Tag Archives: Foreign Service life

Renewal & the Precipice of Spring

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The Greek philosopher Heraclitus declared, “the only constant in life is change,” a motto we take to heart in our fluctuating Foreign Service lifestyle. After years overseas, repatriation has been easier than expected with the safety and accessibility of day-to-day conveniences, yet it’s also more transactional with the self-checkouts, contactless deliveries, and services that are same-day or even instant.

I yearn for the personal connections– and speaking foreign languages– with the roadside merchants, farmers, and artisans who enriched our daily lives overseas. And, I daresay, I miss the art of problem-solving, a required skill abroad. It’s amazing what you can creatively fashion out of recycled items when you can’t go out and buy them. Now, I can just pop to the store (or the internet) with choices galore (and if it’s food, it might even be efficiently pre-washed, pre-cut, and pre-packaged, saving serious prep time).

One thing the U.S. consistently delivers on is its vast array of opportunities. Brad has been handling global security programs behind the scenes at the State Dept., and Ramsay has adapted well to 8th grade, taking a lead role in his school play, receiving a merit medal in a photography contest, and winning a basketball championship with his team.

When we returned stateside this summer, I had high hopes of generating income during our two-year assignment; however, finding meaningful work as a federal government contractor in these trying times has been a bit… demoralizing. So, I’ve pivoted to focus more on public speaking engagements and writing endeavors. I’m happy to report that I’ve achieved a few personal milestones–speaking at women’s conferences, being on podcasts, making the TEDx finals, and having a chapter published in a bestselling non-fiction anthology, Femme Led: Hard-earned Lessons in Women’s Leadership.

In mid-December, we welcomed our long-awaited cargo shipment from West Africa, which contained cozy coats, decorations, and needed cookware just in time for the holidays. We unboxed in record time, unearthing the comforts and treasures that make our house a home. Stockings were hung at the same time as the wall art, and we made a family outing to choose a Christmas tree for the first time in 12 years.

This winter, after more than a decade in tropical climates, our bodies are struggling to adapt to D.C.’s record-breaking low temperatures and snow. Our anticipation stirs, however, with the signs of spring whispering its arrival. The “snow-crete” mounds have melted, and like an overnight magic trick, Daffodils and Crocuses have pushed up through the brown leaves, stretching skyward to breathe color into the bleak landscape.

On the precipice of spring, after months of soul gardening indoors (devouring books from the public library, goal-planning, watching movies, playing board games, creating art, stories, and recipes), we sense an awakening– out come the joggers, children twirling down sidewalks, and the return of cyclists whirring past. Leaves unfurl from branches, and buds burst forth in frosting pink blossoms, as if Mother Nature is donning her party dress.

Smiling, we shed our boots and socks, exposing our bare skin to the warm sunlight that scatters prisms across the porch. Clouds glide by swiftly, reminding us that time is precious. I climb into our hammock and close my eyes, daydreaming about what’s next.

May your days be full of flowers. What will you be wishing for this spring?

Love & Light,

-Tracy

Connecting to Source

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Returning to America for a few months between country assignments abroad, we don’t take its conveniences for granted. Taxpayer money is working here, I note after returning a library book, driving by safe, clean playgrounds, delighted by the lack of trash in the streets and how well-paved the roads are, like smooth jazz, I think to myself after years of potholes.

After parking mere feet from the entrance of the grocery store (in a well-marked parking space), I enter to find it sparkly clean with well-stocked shelves. And, at self-check-out, there’s no need to convert currencies-I’m in and out in a flash. Before it’s even 9:30 in the morning, I’ve got all of my ingredients for dinner and have wrapped up errands without stress; not a feat easily achieved in developing countries.

On the other hand, because it’s so easy to pop into Target, Old Navy, Trader Joe’s, and stores with everything we need (and so much more that we don’t, but I”m a victim of marketing), I find myself in commercial spaces more frequently here. I realize, too, how much I miss having personal connections with local merchants like we do overseas.

In Cairo, I enjoyed asking Haani, the man with kind eyes who ran the street corner market if anything new had arrived. “Yes,” he would say, proudly pointing out a glass jar of rock salt collected from the flats in the Siwa valley. “There is a video about this salt- you would like to see?” He once asked, opening his phone before I could reply.

I watched his mobile screen with wonderment as it displayed a desert landscape with salt pools resembling the surface of the moon. When I handed him Egyptian pounds to buy the spice, he said, “Shoukran” (thank you.) “I don’t have change…but next time, ok?” I smiled and nodded as he handed me a tiny pack of gum as a show of faith.

Near our house in Honduras, Ramsay practiced Spanish at roadside stands as we bought produce directly from the families who grew it. And in Swaziland, with a mix of Siswati, broken English, and grins, I got updates about the infrequent (coveted) arrival of black beans and goat cheese. Those exchanges took a bit more effort but ultimately felt deeply rewarding.

Perhaps because in the states, we rarely know the story and person behind the sale, I’ve attempted to be more consciously aware of what we are buying. I admit that I still swipe my credit card at times without considering what it took for that product to end up in my hands, but I try to remember the ripple effect our purchases have; the impact it makes to support small businesses and farmers directly when we can.

“Do you know what that’s made of?” I ask our son Ramsay when he points to a Minecraft T-shirt with an expression of please, mom?

He stares at me blankly and takes a guess. “Cotton?”

We look at the tag and see it does have some cotton, (blended with synthetics I can’t pronounce) next to “Made in Vietnam.” We talk about the people and businesses involved in its manufacturing, and how much travel that T-shirt endured-perhaps in trucks, cargo ships, and planes in order to now hang where we are standing.

As a woman who grew up in Columbus, Georgia, a town known for its textile mills, I ask Ramsay to think about the T-shirt’s journey, how it may have been part of a supply chain beginning with cotton growing in a field that had to be combed, cleaned, and bleached then sent to a factory with large looms to weave it into fabric, involving many hands, countries and multiple machines. His eyes get big.

“Pretty amazing all of that work and travel went into this one T-shirt, right?” He nods, brow furrowed in thought.

On our next road trip, I make a point to stop by a cotton field to show Ramsay where the T-shirt began, to connect to its source, My lips form a smile as I see Ramsay’s mind turning, hopefully with a deeper appreciation as a future consumer who will be interacting with the wide world around him.

Showing Up for Yourself

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Not unlike many Foreign Service families, we traveled this summer to soak up quality time with loved ones. Wanting to take advantage of being back in the states, we stayed busy. Days were full of celebrating with yummy meals, museum visits, outdoor activities, creative pursuits, exploration, and play dates.

But while giving our active seven year-old the kind of amazing summer I wanted us to have, I frequently made less-than-healthy choices for myself. Mindful eating, writing, and yoga practices became obsolete. I tossed out my personal barriers easily, right along with the ticket stubs and latte receipts.

When I was younger, this didn’t seem to affect me much. But in my forties, perhaps unsurprisingly, I came home after weeks of summering feeling fulfilled, but also frustrated. In some ways, I hadn’t shown up for myself. My body felt wrecked, and I was disappointed that I hadn’t said yes to committing to my personal goals.

The school year resumed, and I took steps toward a healthier, more centered existence, but I wanted something to hold onto in the future that would allow for all the fun and the showing up, especially when far from home. But what was the answer?

Do you ever feel the universe is trying to tell you something? Like a higher power is saying, Hey! Could you pay attention this time, Please?” Three times in one morning, I heard the same, clear message: Show Up.

I made my favorite French tea, pasted a few images into a vision board, and read pages of Rachel Hollis’ book, “Girl, Wash Your Face,“in which she emphasized the importance of showing up  and keeping commitments for ourselves as we do for others. She asked, “would you keep hanging out with a friend always flaking out on you?”  To summarize the response: no, you wouldn’t. Commit to your dreams and goals and treat yourself as well as you do everyone else in your orbit.  Good reminder, I thought.

I had recently signed up for, but not completed, Meghan Genge’s “Magical Morning” E-Course. When I opened her email (nine days after it arrived), her message was clear: “Continue to show up for yourself. Every morning. Because magic will start to happen when you start your day mindfully.”  Hmmm. Twice I’ve heard this today.  I worked out what my morning ritual would be: light a candle, tap a singing bowl, set priorities for the day, write in my journal, and stretch.

When I opened a recommended video called “Yoga with Adrienne,” sure enough, in the introduction she said, “Show up, even if you’re tired. Commit to dedicating to your yoga practice for yourself.” Ok, universe, now you have my attention.

Once I returned to a daily ritual and carved out time for exercise and reflection, that was it! The answer was clear: a morning routine that took all of 30 minutes and made all of the difference. I still straightened the house, typed out my carefully-calculated word count, ran errands, made appointments, and planned and prepped dinner. Some days, I was even busier than while on our jam-packed summer break, but the key was that I also factored in mindfulness. I showed up for myself and the universe came knocking with its gentle reminders.

Do you have a morning routine or a way of showing up for yourself? What tools do you use to commit to your personal goals and make your way back to center?

So much abundance to you,

Tracy