with MCC before.  We have lived in SE Asia before.  We have had to say goodbyes and pack for a long time in a small amount of space.  We have had to learn a new language and culture.  Five years ago, as we were preparing to move to Indonesia, we had done none of these things.  

Yet, even with having done all of those things, in each case, we are stepping into something new: new country, new position, fresh goodbyes, new language, new culture.  Oh yeah, and there’s that toddler to whom we are constantly playing second and third fiddle.  

And so it begins, feeling unknown and familiar.  

Currently, we are in an in-between space.  We have left, but have not yet arrived.  We have the good fortune to spend about a week with our supervisors in Thailand before finishing our journey to Vietnam next week.  

We are fighting jet lag, enjoying Thai street food, learning more about the work that awaits us, living out of suitcases/storage lockers, chasing Edward, laughing lots, and trying to rest.

While our preparations have felt different, we know many of the feelings that await us in Hanoi.  There is the feeling of excited enchantment while exploring a new place and meeting new people.  There is frustration of not being able to communicate with words, instead having to rely on gestures.  There is loneliness.  There is curiosity.  There is exhaustion.  There are lots of opportunities to laugh at ourselves.  And there is much to learn.

Rounding the final corner... Three weeks until departure!

I used to run the 400-meter sprint in high school.  When the starting gun fired, I took off and just kept pace with the runners around me.  I reserved the rest of my energy until coming around that final turn, when I kicked in and gave everything left in those last 100 meters.  By the time I crossed the finish line, I could barely feel my rubbery legs beneath me.  I was completely out of breath.  I was spent.

Edward and his wolf are ready to go!

While that approach worked great for high school track, it's also unfortunately the way I usually approach packing.  I go about life as usual, in denial of having any significant task before me, and then I run around like mad those last couple of days before leaving, staying up until wee hours of the morning to ready my bags for the flight that departs just a few hours later.  I start my travel already exhausted.

But I'm getting better.  Our frequent travels in Indonesia prompted me to create a packing list on my computer.  Previously, I was recreating this scribbled list on scrap paper a few days before each trip.  And we traveled A LOT.  So instead of rushing about the house trying to make sure I remember everything, now I can just open my document and mark off items as they get tucked away in a suitcase.  (I just hope that Edward doesn't feel the need to "help unpack" when I'm not looking.)

This move being a particularly significant one -- we're not packing for a week away, but instead for a move halfway around the world -- I'm trying to do things in steps and not wait until the last minute.  I've already been shopping for random clothing items and a small supply of various hygiene items to last until we figure out where to buy them in Vietnam.  I've prepped batches of homemade taco seasoning, creole seasoning, and bouillon substitute to bring along.  I'm sure we'll be able to find a lot of the same spices there, but since it will probably be a while before I'm able to say, "Could you tell me where I can find cumin?" I thought it would be nice to have some versatile favorites on hand.

My mom is helping me to sew a cloth "high chair" for Edward.  This will be a much lighter and more portable version to keep our squirmy toddler in one place during meal times, which is considerably more ideal than chasing him around with spoonfuls of food or attempting to hold him in one of our laps.  We have tried both methods on various occasions; they don't work well.

As I think of random things I want to bring along, I toss them into a box to be sorted/packed later: nostalgic Christmas decorations, measuring cups and spoons, earplugs, special batik paintings from Indonesia, a favorite coffee mug...  Keeping in mind that these items, enough clothes for a 4-season climate, and our healthy stash of European strategy games must all fit into six 50-pound bags.  We plan to use a good portion of that luggage allowance for our board games.  Nerds, you say?  Well, we're okay with that.

Walking through the fog

Last week, we strolled the foggy streets of Blowing Rock, NC.  It felt a bit surreal, only being able to see a short distance in any direction because of thick clouds hovering like smoke.

Upon returning from our trip, we were asked, "Isn't that area in the Blue Mountains just lovely?"  Well, I imagine it is lovely indeed, but the enveloping fog prevented us from seeing any evidence of the mountains sitting just beyond the limits of our vision.

As many of you know, we are moving to Vietnam in January.  And it's sometimes very difficult for me to wrap my mind around the reality that we're really moving to another new place next month.  NEXT MONTH!  As I go about each day in this little bubble of a known schedule for the next few weeks, I can't even picture beyond our departure.  My vision of what is to come just stops in late January.  Everything beyond then is a vast, dense fog.

Some days (mostly mornings... when I am full of energy) this circumstance is exciting.  I imagine the adventures, the new foods, new people to befriend, new home to set up, new language to learn, new work to explore... and I am filled with joy and readiness to embrace all the unknowns lying ahead.  Other days (mostly evenings... when I'm most tired) the exact same elements -- the new challenges, foods, people, home to set up (again), tonal language to learn, and new job -- overwhelm me and leave me feeling completely inadequate and daunted at the thought of all the uncertainty ahead.

Thankfully, I've become aware of these recurring mental and emotional swings.  (And I've decided to prohibit myself from doing too much processing of things in the evenings.)

The reality is, I know this next phase of our journey will include elements of both extremes.  I know there will be days when aspects of life in Vietnam will feel like insurmountable challenges, and other days the same things will be energizing adventures.  I will enjoy many of the new foods, and there'll probably be a few I'll hope to never eat again.  Settling into a new house will be a fun opportunity, and slowly that house will become home.  It will also probably be a source of frustration at times if things don't function the ways I want them to.  Some days, I'll feel like I'm failing miserably at learning the language, and other days I'll feel I've made immense progress.  Our work will likely be draining at times, and at other times it will be downright energizing and encouraging.

It's important to keep reminding myself that neither my glossy morning picture nor my dismal evening picture is fully accurate.  I need not fool myself with the one, nor fear the other.  Instead, I hope to be able to walk into the fog with openness and patience to embrace the mix of ups and downs that surely lie ahead.