Hiya folks! Figured I’m a wee bit overdue on a check in and there’s things to share!
“So did you take that test?” – FSOT/Foreign Service πΊπΈποΈ
Update: I did not take the test/apply in October
The move took more out of me than I thought it would; September was insanely busy post-move and I just…didn’t have it in me. Trying to do a better job listening to my body when she’s like ‘maybe you need to actually REST.’ So illness snuck away the June date, I chose to skip the October date which means FEBURARY IS GAME TIME, Y’ALL
This means ALL the diplomatic podcasts, tv shows (Hi, Madam Secretary), blogs, Reddit, etc. and of course…
FSOT study guides! I also subscribe to the FSO Compass site and have found it SUPER helpful. I even talked a friend into subscribing! Click here to check it out/join (full disclosure: if you sign up using this link I get a mini perk when my re-subscribe time comes up)!
Want to know more about why I moved across the US to prepare for applying to the Foreign Service? Why I think it’s for me? Check out my August 2022 post here.
“So do you still do standup?”– Improv Comedy ποΈπ
I took a standup class at Second City and quickly learned I’m a team sport kid through and through; improv is my speed, not stand up.
If you prefer your improv a little outside Chicago, see a show or 7 at Laugh out Loud in Schaumburg. I got to be part of this ensemble for only a year and I’m still sad that was it! They have an amazing cast and are one of the best-prepared theaters I’ve been a part of!
However, now that I live in Washington State, that commute to Chicago is untenable and I’m excited to share some fresh news: I’ve been cast on the Upfront Theatre’s performance team. The Upfront is the spot in Whatcom County for improv; I’ve been lucky to guest twice before when visiting and I’m so excited to be re-learning my long-form improv muscles with this cast. The audition process was truly fun (trust me, that’s rare) and it feels just…good to be doing improv again regularly. Like my creative brain sighed and happily wriggled her toes, doing make-believe about stroopwafels and Swedish Fish.
I’ll shout out when I start being in shows; they doing a great job of easing you in over 3 months and assigned us each a mentor during the break-in process. Please know I will judge you for the suggestions you shout out.
“How are the cats?”– Queen (Fleck) & Bean (Blitzen) Update π±π±
*Peers over side of bed* lookin’ good
Mostly sleepin’ at night
Still need to find a vet locally
Delighted w new treats I brought home today from TJ Maxx (Blue Buffalo)
Like hunting bugs and watching birds since we live by a creek
Both have turned 1 year old! Which is wild. Queen’s bday was the first week of September, and Bean’s the first week in November. I got him a lil HAT and he HATED it and the word HAT is inside of HATE and now that’s cute. Like him.
“How’s Washington?” – PNW Stuff π§οΈπ²
The usual weather for fall – but it did take forever to get here – highs in low-mid 40s, lows in low-mid 30s – ranging between all gray er’day to bright, sunny, crispy crunch-ety. Pretty wet/damp.
I got to go to a high school pal’s wedding and it was amazing. I drove 6 hours in the Jeep (is this a road trip) and took a ferry! by myself! My mom was like “It’s only scary if you’re the first car on” which means of COURSE I was the first car on and indeed! it’s spooky! But happy to have done a brave new thing, seen a bunch of people I love for the first time in a long time, and get dressed up, eat good food, take silly photobooth shots and laugh more than should be legal.
Speaking of catching up, I got to grab dinner with several high school ladies (and ran into 2 other folks from our graduating class) this week; what a gift to see the people we’ve grown into. That we’re all just people trying our best and that there’s a lot more to connect us than divide us.
Gas is still expensive, but thankfully down from the very-close-to-$5-per-gallon. Normally around $4.05-4.15 at Costco and you best believe your girl makes strategic Costco trips just for gas.
Still enjoying driving but sometimes I miss the ease of just getting on the train or bus and resting/turning off my brain during the ride. Now I have to be alert and there’s speed limits and I have autonomy yuck I like it all right I guess (and love parking this tiny, bitty Jeep).
In other, tougher, news: our family had a hard weekend; one of our best boys, Grizz, passed on late Friday afternoon. He’s been struggling with his breathing for awhile and we’re all so happy he’s no longer in pain and is now breathing good in clean air, jumping in crunchy leaves, probably eating oodles of cheese and snuffling up dropped food in a world made for him. He was the best himbo: he loved with 104% of who he was and knew we loved him too. He took care of us for 12 years and the world seems a little dimmer without him the last few days πΎ
That’s all for now; excited for some next steps like getting into things at the Upfront, ordering some chrome steps for the Jeep (right now you gotta hop up in there like a Keelber elf), and having my first Thanksgiving at home since I was 18. Yeah, it’s been that long.
β¨ Look forward to me editing this in a day or two with “OH NO I FORGOT THIS BIG THING I CAN’T BELIEVE I FORGOT I—”
Hello from the West Coast! I was sitting here thinking the past few weeks “when am I gonna get time to write an update” and made myself go to my closest coffee shop because the time is now!
So…we made it to Washington state! Should I end it there?
It’s been a busy 6-7 weeks since our big travel push. So many of you asked ‘how was traveling with the cats?’ that I feel like this whole post could (might be?) about that (Editor’s note: it is).
August 29-30th was a wild, mildly traumatic ride for me and for B&Q. Wrapping up one’s entire 7 years of life in the city, cleaning everything out of an apartment without a car, without a partner/person, and leaving at 4am to go to the airport for your new life? 10/10 DO NOT RECOMMEND.
Thanks to great friends we got everything needed into the 8x8x7 POD on Saturday in pretty quick time. Bean decided that people coming over to help carry out our things was just a biiiiiit too far to tolerate and squeezed himself between the top of the fridge and the bottom of our cabinets. They’d done so well with all the moving things so far that to see him physically be so anxious was tough. He alternated between that nook and on top of the cabinets until the end (when I put him in his carrier on flight morning). Queen was delighted and asked for pets and treats non-stop from almost everyone.
Sweaty moving day face and Bean, above it all
Unlike most PODs users, I couldn’t get the unit dropped off in my driveway…because I had no driveway. We had to go to the warehouse as they can’t deliver to residential streets/apartment buildings and they didn’t go any further north than Everett on the delivery in Washington state, so warehouse to warehouse it was. Which saved me some money overall but did require more ‘legs’ of work to coordinate.
I rented a Penske truck from my local Home Depot and got there around 8am for pickup. For some reason it wasn’t until I was butt in seat that I realized how I might have to parallel park a 20ft truck by myself on a busy city street and started to panic.
I had been telling myself up to that day and the 3 that followed: We made a plan. We’ve prepared. We’re just executing the plan. So I put the truck in gear, checked the mirrors, and drove the 10 minutes back to my place, doing 2 laps before finding an ‘ok’ spot for the truck and paying the meter.
This ended up being a constant that last week in Chicago. Suddenly fear would pounce on my shoulder and whisper ‘seriously? you think you can do this *gestures* and do it alone?!’ That voice was…pretty insidious. I think she tucked away in a box and might still be hiding out in my storage unit to come out on darker days. I busied myself with something move-related, swatting the voice away, and just. kept. swimming.
Hey guess what? MOVING IS STILL THE WORST. Yeah. In case you thought that changed since we’re forgiving student loans and rolling back solid 50-year Supreme Court rulings, it hasn’t. Moving is emotionally and physically and mentally taxing as heck. If I said something wild to you over that last month I just…I might need a pass. I felt like sleep was a joke; the last 2.5 nights I slept on an inflatable camping pad with a travel blanket. My main goal was ‘hope the cats don’t pop the pad’ and my scary thoughts were about the TSA checkpoint w the cats. That was a recurring one.
Monday the 29th was spent coordinating final freebox pickups to neighbors, cleaning, taking stuff to friends/the post office to mail, and a final meal from First Slice Pie Cafe on top of a box. Forever we stan. Coffee-braised pork burrito, marry me. Toffee Coffee pie? Bear my firstborn. All the staff from every location deserve flowers and to pet baby animals.
I nervously watched the USPS tracker waiting for some calming drops from Jackson Galaxy, the Cat Daddy/cat whisperer, because I wasn’t convinced the gabapentin was going to be enough to drug the cats on flight day. I’d kicked in my address change to start that day, so I was scared the USPS dude wouldn’t actually leave it, you know? Successfully nabbing it felt almost as good as winning in the grocery checkout line wars. You know what I mean.
I had very little left in the apartment, so I just started/kept cleaning. I still had my router/modem so I kept playing episodes of Scrubs and podcasts, cleaning nonsensical stuff like the walls (where did all those marks come from?), dusting the top of cabinets (eons worth of skin cells), and trying to keep that scary voice at bay that 12 hours from now everything would change.
Sleepy boi.A solid 4 years at this spot.“Finally I can sit here! Without books!”“What do you mean we’re giving it away?!”“We’d like to contest the move.”
To be honest, writing about this day/night/day is making me emotional. I’m snug and safe in a sparsely-populated coffee shop and am anxious just recalling it. Tears feel close. Should I keep writing about this? Is there a catharsis in telling you how bad it was? Or is it self-pity to ‘complain’ about it on my blog? I’m working on a ‘my feelings are valid’ kick lately, so I’m going to keep going.
I’ll tell you what I told everyone who’s asked: I hope I never have to do this again. I don’t know what that means for my future Foreign Service career/application but it was traumatic. I feel like that’s the closest word. I’d asked a friend who’d moved last year to Seattle with a cat if they were glad they’d driven and she said in hindsight, it would be better to fly. It would be 1 bad day vs several not great days for the cats, if that makes sense. Turns out, 1 bad day is still…bad. Who knew?!
AND EVERYTHING WENT RELATIVELY WELL! Pretty much! TSA = great. I forgot the leftover gabapentin and calming drops in the fridge (after I had dosed them; it just would have been leftover/more for later), and one of my suitcases was 5lbs over, but otherwise honestly it went well/executed the plan. Which is why I think I’m confused about these feelings.
Maybe it’s just admitting how scared I was. How close I came to losing it but I couldn’t; who would have picked up the pieces? It had to get done, so I did it. But I did it so, so scared.
How I blustered and brave-faced my way through ‘am I doing the right thing’ and telling folks I’d loved for years goodbye for the last time, and sang my final silly RIFF songs, and confidently told people my plan and I’m full-on, honestly crying right now in ye olde Woods Coffee Shop and it was so hard. It was awful, y’all. There’s not many times I’ve been SO hyperaware of how single I am. Most of the time, it’s fine. I have great friends and family and a well-honed mental game of getting things done by myself. Traveling alone. Dinners out by myself. Going to theaters solo. But something about all of this, the planning and doing and carrying all the fears in a blue IKEA tote non stop and worrying around all the ‘what ifs’ was truly tapping the ceiling of my emotional capacity as just one person. The relief there would have been in sharing the emotional labor and load with another person would have been…everything. But there wasn’t. So I just handled it. But I’m starting to think sitting here that ‘just handling it’ wasn’t really ‘dealing with it,’ ya feel?
TSA was great; honestly. ORD TSA in Chicago did so great helping me with the cats. I realized laying in the dark the night before, not sleeping, on my sleeping pad that I had no way to ‘connect’ the cats to me/each other. I knew I’d have to take them out of the carrier and keep them with me as the carrier went through the xray. And what if they had a real freakout – a cartoon cloud of claws and fur and fangs – and I couldn’t get them back? Sure, they were both in harnesses and both had an air tag on them, but I’d packed their leashes in the pod. Call it resourceful or ratchet, but as I took their old scratching post out to the dumpster, I cut a length of sisal rope/twine from it about 18″ long and kept it in my pocket, to tie the D-ring on the harnesses together before removing them in the tiny TSA booth. Both TSA agents were incredibly kind to me. I had such…panic face. Anxiety was radiating off me in waves. I bet I smelled like desperation. The female agent complimented how cute the cats were as I choked out a thank you and how grateful I was as this was the part I was the most scared about and thanked them yet again.
Then Queen started to have…opinions. Bean was just doped up to heck. Full happy, dopey boy. They both got the same dose and we’d done 2 dry runs of drugs, but I don’t know if she just adrenaline’d through the meds or what. She was breathing hard, crawling all over Bean, crying. I put them back on my roller carry-on and walked back and forth, which helped a little. I felt so conspicuous. Several people kindly asked me about my cat (and they were delighted to hear there were two in there, one was just uh, loud) and talked nicely to her. I tried to put my face close to the mesh and whisper loving things to her and let her rub her snoot on my fingers but she was pushing her whole FACE against the mesh and breathing hard and crying and I didn’t know what to do. ORD has animal relief areas, but there weren’t any near me (I’d researched) indoors. And if you went out, you’d have to go through security again.
I began to worry ‘maybe her harness somehow twisted up and is choking her?’ so I carefully unzipped just enough of the side door to slide my hand in and she wanted out so bad. I mean, I would say YEARNING and LEANING that whole body toward the opening. I hated having to push her back in as I loosened and removed the harness (which wasn’t twisted). I realized that meant if she got out that she was sans harness, identifier, air tag, etc. Sure she was chipped, but she’d have to be caught. She was biting and scratching at the mesh (which wasn’t metal) and panting; I was scared she’d somehow get out during the flight.
I had no backup plan/additional carrier. I prayed fervently that we were all going to get through this. Mantras, little verbal rituals, phrases I softly whispered to myself and to them as some kind of lifeline that we were going to make it. We’d done this much. We’d made it this far. We’re almost there. We were through so many of the hard parts. Come on, Queen. Come on, me. We can. We can make it. Almost there. Just a litany of words to keep us all moving for one more minute. To not let the fear catch up.
We boarded and I was in the window seat. She continued crying. Bean…I was like, ‘is he ok? he’s so silent compared to her.’ (It’s drugs, Alyssa. Drugs.) Once we took off though…silence. I didn’t hear either of them again for the 4.5 hour flight. The fear voice tried to tell me she was Shawshanking her way out, chewing and clawing through the mesh; or she was so scared she’d fainted or asphyxiated, etc. I wanted to check but I didn’t want to wake them back up and also, honestly, there’s not a ton of wiggle room in a plane. So I dozed fitfully and counted down the hours until landing. Then we landed and taxiied. Waited to deplane (we were in the back). Started to tear up thinking how relieved I was going to be to have my mom there. To finally share the responsibility of the cats, of me, of all of this with another person.
Then, there she was. I didn’t cry; I just felt a bone-deep weariness settle over me. We’d made it. I made it. The worst bits were done. I hugged her and went into problem solving mode. Must. get. suitcases. because if I stayed I was going to weep and give up and collapse and just a little bit just a little longer to keep it together, come on, self. I went to the last baggage carousel (why is it always the last one?!) and got my 2 checked bags, leaving the cats & carry-on w her. We got in the car and still, no cat sounds. I peeked in to confirm they were both like, breathing, and buckled them in for the drive out of the city. We drove about an hour north to a Panera parking lot and stopped to feed me, and let the cats run around a bit in the car. I’d gotten a travel litterbox and pre-shipped some litter home that my Mom had brought and we opened the carrier to let the kids stretch their legs and take in new smells, sounds, snacks, etc. with all the doors closed/windows up and seats folded flat.
They both emerged, wooed by the smell of churu paste aka cat gogurt, dry food nibbles, and a little water. We left them ‘out’ as we drove the rest of the way home to my parents’ place and put them in the bathroom with the door closed for a bit. I then napped hard for almost 3 hours straight. Just pancaked on the couch outside the bathroom and zonked. We then shifted over to my sister’s place, our home base, and a new bathroom floor/closet to explore.
I honestly don’t remember anything from that night except sitting on the bathroom floor with the cats around 5pm-ish? I must have slept so, so hard. Them too, probably.
So how was moving with the cats? Hard. Really hard. Scary. Afraid something would go bad. So many ‘what ifs’ from if they soiled themselves in the carrier to if they were overweight and I didn’t have a backup plan for that. There was no safety net. And knowing that was part of the anxious responsibility that I was carrying too. There wasn’t a friend to stay with on zero notice, or a name I knew I could call to come get us, everything had to be executed on those last few days, there wasn’t wiggle room or do-over space. And if you’re a Chicago pal reading this thinking ‘oh, I would have come/let you,’ I believe you. But August me was…overwhelmed.
I’m glad it’s over. And I’m hoping I don’t ever have to do something like that alone again. I’d get married just to avoid it. Or buy a friend/family member a flight round trip to help me. Just another soul to like, watch them so I could go pee and peruse a Hudson newsstand alone (what is new with George Clooney, Entertainment Weekly?).
If you’re thinking of traveling 1 human : 2 cats let me tell you, you can do it. It’s not fun and makes for a really hard day, but it really is just 1 truly tough day. I have no kids, but maybe its a bit like childbirth. A really awful day, but then really big reward/relief. We all made it. We’re all ok. But do your research; there’s only 2 domestic airlines (Alaska & Southwest as of Aug. 2022) that will let you do 2 animals, same species/size in 1 carrier. And it’s all (carrier too) got to be under 20lbs and a specific dimension of soft/hard carrier too. Double & triple check. Train your cats to wear a harness; and prepare to clip/tie them together with something less basic than twine. Get medication from your vet that will help with anxiety and practice. Know how far in advance you need to give it and bake that time in. Having something like the Jackson Galaxy travel drops is also helpful to soothe and multi-layer your tools. Practice with the carrier and associate high-value treats/good things with it. Highly recommend Cat School training as a great build up of skills and to condition behavior.
We’ve settled in with Auntie B at her house and learning to live and thrive together. We’ve had some adventures in the last 7 weeks too; buying my first car in 10 years, lots of family dinners, helping with garage sales and catching up with folks. More to come (and less waiting, hopfully) re: everything from finding a new vet/ob/dr/dentist/hairstylist to buying said car to the Foreign Service stuff too.
Until then, here’s a snap of B&Q surveying their new kingdom on our first gorgeous morning in Washington – π±π±π
Hi folks! It’s been awhile since my last post about surviving the first few months of cat ownership parenting guardianship personal assistant-ing roommate life. I’ve been meaning to write but also I’ve been sitting on some news. I’m leaving Chicago.
After exactly 7 years (anniversary: tomorrow π₯Ή) in the Windy City, I’m moving. It feels a little wild to type that, but the wheels are firmly in motion and I’ll be moving back to my hometown of Lynden, WA as of Labor Day. Or as I’ve tried to explain it to people: ‘the corner of the corner’ or ‘Vancouver’s American Suburb π¨π¦’ or just ‘2 hours north of Seattle’ or ‘the artist formerly known as ‘5 minutes from the border crossing.”
The first thing you’re probably thinking (and I was too) is why?! I’ve said for years that I wouldn’t move back to that area, that who I am now doesn’t fit my idea of Lynden (which was shaped by my 18-year old brain). Which leads us to the 2nd piece of news:
The cats said I had to I’m starting the process to apply for the Foreign Service. ‘I’m sorry Bailey, the what?!’ Yeah. Me too. Let me give some context and then the definition, because its decidedly not the French Foreign Legion.
When I went to Tanzania last year and climbed Kilimanjaro (oh yeah, I know I haven’t written about it! I wake up in the night knowing! It’s been 10 months!) it was such a breath of fresh air. Literally – how much fresher does air get than at 19,000+ feet – but also, to wander, to explore, and to try out new Swahili words that my hosts would gently correct – and I felt…right. That newness, that sense of discovery, of wonder, was something I hadn’t discovered in a long time. I found it really missing in Chicago for me after 7 years; and there are so many amazing things in Chicago. I have adored my seasons (some more than others) but after walking what felt like half of Chicago in 2020-21 in prep for Kili, I feel like I’ve satisfied some critical parts of me as a performer and person, knowing I can thrive here. We’re ready.
Are you done with improv? I’ve performed with people and on stages that I dreamed of when I arrived in 2015. I’ve done music and short and long form improv, took voiceover and standup classes, I got my wish of being on a long-term team (I heart y’all, RIFF πΉ), I learned from some of the most kind and insightful and downright hilarious human beings, am friends with many of them, and my heart feels pretty full. I am not forever done, but I am delighted and satisfied. There’s also a pretty-dang-wonderful improv theater in Bellingham, The Upfront, that has let me guest before and I’m hoping they’ve got an audition spot with my name on it.
Are you quitting your job? Nope! Not anytime soon; I really like my bosses and the company, and I’m going to continue doing my role from WA with some trips to the ‘hub hubs throughout the year.
Are you moving with the cats? Will you have to buy a car? Yes and yes!
So I’m happy, full, content, thriving, in my lane – why am I moving?
Back to the Foreign Service.
“The 14,000+ men and women of the Foreign Service represent the government and people of the United States. At more than 265 diplomatic and consular posts, the U.S. Foreign Service safeguards national security and manages America’s relationships with the rest of the world.” – Inside a US Embassy (2011)
In my words (and if you’re in the FS reading it and it’s real wrong, please forgive me), members of Foreign Service work in embassies and consulates around the world and in DC to promote and protect US culture and relationships. They issue visas, facilitate adoptions, handle birth/death/detainment issues, manage study abroad programs, create and cultivate relationships with local peoples, advocate for economic growth, connect with the press, and much more. There are many titles and roles in the FS, but the ones you probably know best are the Secretary of State (currently Antony Blinken), ambassadors (appointed by the President, approved by the Senate), and consular officers (visas, adoptions, passport control, the birth/death/detainment bits). There are 2 general categories – FS Specialists and Officers – I’m interested in the Officer role, from which you also choose 1 of 5 specialties or ‘tracks.’
But why me? What about this is me? Many things about the Foreign Service appeal to me, and specifically the Public Diplomacy track (read more about the 5 tracks here) – serving something much bigger than myself, international living & travel, building relationships, crafting writing & messaging, shaping and influencing and learning – those are all things that I’ve been clicking into in most of my jobs for the last 15 years. The world is full of kind, vibrant people who have helped me and invested in my success, fed me, laughed at slash wept with me, and those qualities aren’t limited to Americans. I want to learn, but I also want to share the best things about America, our ‘whys’ and failures and growing pains, with others. I am proud to be an American even if I often ache with frustration about the slow, grinding gears of justice and freedom for folks of color, indigenous peoples, for women, for friends in the LGBTQ+ spheres. I am hungry to connect and soak in new languages and meet people where they are, not where I idealize them to be. I am not looking forward to dressing in business-wear for the next several years, but you win some, you lose some, right? #teampantsuit
Joining the FS – if you’re successful – is a long process. It very often takes multiple tries too. If you are successful on average it takes 12-24 months from application to entering your orientation class, and there’s several steps. You might make it to step 4 and have to start over. Background checks might take longer than you think. There may not be as many openings that year, etc. Here’s a rough breakdown:
Application – You’ll write an extensive list of info from references to job duties, as well as 6 mini-essays known as the Personal Narratives, which each need a verifier. Applications open 5 weeks before a testing window. You choose your job track here – and you really can’t change it – so I gotta be sure I like it.
The FSOT (Foreign Service Officer Test) – this 3ish hour test is only offered 3x a year in February, June, and October. I’ll be taking it the first week of October, probably in the Seattle metro area. The FSOT is heavily multiple choice and most similar (I’ve heard) to an AP History/Government-flavored Jeopardy exam. You can study study study and still the luck of the draw may not come out in your favor. There are also some essay portions. Until recently the FSOT was a pass/fail test. Those who passed went to the next stage, those who didn’t have to wait a whole year to retake the test. However, last month/June 2022 they now are having all those who take the test move onto the next stage. This ensures that those who aren’t Jeopardy masters still have a shot!
QEP – Qualifications Evaluation Panel (QEP) review, which looks at a candidateβs total file; their FSOT score, and application info like personal narratives (PNs), work history, education, and personal experiences. Since as of June everyone now goes into the QEP stage that takes the FSOT, there is apparently an AI/computer-screened QEP that goes through application, your FSOT, etc. that scrubs for experiences/text and forwards relevant candidates to the human QEP review. These folks are the ones that determine if you’re invited to the OA.
Oral Assessments (OA) – this one-day interview/assessment includes everything from traditional interviews to group situational activities, tasks and more in Washington D.C. They’re pretty hush on what it is other than it’s a group assessment (I think 5-7 candidates in a cohort) and that it’s a long, taxing day. At the end of this day they tell you individually if you’re moving on to the next stage and give you a conditional letter of employment. Typically if you sit for the FSOT in October (like me) you’re doing OA within the next 6ish months. In the last 2 years sometimes the gap is shorter and sometimes longer, like any industry the pandemic has really adjusted the timeline. What they want to see here is the 13 Dimensions (critical role competencies) displayed in your behavior and how you work with others.
Medical and Security Clearances – if you pass the OAs, they have to be sure you can be deployed anywhere in the world, at any time. This can be one of the longest parts of the process if folks have lived overseas, have multiple citizenships, relationships, etc. that need vetting.
Suitability Review Panel – they take a deep look at your entire file (and life) top to bottom (except medical records) to ensure you’re the right person to represent the US overseas (and at home).
The Register – if you pass alllll the steps you get put on a rank-ordered list by your specialty (track) of successful candidates. This means you can be ranked above those who got on the list before you (and those that come after you that score/rank higher can be above you on the list). You can be on the register for 18 months before you have to start all over. It’s been rare (I’ve heard) in the last 2 years for people to time out, but not impossible. With forced retirement at 65 and the changing administrations, pandemic, etc. there are a lot of openings that need filling in those 265 worldwide postings, and at the home office in DC for the Dept. of State.
A100 – If after all that you get called up from the Registry you’ll attend the Orientation Program at FSI – the Foreign Service Institute in DC/VA. The general program is I believe 4-6 weeks and then additional role and language training could add weeks/months onto that first step into doing the actual job!
OK. So. That’s the process. We kinda see how it takes 12-24 months again, on average, to get to the Register or A100, right? If you want more details you can visit the FSO Career Page at State Dept.
So I am moving home to Lynden, but it is likely for just a few years. If I’m likely/looking into living overseas again for large chunks of time it feels right to move me (and los gatos) home – to soak in family time, to minimize and align all the stuff I own in one spot, etc. I think the best way I’ve heard the FS application process explained is to not look it in the eye all the time. Watch it out of the corner of your eye, occasionally turn your bright focus on it (FSOT, OA, etc.) but you’ve got to keep living your life. You can’t hold on too tight because you may have to start over. Multiple times.
There have been so many great resources I’ve been able to absorb – from podcasts to study guides, books, web communities, webinars, and even humans I know in the FS plus ones I’m getting to meet (friends of friends). If you are/know someone in the FS or in the process of the FSO role, feel free to connect us!
7 years is a long time. It feels wild that I lived in Korea (the reason for this blog) 7+ years ago now. It feels like the right time to transition, although Chicago is by far the longest place I’ve lived as an adult. I want to go while I love this place – warts and heartbreak and tragedy and riotous joy – and am excited to revisit rather than overstay my time. This is going to hurt, though.
When I was preparing to leave Korea I made up (maybe?) the term pre-grief. It’s that feeling as you wonder if something is the last time you’ll do it because you know you’re leaving soon. Even small things take on a bit of a hue of nostalgia. Food tastes different, more savory, brighter. You give away and sift the keeps, the giveaways, the sell items. You find so. many. bobby pins. And you cherish those people you love. That’s always the worst/best part. Loving, and being loved, and choosing to leave for new things.
I’m going to probably post at least a few more times before leaving the city at the end of August. We might get reeeealllly sappy. But I love you, Chicago. I’m grateful for this city. For the comedy scene. Even in the broken bits. For a personal trainer and friend who took me to higher heights even as I doubted. For two weird little cats who do not understand that weekends are for sleeping in. For the job that was ‘just a place where I could leave work at work’ that keeps bringing me to new places and recognizing my investment. For people that have challenged me to elevate personally, spiritually, and professionally and fiercely loved me. For rewarding my big bold wild leap to move to Chicago, sight unseen, knowing no one, from a foreign country (Korea). A blind date with a legendary city; and here we are at the end of the chapter, better for it.
If you’re reading this and in Chicago and want to do food π, a show π, drinks π», meet the catsπ±π±, hit me up! I move on 8/30 π so don’t delay, babes. I’m selling a bunch of things (clothes, furniture, etc. so if we’re IRLs keep an eye on my socials for links/pics) because cross-country moves are for paring down. More to come but enjoy a lil 2015 ‘first month in Chicago’ revisit below β¨
I have still never read this all the way throughEntering Illinois, probably playing SufjanIllinois is a LONG state and I learned it this dayDay 1, had to visit – 8/1/2015I lived next to a Korean restaurant and Korean signage everywhere. It felt so right and aligned coming from Daegu.Ah, lil nose hoop, you problematic, beautiful, vibrant thing.Baby can bus.Old Michigan Ave Apple flagship; I thought this cutout was the coolest. I still have this same face. And shirt. And scarf. Korean festival 15 mins away from my place in my first month? YES PLZ. The first of many cool panos on the El platforms. This one too. It’s serving spooky alien vibes.Orientation! I was so dadgum excited. Twee and loving it. We back, baby. The infamous Second City fire; evacuated from my first class on the first day. Legendary.Month 1 in Chicago – August 2015
“Have you ever had to relinquish a pet?” I reread it.
The cursor pulsed at me, insistent.
I skipped over the question and filled out the rest of the application. Even though there was a red asterisk, I tried to submit without filling it out. Failed.
I went back up and took a deep breath and told them about Olive.
In mid-2012 my boyfriend adopted a puppy from the Arkansas Humane Society. A wildly sweet little lab mix puppy who became an even sweeter dog. I grew up with dogs, mostly labs. I loved dogs. And I thought, “I can do that.”
But I lived in a 1-bedroom apartment and labs gotta lab (run) and I’d always loved the smushed nose and mini size of black pugs. So I scoured the internet and found a listing on Craigslist, out in the sticks. One look at this tiny beast, surrounded by the clear signs and eau de puppy mill, and there I was taking out $300 at a backwoods ATM and bringing her home. I’d rescued her (really though?) and named her Olive. An unfortunately prescient choice, because I do not like olives of any kind. My best friend? Loves ’em. Can eat straight from the can. If I have to pick them off pizza I’m miffed. I CAN STILL TASTE THEIR GHOSTS.
Olive and I struggled from the get go. I worked full time, and even with a large crate, that life was too small for her. Raising a puppy alone was not what I’d thought. While growing up I’d had the benefit of family around to share responsibility, a large yard, and always at least one other dog to entertain (and show the newbie the ropes). I had none of those things here. Labs are vacuum cleaners – if you drop it, it now belongs to them – and I was used to their garbage disposal bellies eating anything and being fine. In the first week I dropped one grape, Olive ate it, I thought nothing of it until she threw it up on my comforter that night. Small dogs had different things going on.
We became irritated at each other. She’d loudly yelp, making neighbors text me about her howling when I was gone all day. I’d take her out in the morning, she’d do her business, and then when we came in I’d jump in the shower and she would poop under my dining room. Did you know you have to express their anal glands because I did not.
All this to say, I made a childish choice. I didn’t think through the responsibilities of raising a pet in the environment I lived in. I didn’t adjust my life and schedule around her. When I went home for Christmas, friends volunteered to watch her with their equally-small dog. I’d never felt so relieved. When I came back, we did another difficult week together, and my friends sat me down for an incredibly kind talk. They’d been thinking about getting another small dog and if I ever needed them to keep Olive for short or long term, they were willing.
I felt ashamed. I couldn’t hack it. There I was, ‘grown’ at 25, having had dogs my entire life, and failing. I knew it too. I was failing Olive. I said ‘let’s try a month’ and brought all her gear over. It sucked, telling people about it. I mostly kept it quiet. A month or so later, I visited her at their place.
Was this the same dog?! Her coat was shiny, she tore around the house with their dog, she lovingly jumped all over me and I asked ‘did you switch her food or…?’ to try and explain the changes. ‘No, we’re still working through what you gave us.’
And I knew. The difference was that she was happy. She wasn’t lonely all day with another dog around now. She had multiple pairs of hands loving her. She was living a better life than the one I could give her.
10 years later, it was still the right choice. It’s sometimes still an emotional bruise, one that is occasionally pressed if someone asks ‘hey, didn’t you have a dog once?’ or when I see a black pug or when Facebook is like ‘hey, remember when you had this gorl around?’
Olive is doing well. Her owners sent me a picture of the lovely lady, sun-drenched and gray muzzled, this past Christmas. I haven’t been brave enough to ask to see her the last two times I’ve been in Little Rock. It’s a cowardly move, but one that seems best (or easiest). She’s living a happy life, and I’m so thankful for my friends, who saw two creatures suffering and offered us a better way.
I was free to move to Korea. She was free to be part of the right family for her. I’ve never doubted it was the right thing, even when it’s hurt.
So here I am, 1 month ago, adopting two cats. Kittens, really. And multiple times in the first two weeks I thought “did I even learn?!” as I googled ‘am i a bad person if i return cats.’
Fleck strolled up to me as I sat in the lounge at The Catcade, rubbing her face all over my KN95 mask and sitting on the open book in front of me, as if to say ‘let’s not pretend you came here to read a book. We are women of action. Lies do not become us.’ I laughed, knowing this cat saw through my clear ruse. Of course I was there for her.
Talking with one of the owners, Shelly, after, she mentioned that Fleck was just 4 months old and would need a hernia repair after her her spaying the week before. She’d also need a buddy to come home with since she was so young. I nodded, thinking ‘we are going from 0 cats to 2 cats and 1 of the cats has a medical thing I will have to monitor oh lord oh lord oh lord‘ and filled out the application that night (Saturday).
The adoption coordinator emailed me Monday, asking if I had a preference on Fleck’s ‘buddy.’ I didn’t, so they recommended a ‘reindeer kitten.’ I frantically googled with some weirdo results, to find out that Blitzen had been one of several kittens brought in in December, all with reindeer names (Like Comet and Prancen and Balthasar or whatevs). I’m sure reindeer kitten is a type of very cool Level 17 BJJ move though, and agreed that the 2.5 month-old Blitzen sounded good to come home too.
I had a hot/cold/hot/cold week leading up to the adoption/surgery date on Tuesday, 2/1. Which might be putting it nicely. Really: I cried, I railed about it, I was so scared, I wondered if I was having a panic attack, I messaged my friends “is this a mistake,” I placed my first Chewy order and sent out alerts on neighborhood Facebook groups for items needed to house these two rascals. I spent the weekend before picking up items and going to fancy pet stores to get grain-free food and writing follow up emails to the adoption coordinator and suddenly Tuesday was here.
I’d carefully gone inch by inch through the house prepping for their arrival, setting up litter boxes and sweeping dust, gathering toys and museum gel-ing down anything precious. I was as ready as I was going to get, and was technically taking them out on ‘medical foster’ until Fleck’s incision was healed and had a follow up with the vet.
I got off the train at Southport, walking the final 10 minutes carrying my newly-acquired free carrier from a neighbor. I cried most of the way there. Not a cute cry. I didn’t know if that was a good sign or a bad sign as I knew my life was about to change.
I thought it was maybe a bit like when I left working for Apple. I’d cried a lot, making and doing the decision, but it was the right thing for me. It was hard, but it was right. I was scared, but its worked out wildly well for me over the last 4 years.
I knocked softly on The Catcade door, and Emma let me in. “I’m nervous,” I blurted out, but she couldn’t have been nicer. She showed me syringes, and I balked, but they were just pain medicine suspended in gravy to squirt into Fleck’s mouth. I wrote everything down with shaky hands and she joyously chatted at the cats as she brought them out. She handed me both and we tried to take a ‘gotcha day’ picture but both cats acted like their bones were jello in a windstorm. We tucked them carefully into the carrier and I called a Lyft.
Gingerly I wrapped my arms around the carrier, lifting them from underneath, not trusting the plastic handle. I slide them into the backseat of a Hyundai and tucked my fingers into the metal grille to graze their soft noses and assure them. They couldn’t have been more chill. Two casual car veterans enjoying the city lights, didn’t even make a sound as they nuzzled my fingertips. I unlocked my front door and carefully set them down in the kitchen, filming their emergence into my place.
They strolled out like this was already their house and slowly explored. They sniffed and smelled and meandered as I followed them around like a realtor murmuring about the apartment having good bones. They used the litter box and ate heartily as I gave Fleck her gravy cocktail, careful not to let her jump and disturb her belly incision.
They got sleepy around 9 and I thought ‘sleep when they sleep,’ like I’d heard people should do with babies. I lifted them both up onto my bed in a soft blanket, and they easily curled up and slept. I thought ‘well that was easy’ and crashed, my emotions catching up to me. An hour later I felt the tiny shakes of paws walking and jolted awake. Trying to corral them, we resettled. And again. Again. We finally got out of bed around 6, when I couldn’t keep her still. I had given up and let him jump off the bed several times.
I fed them, grateful they were still for a bit as they wetly munched away. I glanced at the clock; 6am on a Wednesday. I don’t do 6am. You’re lucky if I roll out of bed at 8:15 to start working at 8:30. I love my late nights. I love my independence to go to bed when I want. I scrolled ze apps, made a massive jug of coffee, and watched the cats re-roam, carefully monitoring Fleck’s vertical game.
The found anything that wasn’t carefully tucked away. I thought my under-bed was well packed, but they found nooks. Crannies. Soft extra blankets I kept under the couch. I looked at everyone via webcam at work that day sleepily and said ‘its going fine,’ and ordered an extra strength cold brew around noon. The cats slept most of the day, which was good, right?
The second night was worse.
Having slept all day, they wanted to roam all night. In a weird architecture choice, my bedroom door…doesn’t exist. It’s an open doorway. Which, who cares, right? I live alone. No visitors of any kind have been here in a long time, its fine. But now…now it’s 11pm and I can’t take another sleepless night and don’t trust them in the rest of the apartment without me around.
I made ‘the mature choice’ and put them in the bathroom with a litter box, two beds and a blanket, rigorously triple checking that the toilet is shut and the shower curtain tucked up out of reach. I was choosing to give myself sleep and keep them in a small, confined (not that small, it’s not an Andersonville micro bathroom) space, and yet couldn’t sleep all night. I felt guilty, like I was robbing them of exploring or worried she’d jump off the counter, I heard Blitzen’s jingle-y little collar as he paced (she’d already got hers off 2x). I think this was the first night I googled ‘can I give cats back.’
I learned that in my mid-30s I can do one all-nighter, I can’t do two in a row.
At 6am I gave in and let them out to be fed, only to see that one of Blitzen’s eyes was swollen shut. You’d think he was winking and like our parents said ‘don’t do that your face will get stuck that way.’
My first thought: I broke the cat. I made a selfish choice and put them in the bathroom all night, and this is what I deserve.
Rationality tried to creep in and I thought ‘well maybe it’s sleep crusties and he’ll be fine in a few minutes.’ Reader, he was not. It cracked open a slit, but was clearly swollen. I paced my 500 square feet until the 7am online vet that Chewy gave me free access to came online and initiated a chat with pictures. He either had scratched his cornea or had conjunctivitis, aka pink eye. Goop was accumulating in the corner of his eye. As the day went on, it spread to the other eye too.
I cried all day Thursday. I’m serious. From 6am when they got up and cried to be fed, to I think all-but-one of my work Zoom meetings, and after work, I cried. Everyone who asked ‘how are the cats,’ I answered honestly that it sucked. They were cute and sweet but I was cracking under the pressure. I was not enough to keep two tiny creatures alive and healthy even 48 hours.
I thought I was getting 1 cat and got 2. I thought there was 1 medical issue and now there are 2. All I could think about was that I was wrong and broken and stupid and DO I NOT LEARN and that they would limit what I could do where I could go, the jobs I could get, the apartments I could live in, and more.
Was this all in the application to be serious and consider? Yes
Did I seriously read it and truly think I was ready? Yes
And yet. And yet.
On Thursday I rewalked the same route from Southport to The Catcade, crying, again, for different reasons. I wondered if I’d overrode my clear ‘no’ feelings to adopt the cats and should just give up, even though we were barely on Day 3. Emma met me to give me some eye medication and demo’d application on another cat. She asked me how F & B were, and I kept up my routine of bawling. “It is hard” she said, kindly. I felt my soul (and butt) unclench 2 degrees.
Messages from friends and acquaintances, people I went to high school with, my grandma, my parents, my co-workers and more were pouring in.
“A dog trainer told me my dog was a terror and untrainable and I shouldn’t have it around my kid 16 years ago. I was a single parent. I cried the first 3 months.”
“Puppies and kittens are the worst. Especially when you’re single.”
“I sometimes think I should have fostered first and would have known what it was like. I love my pet but I think I had no idea and may not have been in the best place to do it.”
“Don’t give up”
“It gets better”
“Don’t give up yet”
I’ll be honest. I googled ‘give back adopted pet’ ‘how soon is too soon to return cats’ ‘will animals be negatively affected if I return to shelter’ more than once. Or twice. More than twice.
I filled my 6am mornings with Youtube videos of The Cat Daddy, Jackson Galaxy, based on a friend’s recommendation who works in a vet office.
I overnight ordered his book, Cat Mojo, and devoured it.
I ordered more items on Chewy. We got into a semi-routine. The cats were cool from 11pm-6am in the bathroom.
Life still was hard. And sucked. I had improv shows and felt guilty leaving them in the bathroom. I felt like going to the gym or grocery store was stolen time. I reveled in it and felt horrified that I loved getting out of the house and chose to wear an N95 mask to surf the bread aisles vs hang with them. I didn’t cook because I was scared of them jumping on the counter and lighting their paws on fire or touching hot pans with my back turned.
And yet. Inch by inch. Every day. We’ve gotten a little better. Sweetly curling up on my lap. Lazily stretching or wide-jaw yawning. That moist monch monch as they devour wet food. The truly rank smell of cat turds. Spending my annual merit increase on a fancy litter box. The pure relief at the vet check-up with Fleck and her hernia being totally healed. An apartment maintenance visit where they willingly went in their crate.
We are better. We made it to 1 month. 32 days and 31 nights. I haven’t slept a continuous 8 hours since February 1. I changed the layout of my entire apartment to accommodate their huge (free) cat tree. They have only knocked over my monstera once so far.
I do love them, I think. I made myself start saying it at the end of that first week, when I didn’t feel like I loved them. I knew they were just bein’ babies, but I was so lost and frustrated and tired and they were everywhere.
Nuzzling their soft bellies or pressing kisses into the downy bit under their necks, crowing back at them and watching their Cirque du Soleil routines attacking a feather wand, it’s all softening me. It’s the glorious part. The part that offsets the hard things. The hard things aren’t less but they’re more expected and I feel semi-capable of keeping them alive. Me too, I guess.
I’m grateful for every single message and heart’d reaction, for the friend that came over and talked to me like a human person that first week and the video calls, the texts and articles and links sent. For the Cat Mojo book and Cat Daddy videos – which truly – turned the tide.
There’s still a type of panic that can rise up, sour in my throat, when I think about the future, and apartments or jobs or going back to the office this month 2-3 days a week, but I’m trying to take it more of a day, an hour, at a time. We are figuring each other out. This was a hard fought month, and I’m celebrating the progress.
Here’s our family photo Tuesday, at 1 month with me (L>R, figure it out), Fleck (6 mo) and Blitzen (4 mo).
This year has been absolutely bonkers for so many of us. I started the year thinking I’d been in Africa summiting Kili before Spring…and definitely got some surprises along the way. Some beautiful chapters came to their conclusion and new ones (some expected, some not) cropped up too β¨
January
January 12th I got the call! KILI FEBRUARY IS A GO! Bought flight tickets!
THE NEXT MORNING get a call that it’s cancelled. As is their March trip, due to new US travel rules kicking in on 1/25 requiring a PCR test within 72 hours of arrival back into the US. With the long trip/transfer time in Amsterdam and very few resources in Tanzania…”there’s a chance you could get stuck mid-way and we don’t want that.” Honestly tho leave me stuck there, please?
The next date I could possibly go is June, but most likely (since I already have Baker in July), in September. I feel…lethargic. And don’t know why I should bother training, etc. It’s a perfect storm of cold and disappointment and loneliness post-holidays.
I drink some bourbon and eat a bunch of tacos and wallow. I try to rally and bootstrap, etc. to middling results. I write about it.
February
February is really hard. It’s cold, the weather is trash, I feel no drive to ‘try’ and my original departure date is coming. I have to remove all my OOO calendar dates from my work cal, disappointed.
I’m proud though, that I proactively realized the day would be hard and I take it off. I get my nails done, haircut and treat myself to my favorite bakery and a wander through my favorite used bookstore.
The day I ‘should’ be summitting is even harder and I didn’t realize how it would carve me up emotionally. My next possible summit date is 7 months away, which in COVID times feels like the same thing might happen again. How can I be hopeful when a new strain or issue might pop up then too?
March
Bought myself a ‘push present’ or just a rally gift of a necklace that says ‘Ad Astra Per Aspera’ aka ‘through hardships to the stars’ and it feels right.
Tried on my ‘big’ 65L backpack that I’ve had for like 4 years that still has the tag on! This 65L Osprey pack I got on a screaming deal at REI several years ago is gonna be my Baker bag.
VACCINATED! I qualified by being obese according to the BMI (the BMI is a trash measurement, check out this amazing podcast ep by Maintenance Phase) so I spent Friday refreshing the Cook County website until a spot popped up 1 hour away in Tinley Park. I snagged it then scrambled to apple and aquire a Zipcar membership – I do! I get a J&J shot and cry I’m so happy. It feels like finally we’re turning a corner on my loneliness/end of this thing.
Went to my first (and only) spin class and shockingly do…great?!
My first test-ish of my fitness level in a year and a half of training: Angel’s Landing (went to the top with Em) and the next day, the Narrows. Fitness good, my knee is suddenly big-time irked on the way back in the Narrows and my mom has to help me take my pants off! ADULTHOOD!
May
Former neighbors Jason & Regan get married! First wedding I’ve been to since 2018! I mistimed/forgot that I’d lose an hour jumping ahead to ET (it was in Michigan) and changed into my jumpsuit in the 2-door rental car and put on makeup, all in 12min, walking in 2 mins before ceremony started.
Applied for Discovery Channel’s tv show ‘Who Wants to be an Astronaut?’ and well, they called! I know! I kept it on the DL for so long! I had a Zoom call/recorded conversation with producers twice; one the end of May and one the beginning of June. No calls since so my dreams of hugging Mike Massimino are squashed (for now). Seriously though if they call back? I WILL LEAVE YOU ALL AND GO TO SPACE or at least go to Houston and hang with Bekah and the dogs for a few weeks.
I go to Little Rock for Memorial Day weekend (I’m only one year late) and see my loves, eat my faves, stub my toe and I’m 94% sure I broke it.
Check out the altitude room at Well Fit for the first time – since Chicago is hella flat/sea level – Brian and I go to check out this tool to practice acclimatizing for Baker (and Kili).
June
Make my first ever mint julep! And from mint I grew!
Lots and lots of altitude gym; truly a weird flex to wheeze and start panting during the WARMUP
Long long walks; 5+ hours, we’ll taper in July to Baker
Tornado alert – the sirens go off so much in one day that I actually pack a bag and set shoes by my door to go to the basement
Go into the office for the first time in 14 months and see several of my faves – we’re hopeful and happy and yet – I don’t go back until post-Kili. I don’t want to risk getting sick pre-Baker nor in my 6 weeks to Kili window.
Made my first charcuterie board using a gorgeous board my dad made me from a maple on my parents’ property
Cast on Laugh out Loud’s comedy improv ensemble! I can still do make believe!
August
Longest walks of my life. I am running out of podcasts/music to listen to for 5+ hours on Sundays. My PR: 6H22M, aka 18.9 miles on 8/22
On 8/10 they call: THE TRIP IS A GO. It almost wasn’t though; they let me know one other guy signed up for September just a few days ago. So it’ll be the pair of us.
Hit some truly creepy O2/pulse ox numbers in the altitude room on the 14,000ft Saturdays; broke 55% one day.
Last piece of Kili gear acquired with the addition of a Kula cloth! Check out my full gear list (including what I actually used/was worth it)!
September
September 1-9 feels like a fever dream. PCR tests and check ins and packing over Labor Day weekend and delivering on some truly wild work things before my Friday, 9/10 flight.
KILIMANJARO BAYBEE! Summitted at dawn on Monday, 9/20/21
Safari, Serengeti, Ngorogoro, I left some chunks of my heart and soul in Tanzania
^^ still writing about it!
October
Life feels weird – things are still happening but THINGS have happened to me (Kili) and I’m not over it. I feel a need to come up with a new driving focus; a reason to workout or be healthy or just give my life structure. I don’t know what to do with myself but answer everyone with ‘it was great.’
Go on my first adult ‘Girls Trip’ with a bunch of phenomenal female improvisers to a lake house in Michigan; visiting a distillery and laughing until we cried.
Take myself out on a date to see Dune at the Davis and dress up
Start my first ever modern dance class – at Old Town School of Music
Dress up like Lydia Deetz and crushed it out in the ‘burbs at Jason & Regan’s house
November
Met up with Marissa and Bhavini; we met through Well Fit (the altitude gym) but never met in person until now! Marissa went the month before me and Bhavini 2 weeks after me!
My coworker Matt goes and climbs Kili on the Marangu route (5 days) vs my 8 day Lemosho route. I feel homesick for a place I only was in for 2.5 weeks.
Got a homemade Thanksgiving dinner from a neighbor
BOOSTER BAYBEE! Get yer boosters when you’re eligible!
December
First ever trip to Florida for Robbie & Barry’s wedding! Kayaking and gowns and beaches and Japanese gardens and weird wonderful vintage stores.
My first Laugh Out Loud show! And first live improv show in over 630 days.
Home with the fam for 2 weeks, soaking in the love, having my birthday and a Christmas and a ton of snow.
It was a full year. Big dips, big wins, stood on top of multiple mountains, celebrated hard, long-fought joys and saw family 3x in one year. Crushed some huge work projects. Achieved a big dream for a big girl and I’m pretty damn proud. Onward and upward, pals.
Y’ALL I AM MAKING EYE CONTACT WITH THIS BABOON. There is nothing separating us. We are breathing the same air.
The baboon is in the car. “Whoa, whoa Bails, don’t you mean a different preposition? On, around, before, beneath-” NOPE, I do not, folks. THE BABOON IS *IN* THE CAR.
After the 3am arrival dinner (pre-breakfast?) I slept hard in my Itikoni Camp tent, halfway up the slopes of Mt. Meru, in the heart of Arusha National Park. I wake up around 8:30 and tug my earplugs out to the rumbling ‘whirrr’ of colobus monkeys and birdsong. Sleepily washing my face using the still very hot thermos of water from last night and fumbling, figured out the chemical toilet situation. I stepped outside to a whole new world.
After my first (two) mugs of strong Tanzanian coffee and a truly massive breakfast, Ben met us in the ‘lounge’ tent for a trip briefing, which included some of the deep history of Tanzania, Kilimanjaro, and cultural norms to be aware of.
Did ya know (bc I did not): Tanzania is the compound name of two countries – Tanganyika + Zanzibar = Tanzania – which merged in 1964
There are over 55 million people who live in the country and over 125 tribes
Most people are trilingual – speaking their tribal language, Kiswahili and an additional language like English, French, etc. and many speak additional languages – quadlingual? When does ‘multilingual’ kick in? Pentalingual? I feel like there is a ORU joke there but I’m just gonna leave it alone!
Swahili or Kiswahili Swahili is a ‘lingua franca’ aka a language that bridges the 125+ tribes in Tanzania (and the many outside of TZ) and spoken by over 100 million people in Tanzania, Kenya and surrounding nations. When speaking Swahili, the language is called Kiswahili – but when talked about in English it’s usually called Swahili.
The Kilimanjaro routes (there are several) are named for the village(s) located at the bottom of each trail – I took the Lemosho route but other popular ones are Machame, Marangu and Rongai (which starts in Kenya)
Ben’s been guiding on Kilimanjaro for 25 years this year – he’s seen it all – and always with Mountain Madness
The Chaga (sometimes written Chagga) tribe are the ones around Kilimanjaro; Ben is from the Chaga tribe and his extended family still lives in the Kilimanjaro area.
Arusha is both the name of the city and the region (and the national park we’re in) – think of it like a city and county/state name – and when people say “I’m from Arusha” it could mean either!
Details from the lounge tent – art, sculptures, a kalimba (thumb piano), hand-beaded lamp covers, brightly colored fabrics and smooth, hand worn walking sticks
We plan to go on a short afternoon hike after a light(er) lunch (seriously – this whole trip – there is SO MUCH FOOD and it IS ALL DELICIOUS). Our park ranger, Tony, leads the way; casually wearing a bolt-action rifle on his shoulder.
It feels so good to stretch my legs a bit – my body has been training training training for so long that 2 days in transit has felt almost oppressively still – and the guides are subtly watching how we walk and breathe to gauge the level of support we’ll need on Kili. We stop often to note animals, plants and tracks; Ben, Geoffrey and Tony have eyes like hawks and can spot critters on a dime.
Colobus monkeys “like fancy skunks,” blue monkeys and some plant details from our mini hike
We stop at a waterfall to take some pictures and all take a turn modeling.
We return to camp, spotting our first giraffe through some trees, eat dinner and do a gear check – I have everything I need and it’s now got Ben’s official stamp of approval – I continue to make some cuts, asking myself “Is this need to have or nice to have?” and make a plan for tomorrow’s game drive. Since J and I both came a day early (remember how KLM was like ‘come on time and pay $2000 more or come a day early and…save $2000′ and so…I have chosen the better path? Yup. We’re going to continue exploring Arusha National Park and Momella Lakes (there’s 7!) with our bonus day.
Monday morning blooms bright and after a hearty breakfast – Robert makes omelettes an art – we tuck into the Land Cruiser and head out for a walking safari with Tony, Ben and Geoffrey. We stop in a massive open savannah and my eyes hungrily drink in this view.
Cape Buffalo, Giraffes, Baboons, waterfalls and a sweet-smelling flower (Carissaedulis)
It’s wild and magical and unbelievable how we just…walk…through this area. There’s so. many. animals that it’s like going to a zoo but there’s no walls. In just this one open area we see baboons, buffalos, giraffes, warthogs, bushbacks, ducks, and more just harmoniously living. It feels like we’re getting away with something secret and wonderful; we’re mostly hushed except for a soft word from a guide (or Tony) to keep (or stop) walking in certain spots. The water draws all the animals to this spot and they find an unspoken rhythm taking turns at the stream.
Tracks, baboon skull (set near the ranger station along with other bones of hippos, antelope, warthog and more)), and a mama warthog warily eyeing us
We drop off Tony at the ranger station (don’t worry, he’ll be back!) and head with Ben & Geoffrey to explore the Momella Lakes and eat some lunch. We drive up on these pals – aren’t they cute? THERES A BAYBEEEEEEE!
BUT y’all, that baby is Matt Damon and the adults are Brad Pitt & George Clooney because this isn’t ‘cute game drive’ this is now Oceans 11: Tanzania. After stopping in the Land Cruiser to photograph this troop (yes, a group of baboons is a troop) through the open roof (it pushes/pops up so we can stand and photograph from inside the car), we start to pull away and I have my head out the side of the car window snagging final shots. I look over my shoulder and spot a baboon running up beside the car, thinking ‘oh cute, it’s like a Dalmatian chasing a moving car or whatever.’
Me:”Geoffrey, there’s a baboon running next to us on our side.”
Geoffrey: “Oh, where?”
Me: *looks back over my shoulder* “Oh I don’t see – oh I think it just jumped on the back tire”
For context – this is our Land Cruiser – 2 spare tires on the back. The driver’s side is the RIGHT – as is the side of the road driven on. My de facto ‘spot’ this whole trip is the right (driver’s) side and J and I unspoken stick with those sides for the next 15 days.
Me: *looks up* “Oh my gosh, it’s on the [open] roof”
Like Y’ALL I AM MAKING EYE CONTACT WITH THIS BABOON. There is nothing separating us. We are breathing the same air.
And then the baboon is IN the car. He’s jumped inside.
SERIOUSLY in less than 10 seconds it’s:
Baboon running beside us
Baboon on tire
Baboon on roof
Baboon in CAR IN THE CAR IN THE CAR IN THE CARRRRRR
And I just need to say – have you ever seen someone’s face when they’re panicking a bit but trying not to look panicked so you don’t panic? When I say Geoffrey and Ben’s faces looking back at that baboon…that is the face they both made. The ‘don’t scare the clients’ face, throwing the car into park, both shouting in Swahili and Ben threw a water bottle at this baboon and all I can think is THERE IS NO WAY FOR THIS DUDE TO GET OUT EXCEPT GOING BACK OUT THE WAY HE CAME IN HE’S GOING TO NEED/WANT AN EXIT OH MY GOSH I AM GOING TO GET BIT AND GET RABIES BEFORE I EVEN CLIMB KILI
and pretty much treated this baboon like a weird person hollering on the train in Chicago – I turned my face/body into the corner of the door, hunching over my valuables (read: camera) and waited for the rant to be over. Rule 1: don’t make eye contact. I’m serious fam, I’m a Krav Maga certified instructor but like…the most important lesson is to know when you shouldn’t engage in a fight. And I was not here to get bit on DAY TWO! This was a jacked male baboon who had been doing Gym, Tan, Laundry and STEROIDS and I avoided this juiced up guido, who not only came in our car but ran up and CHECKED THE SEAT POCKETS. Seriously, he was right next to me and checked the pocked of the seat in front of me.
OK, neither of these are our Land Cruiser – but again – context here – this is what the popped roof looks like and how he got in. The pic on the right is an older LC but the sizing is right – and that yellow box is where this dude was. RIGHT next to me and checked the pocket in FRONT OF MY KNEES.
Between the baboon screeching and Ben/Geoffrey hollering in Swahili and me just hiding out in the door’s buttcrack, the baboon grabbed our lunchbox (think those big pink cardboard cake boxes) and jumped out of the car the same way he came in – through the open roof. Jokes on him though, that box is hinged, so our wax paper-wrapped lunch items fell out and dude left with an EMPTY cardboard box. Ben and Geoffrey jumped out, throwing stones and yelling as a ranger car spins up in a cloud of dust and two rangers jump out, berating the guides for getting out of their car in this area (a big, well-signed faux pas).
I turn to J, wide eyed, and say ‘did that really just happen?’
Ben and Geoffrey get back in, laughing with the rangers, who return the empty box that Danny Ocean had angrily discarded, explaining we were the third car hit that day. This was getting to be a common spot for this troop to prey on safari vehicles; and they’re so smart that they knew to jump in the open roof, check the pockets and where lunch is usually kept. In 25 years, Ben had never seen anything like it.
So…I learned the word for baboon is ‘nyani’ and we used it. A lot. I didn’t trust an open roof near a troop of baboons the rest of my time in Tanzania. Not afraid, just…wary. Y’all know they got a whisper network going on to talk about gullible tourists and I was not here to get got twice in one trip!
The Fig Tree Band
Something was in the baboon water today, I swear – Robert, our chef – had another baboon encounter with one coming in the open door to the camp kitchen. He had to shake a machete at it! Mercury rising or whatever; nyanis were making bold moves! We came back to camp to an absolute feast; Robert outdid himself with our ‘night before starting to climb Kili’ meal. Pork chops, purple yams, chicken, lamb kabobs, grilled veggies and a breathtaking lemon passion fruit cheesecake that I wanted to roll around in. Critical vocab was quickly learned and deployed – ‘tamu sana’ – very delicious.
They had to roll me outta that meal tent; Tony walked J and I to our tents, which he’d done each night. Honestly, I’d thought it was a bit overdone, something they probably do for tipsy clients or those too old/young that might get lost, etc. A bit of theater to keep clients feeling ‘safe.’
Well, serve me up a plate of crow, people.
,Following Tony we waddled quietly in a ‘I’m very full and sleepy’ pace to our tents, under a wide, almost full moon. I breathed deep that fresh, mountain air, thought ‘whew, smells like manure,’ and suddenly he just. stopped. and put a hand up.
We stopped too. After our safari walk earlier today, we knew – when Tony stops – you stop. But I didn’t see anything. Not taking a step, I raised up on tiptoe and craned my neck to look around the corner, where all of Tony’s focus was. He slowly shifted the rifle off his shoulder and held it, ready, in his arms.
You know it’s serious when the rifle comes off the park ranger’s shoulder. Their job is to protect you and the animals, in that order. They’ll always try a warning shot to scare an animal, but if needed, they’ll put it down to protect you. My eyes snagged on the swooping curve of a massive, male cape buffalo’s horns in shadow, just outside the floodlight’s reach. I knew now why I’d smelled manure. We’d been told about big, solitary ‘bachelor’ buffalos earlier today; they’re big and mean. And we were less than 20 feet away from one, with a bolt action rifle and some paltry bushes between us.
We waited, silent for probably 2 full minutes, in a standoff. Turning his head but not looking away from the buffalo, Tony spoke so quietly that we had to half-lip read: “Walk backwards. Very slow.” We took two steps and the buffalo bolted, thankfully away from us. We laughed, breathing shakily to expel the adrenaline. Unlike previous nights, Tony walked us all the way to the door of the tents and waited until the double zip was completely sealed.
“Usi Kumwema” he called.
“Lala salaama” I hollered back.
β°οΈβ¨ We start up Kilimanjaro in the morning β°οΈβ¨
Bailey’s Kiswahili Vocab for the Day(s): A Series Written Phonetically
(AKA how I thought it should be spelled, likely v wrong)
It’s been awhile since I’ve traveled internationally – but more than that – it’s been 6+ years since I traveled somewhere new internationally. I forgot how fun it is to have a completely new experience. To blend nerves and discovery together and not be totally sure it’ll work.
I slept most of the way to Amsterdam; a good plan on an 8-hour flight that left Chicago at 4pm. We descended through the misty, Seattle-esque clouds around 7am local time and I was looking forward to hanging out in a lounge for the 4-hour layover, using them sweet lil credit card perks, only to find out it was closed. Boooooooooo! C’mon capitalism! Do your girl a solid! Instead I snagged an iced coffee (I mean, it was Seattle weather), watched some Ted Lasso and did a 10-minute meditation in a quiet nook of the terminal.
Waiting to board the AMS > JRO leg, I saw so many people at the gate who looked like me – daypack, hiking boots, REI-ish layers – and had that same feeling: what are y’all doing on my special adventure?! On one hand I’m aware many, many people go to Kilimanjaro (and Tanzania, the Serengeti, etc.) in general and on the other hand it felt odd to have spent 2 years overall preparing for this thing so incredibly solo (being isolated in a pandemic, living/working out alone, etc. for the past year and a half) but being surrounded by other people realizing their dream ON THE SAME DAY AS ME. I may be your only friend/family/person to climb Kilimanjaro but trust me; there’s literally hundreds of us at any given time.
After an easy, uneventful 8-hour leg south to JRO, we arrived around 9pm local time. Seated in row 43 of 45, it took me awhile to get off the plane. I almost vibrated with palpable excitement, looking out the window at the bright letters KILIMANJARO INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT. We rushed outside, groaning with relief in stretching our legs…to get into line. A huge line. A cozy, 75 degree darkness enveloped us, sandwiched between the outer walls of the airport and the massive KLM jetliner we’d evacuated, bottlenecking to be paperwork-checked.
Get in 300+ person line and slowly get to the front of the pack.
Get waved over to one of 10 people checking paperwork, temperatures and IDs.
Paperwork approved, temp check ok – go stand in a different line to pay the $10 COVID test fee – with a credit card machine that is out of receipt paper so they’re handwriting/stamping all receipts, taking forever
Go inside, get pretty thorough COVID rapid test up the schnozz
Booty barely touching the waiting area seat when they loudly call your FULL GROWN FIRSTNAME MIDDLENAME LASTNAME and hand me the (thankfully) Negative results
Get in different line to get a visa, fill out paperwork, scan all ya fingerprints, you’re Jason Bourne now
Pay $100 for the privilege of the finger scanning
Go to a different window to get a receipt for paying $100 for the Bourne finger scan
Go get your bags from the floor (they’ve been nicely pulled from the carousel and set in a line with the other hundred bags, watched over by airport staff) ***It’s been 2 hours since you landed***
Bathroom break
Put all bags (including carry on) back through another X-ray machine so you can leave. X-ray attendant is halfheartedly scrolling on their phone.
Finally emerge out into the night, where 50 Tanzanian men are all holding signs with various safari company names on them in varying fonts and font sizes
Honestly? I just started scanning left to right. I was the only person to walk out the door at that moment, so they’re all just watching me stand there, eyeballs glazed over. I started at my 9 o’clock and was going clockwise through all the names, standing in one spot like a spooked baby horse when – suddenly – out of nowhere this guy pops through the ring of men, saying “Mountain Madness?”
“YES” I gratefully breathed as he and another guy, fully masked, took my bags and led me past the other guide companies, closer to the parking lot. “I’m Ben” and “I’m Geoffrey,” they added, as I felt my shoulders finally droop below my ears. Someone else was in charge now. I could rest. There was no more big, solo decisions to make, things to coordinate, etc. It was a relief to have someone else take the wheel.
I think that was one of the things I was most looking forward to on this trip and I didn’t fully realize it until I got back home. There’s only a few people that I’ve talked to about it that really get this, and they’re also single women. Its not unique to us but there’s a unique perspective to it. It’s exhausting to have to do all the things alone. Not just the tasks of living (although that’s a lot) but also the decision-making, the weighing of options, the research, etc. When you’re in a couple (or family) you can take turns wearing those hats, even if one of you does it most of the time, it’s rarely all of the time for all of the things.
You have to get up for work no one is going to wake you up so set your alarm ok it’s time get up and decide what to wear I’m hungry but what are you gonna eat you should use that cookbook that mom got you or maybe just get on google and type in the ingredients you have and see what looks good do not open Grubhub you’ll never cook and those bell peppers are 84 years old in the drawer you gotta do it today or they’re going to rot on you ok I found 2 recipes for stuffed peppers well when are you going to cook it you just started another episode of L&O SVU ok but are you going to eat it like a wolf out of the pot because why get another plate dirty it’s just you and you’ll have to wash that dish oh you’ve just used the same 3 dishes for the last week that’s ok who’s gonna know oh lord that trash has gotta go out I’ve pushed it down too long gotta take the rent check to the post box on the corner tomorrow or it’ll be late I also gotta look at flight times so Mom knows when I’m coming home for the holidays but need to check and be sure it doesn’t conflict with work or theater schedule are my plants dying? when’s the last time they were watered – well – if I didn’t do it then no one did it…etc. etc. etc.
I know there’s beauty in the freedom to make my own choices and it’s a privilege to have the financial flexibility to live alone. Most of the time I’m aware and grateful for it but sometimes it catches up to you – that mental & emotional labor – and the fact that you can’t take all the hats off. The Beret of Personal Responsibility is glued on, y’all.
Standing in the black-velvet Tanzanian night outside the airport, there was a palpable, physical (and mental and emotional) sigh, listening to the bugs softly chirp, a light breeze soothing my almost 24-hours of travel soul. Someone. else. was. in. charge. I took a step away, pulled down my mask and gazed up at the star-flecked sky, gulping in fresh air and rubbing the mask lines imprinted on my scalp. I could rest now. I’d done everything right – I’d trained, I’d prepared, I’d executed, I’d been in the right places at the right times with the right paperwork and my reward was finally here – someone else in control. Glorious.
We tossed our duffels and bags in a khaki-colored Toyota Land Cruiser and started the 90-minute drive out to Arusha National Park and Itikoni private camp, where Mountain Madness has taken clients for decades. It was just after midnight, but to J (our other hiker) and I it was about 4-5pm to our stateside origin bodies. With our whole car vaccinated (and J and I very freshly PCR tested (in the states pre-flight) and rapid tested (about 1 hour ago in the KIA airport) negative for COVID), we took off our masks and happily chattered away. I didn’t even know J’s name before I left the country yesterday and was about to spend a week+ on a mountain with him and the guides, so I was curious.
We turn off the main road into Arusha National Park and put the Land Cruiser into 4-wheel drive for the rugged, teeth-jostling final 30 minutes of the trail. It was too dark to take any photos but we leaned forward, hopeful we’d see a critter or two illuminated in the hazy lights of the car, and were rewarded with half-glimpses of a giraffe and a cape buffalo just off the road. Pulling into Itikoni just shy of 2am, we were taken to the mess tent and introduced to Po, who had made a full meal for us.
Y’all, I know my brain was like ‘hey girl, it’s only 6pm-ish’ but also, after 24 hours of travel I was ready to big sleep. And here an incredibly nice crew made us a full multi-course meal – tangy, brightly-colored salad, freshly sliced steak, even a hand-crafted dessert – and were smiling, waiting for us to eat. They offered me a beer or a glass of wine but I knew I’d be out before we hit ‘asante’ if I did. When my eyelids were heavy and belly full, Ben, Geoffrey and our armed camp ranger, Tony, walked us to our spacious private tents and after a brief tour (how to use the toilet, wash my face, take a shower, and to not to leave the tent while it was dark (there was an emergency whistle if I felt unsafe!)), I said goodnight, zipped the inner and outer tent door and crawled into bed just before 3am, pulled up my sleep mask, squished in my earplugs and slept a deep, dreamless, thankful sleep.
Note to self: Panoramas in split light are…not great. Left side is a desk, 2 coat racks, 2 benches for luggage (1 per person for a couple), behind back ‘wall’ is toilet, shower, double sinks, hot water thermos for washing my face, etc. My back is to the front of the tent, including thick canvas double-zip door.
[Sidebar pro-tip if you’re going to KIA in the next year-ish: You can pre-pay your COVID test and you can pre-file/get your Tanzania visa online but I didn’t pre-do either and still beat the other travel/hiker in our group out of the airport by 20+ minutes. Normally I would have pre-done both but, shrug, six of one and a half-dozen of the other, you know?]
Next Up: Itikoni Camp & Arusha National Park (Days 2-3)
Baboon Danny Ocean
Swahili 101
We get up close and personal with why our camp ranger carries a bolt action rifle
I stared at the ‘Out of Office’ banner splashed across the top of my work Gmail and gave a half-hearted cackle and fist pump – and then couldn’t stop – I stood up and suddenly it was way too hot. I whipped my shirt off and just stood in the middle of my living room having a Disney villain moment clad in a sports bra.
“It’s happening,” I muttered to myself in increasingly loud increments. I ran to the bathroom to look at my face and said it in the mirror like a mantra. “It’s HAPPENING. It’s hApPeNiNg.” I put on some music and couldn’t stop dancing maniacally. If you think this is a fever dream/memory – here’s proof:
Yeah, it’s a video, and yeah, I’m taking that one to the grave.
Everything to be done was done.
The packing – β
The PCR COVID test – β – and results were in: NEGATIVE
The OOO Gmail, Slack, etc. for work – β
Someone to water the plants & grab mail – β
The fridge food – eaten – β (and the next day’s breakfast & lunch set up β )
Downloads of podcasts, support videos (friends, parents, my trainer Brian), audiobooks, book books, etc. – β
House cleaned top to bottom – β
Travel outfit set out – β
Folder of critical travel documents, copy of passport, trip insurance, TZ address for on-the-ground Visa, etc. – β
All there was left to do was execute on the plan.
Day 0 – Friday, September 10
I remember thinking, ‘wow, what if I don’t sleep tonight? I’ll be so excited the adrenaline will probably keep me up.’ And promptly knocked out around 11. I set a 9am safety net alarm, but woke up around 7:30am – my flight not being until 4pm. I made a french press of coffee and sat quietly on the couch, drinking it slowly and looking at my bags. I had a checklist on the door of final things to confirm while going out (take out trash, triple check you locked the door), and a smaller one on the kitchen table for different final things like a gov’t form I had to complete w/in 24 hours of arrival in TZ and writing Katie a note about my plant children’s care, writing my rent check, etc.
I’d fortified myself – a weird word, but true – with emotional boosts, should I need them. My fresh journal has a ton of recently-installed stickers, phrases and quotes making me think of places or people or feelings that would help lift my moods on tough days/nights.
A card tucked inside with a quote from St. Therese of Liseaux (also attributed to St. Therese of Avila and Minnie Louise Haskins 1908 book of poems, but still hits me): “Today may there be peace within, may you trust that you are exactly where you are meant to be. May you not forget the infinite possibilities that are born of faith in yourself and others. May you use the gifts that you have received and pass on the love that has been given to you. May you be content with yourself just the way you are. Let this knowledge settle into your bones, and allow your soul the freedom to sing, dance, praise and love. It is there for each and every one of us.”
I felt as prepared as prepared could be. The week before the trip everyone kept asking ‘do you feel ready?’ And I did. Body, mind and spirit – I was ready to go – there were no more muscles to build or last-minute-shove-this-in-the-bag epiphanies or frantic items to buy.
A friend came by and picked me up around 1:15pm to head to the airport and I finally breathed out – we were on the path – plan in motion. We missed our airport turnoff and laughed, looping around and finding a modified route back to Terminal 5, O’Hare’s international wing.
4 bags surrounded me: North Face 71L Base Camp mountain duffel, medium-size suitcase, 35L hiking pack on my back, and my Mountainsmith Tour bag on my shoulder with things I’d actually need during transit (travel folder, passport, all camera gear, phone, electronics, book, sunglasses, possible three hand sanitizers?). As I navigated the airport, I thought, ‘I don’t think I’ve had to do a full 4-bags airport dance since I moved back from Korea 6 years ago.’
In line for KLM, I found myself – shockingly – unaware of a form I needed. I felt my spine lock up until the rep said ‘just scan this QR code and you can fill it out online.’ Rapidly filling out a declaration form for the Netherlands (my stopover in Amsterdam for 4 hours needed it, I guess (tl;dr they never looked at it once)), I got to the front of the line and pulled out my travel folder. I glanced to my left, where another man stood with a duffel and a pack, answering the agent’s query ‘Headed to Tanzania.’ I was surprised to see another person in Chicago leaving on the same flight, also headed to the same place; I’d felt like I was on some grand unique hero’s journey and here this random dude was on a parallel track to my story!
Standing in the security line, I was a little bored, so I pulled out my phone and checked work – I KNOW – and someone I’d never met had messaged me, asking about putting a meeting on the calendar next week. I chuckled and typed, ‘I’m literally standing in the international departures TSA line at ORD headed to Africa; unless you want to wait 2.5 weeks, you’ll probably want to find someone else.’ Apparently the OOO notification wasn’t that noticeable…
Once in the terminal, I finally used my fancy credit card perk (getting a travel credit card in Oct 2019 was a stellar move, jk) and hung out in a lounge until boarding. I was reading Gorge: My Journey Up Kilimanjaro at 300 Pounds, and craving those last minute Kili-cramming moments. Do you know they give you free Diet Coke in there?! They doooooooooo.
Boarding call. Everyone was casually sitting and I was practically vibrating. I just wanted to shout ‘I AM GOING TO AFRICAAAA I AM DOING IT IT’S FINALLY HAPPPPPPENING’ but I was not here to get dragged into the Jack Bauer bowels of O’Hare 5ft from the finish line, y’all. We boarded, and I wound my way to my seat in the back of the plane. It was pretty empty – just how we like it! I tucked away my hiking daypack above and snugged my Mountainsmith under the seat in front of me, buckled my seatbelt and sat back, sighing in relief.
A feeling was overwhelming me. A peace that I’d done everything that could be done. Everything happened exactly as I’d planned, thought, worried and laid out for almost 2 years. Wheels in motion and there was truly no turning back now. I was so happy. Happy happy happy and incredulous. I couldn’t believe it was happening. Genuinely I had half-thought it could still be canceled, up until now. That I’d have to use that travel insurance at the last minute. Tears rolled down my face. I took a picture – it was not a good look – but I didn’t care. I realized there was one more thing I wanted to say before leaving US soil.
I’d never truly considered how dangerous this was. Things happen, you know? People still die on Kili; on average about 10 people per year (stats pre-2020 bc COVID) out of ~30,000 who attempt the climb. It was still a dang mountain, and a big one. Literally one of the Seven Summits. Sure, it wasn’t a technical climb like Baker. No abominable snowpits to be swallowed by or glacier ridge spines to tip over on. But it was a formidable mountain; altitude sickness can make your brain swell, or pulmonary edema can make your lungs explode (apologies for the science inaccuracy but I think that’s close) or you can just trip and hit your head on the wrong rock.
I don’t have a will (Will?). I think I’d googled it like 2-3 weeks before leaving, but you know, it was an insanely busy season with work and we were still doing all the final prep/workouts/I was big-time preoccupied. Seated in 43I, I wanted to have one more word to y’all on my trip and also, I don’t know, kinda ‘eulogize’ if something happened. If I didn’t make it over the ocean, or I didn’t make it up this mountain or if a zombified giraffe went to town on my spleen and I didn’t make it back…I wanted my people to know I was still glad I went.
This sounds hella morbid (and I am writing it on Halloweeeeeeen *ghost voice*) but I didn’t feel freaked out or strange doing it. If something happened I wanted y’all to know I was still going to be happy I did it. That I did a big, wild, I-am-not-sure-if-I-can-but-I’m-gonna-try kind of adventure. That I leaped when my landing spot was still cloudy, not fully clear. Big swing and not sure if it would be a home run or a whiff. I wasn’t going to regret this decision, no matter what. I typed and retyped several times, tears running down my face, thinking about what would bring peace (if needed) and be authentically my voice.
“Iβm going to go do this thing – chasing something fun and unsure and wonderful – Iβm in the right place at the right time doing the right thing.
Hakuna Matata, bbs ππ⨓
The pilot came over the intercom in Dutch, then in English, and the flight attendants began striding up the aisles, checking for compliance. I looked left down the completely empty row 43 and put my head on the headrest, willing myself to stop crying because the snot inside my mask wasn’t helpful for ya know, breathing.
We pushed back from the gate. I sucked in one, happy sob and looked out at the tarmac and smiled so big that my cheeks lifted my glasses up.
I can feel that I’m putting off writing about the trip. Just a little bit. I will write about it. You know those first moments of a relationship – when you’re not telling people – and it’s private and special and just the two of you? That’s a little how it feels. That and I’ve only been back 10ish days, but it feels like forever and 5 minutes ago, teeth jostling loose on Ngorogoro Crater dirt roads in the Land Cruiser and waking up in my frost-coated orange tent halfway up the mountain.
I’m working on it – telling you about this jaw-dropping adventure – the highs, lows, critters, and the unforgettable men who kept me safe, made me laugh to the point of tears and saw through my brave front. I’ve edited down from ~3300 photos (2700 DSLR, 600 iPhone XR) to ~650 that represent the experiences and feelings, the smells and sounds, the dusty, wonderful moments in Tanzania.
Serengeti vistas
Life is also reminding me of all the things I set to the side while training (and doing) this journey.
Work – Still in a record-breaking hiring season for the vertical I support, and getting back up to speed on projects we’d already set in motion.
Comedy – I was cast into the ensemble of Laugh out Loud Theater in Schaumburg in late July, and I’m ramping up in new cast member rehearsals and attending shows to acclimate to their process. RIFF, the music improv show I’ve been a part of, is also getting a run at the Annoyance Theater this fall/winter!
Personal – Between the ‘Panini,’ busy summers and me training/working out every day but Mondays, I haven’t seen many people in the last year and a half. Those 6-hour Sunday walks didn’t leave much time! So I’ve been doing a looooooot of catching up! I went out FIVE TIMES this week – pre-panorama me scoffs – but it’s a big step up from pre-trip me. I may have overdone it a little but it’s a such a good thing to be reconnecting with so many folks. Have I done trip laundry no I have not buzz off to the next bullet, y’all *pushes down laundry hamper, sits on it*
Fitness – Um, noooooope. And it feels weird. This was such a massive chunk of each day/week. I don’t know what my next fitness step is. Do I rejoin my gym regularly? Do I just see Brian weekly? Do I go back to at-home workouts? What’s the new goal; I’m not great at consistency in this realm without a little fear-of-something in me like my Krav instructor cert date or climbing Kili.
Things I’ve been wanting to do: Take Photo II at Chicago Photography Classes, a dance class at Old Town School of Music in my neighborhood, some domestic travel to see friends, some LinkedIn Learnings on new topics, attend weddings, etc.!
Thank you thank you thank you to all of you have reached out by text, Instagram (or blog) comment/DM, Facebook post, via-a-family-member or friend – I am very excited to start knitting this story/pictures together and I’ll have the first post by the end of this month or I will not touch a Diet Coke for all of November.
THOSE ARE HIGH STAKES. Here’s an absolutely unbridled, child-like joy selfie as a reward from Day 1 in the Ngorogoro Crater! Look at her face! I remember thinking ‘there’s so many of them’ in total wonder. And then we saw hundreds more over the next 4 days; zebra babies and zebra bellies and zebra(s) crossing the road at. their. own. pace.
Bailey Say What 