As I am writing this, I am lounging on the patio space at a local ecolodge, UMVA Muhazi, and settling into my month-long stay here in Rwanda. The bugs are singing me a sweet song, after an afternoon spent kayaking on Lake Muhazi, and taking in the conversations among international guests lounging on the patio, as they allowed the comfy lounge chairs and hammocks to absorb any worries or fears they might have brought to the lodge.

This visit is a return to a country that I developed a relationship with during a year-long assignment in 2021. When I mention to people that I had the chance to spend an extended period of time here, I always have to explain that the horrific scenes displayed in the iconic film Hotel Rwanda feels a million miles away when you step into the lush, vibrant, clean, and peaceful streets of Kigali (the main city of the country) present today.

As I write this, I am in the final weeks of my time in New Mexico, after hanging out here as a home base since May of this year. It is leading me to reflect on what initially drew me out here and how things have unfolded in different and interesting ways than I originally imagined.

In a recent conversation with a friend recently added to the collection, we discussed the difference between approaching life expectantly vs. with expectations. I shared with him that I spent a lot of my life bringing conscious and unconscious expectations to situations, relationships, and experiences, which often led me to walk away with more disappointments than gratitude, and an inability to see the beauty that was there all along. As they say in 12-step communities, an expectation is a premeditated resentment. One of the chapters where this showed up most prominently for me was college, which I think is a common chapter for a lot of people to bring expectations fed by media, family, and society into this widely accepted rite of passage into adulthood.

In recent conversations, I have had a number of people express admiration for the amount of freedom that I have created in the current iteration of my life. In retrospect, some of it was a conscious choice, and some of it was not so conscious. In my early 20s, as I walked on the crystal sands of the North Florida beaches with a close friend, I remember stating my commitment to myself was to live an “interesting life.” At that time, this vision entailed aspirations of living and working overseas and little attachment to creating a family of my own, but as I approached the 30 year mark, peer influences had started weighing on me.

“To whom much is given, much will be required.” (Luke 12:48) Since I discovered this Bible verse in my more devout religious years as a teenager, it has felt like a heavy weight that I was encumbered by ever since. As I embarked upon my career, I considered the ways I was well-resourced by a family that had access to privilege, who helped me establish a strong educational foundation, in addition to the natural gifts and talents I inherited, which I felt convicted were meant to be used in service to others.

I want to use this post as an opportunity to share my insights and findings from my co-live/co-work tour throughout the US and Mexico. At this point I have lived with eight different friends or colleagues, sometimes in their home, sometimes in an agreed upon inspired location. Some were single, some were divorced, and some were coupled. We co-lived, co-worked, co-learned, co-created, co-explored, co-connected and co-imagined. Each of my stops was one or two weeks, and had a very different flavor, based upon the unique personality of the locale and the desired goals of my respective partner in connection. Meals and skills were shared, hearts and minds were unveiled.

Where did the beginnings of my cultural curiosity begin to reveal itself? As my mom tells it, there was an Asian child in my Preschool class who I was intrigued with, which she took that as a sign, and then enrolled me in a kids program at University of Kentucky focused on exploring cultures around the world. Most of what I remember about that course is the excitement of getting my fake passport stamped and eating a lot of strange foods that I was not so sure about. Don’t think I absorbed much in terms of cultural complexities as a 4 year-old, but the spark was definitely ignited.

When I began this writing journey, I said I was on a quest to explore what community means to me at this life juncture. In 2022, I spent a lot of time participating in communities that others had constructed and facilitated. This included a coaching community, a writing community, an accountability group, retreat communities, co-living communities, among others. Inevitably, as an entrepreneur at heart, these experiences of serving as a participant in services or products that others have designed, sparks a lot of thoughts about how I would want to do it differently.

Now I can say from personal experience, there is not much that can support the integration journey more than cleaning out boxes of storage from the last 30 years of your life. This is not exactly what I anticipated I would be doing for a good portion of my visit to Kentucky for the holidays, but the theme of water continued to show up in new and interesting ways. The holiday excitement had settled, and we were all ready for a week of calm to properly wind down 2022, when the effects of the winter snowstorm hit and I was greeted by my mom’s panicked knock at my door. She shared that the pipes had burst in the garage and had fully flooded the eight to ten boxes I had dropped here after my Seattle chapter ended, among other carnage.

I anticipated I would be writing this Tiny Letter fresh off the deep insights gained from walking in the footsteps of renowned prophets in the holy land of Israel during the final weeks of December. What better way to experience the significance and sacredness of the “holiday season” than to go to the source of its inception and lore?

And yet, I am currently sitting at my parent’s dining room table with a cup of ginger-turmeric tea, taking in the fresh snowy landscapes, preparing to decorate a Charlie Brown Christmas tree, listening to Josh Groban, with freshly polished teeth gratefully received at the hands of our local dentist. Where, might you ask, did this slight traveling detour begin? 

At this time last year I was in Rwanda and approaching my 40th birthday. I had a conversation with a friend, coach, and mentor about how I might thoughtfully engage with the transition I was approaching into the second half of life, inspired greatly by Richard Rohr’s concept of “Falling Upward.”. Over the past five or so years I have been intrigued by the idea of “rites of passage,” while also lamenting about how little of these currently exist in the Western world around important transitions that we face throughout our lives.

Isn’t it amazing how one kind-hearted soul can ask you one or two powerful questions that can infuse new clarity, energy, and vision into your life during transitional times? For me this was Chris Unger, who I met roughly four years ago when I was living in Seattle. At the time, I was working at Code Fellows, an immersive software development bootcamp, but preparing myself for my next professional move through studies in Corporate Innovation at Stanford.

As I reflect, I am not quite sure where my fascination with the concept of “community” came from. Did it start with my eight-year old self who delighted, but also lamented, each time she played flashlight tag or pick-up basketball when visiting a friend? These outings served as a consistent reminder of how much I felt I missed out on growing up on a piece of property far from the maddening crowds. I vowed at that time that if I had kids, I would ensure we lived in a neighborhood with easy access to playdates and spontaneous social encounters, mud pie collaborations and ample pupils for imaginary classrooms.