luck.

This is another one I wrote in my journal the other day at site.

I sit in the usual place on my stoop, at the usual sunset time, enjoying a little tin cup of wine and taking inventory on all the good things that have come to pass. I think it is entirely possible that I really am on the verge of being tamana [well-settled] versus just saying I am.

I realized this last night when talking with Tahiry, who came to visit me over the weekend from Diego. He is a surprisingly good friend, despite cultural and language barriers, and I take pleasure in his company, his unintentionally-amusing idiosyncrasies, the way he is passionate about learning a foreign language and curious about unknown customs and culture in much the same way I am.

We were sitting on this same stoop, under the full moonlight, drinking well-deserved cold beers after a hard day of fishing, when I sighed and said, "You know, I think I really lucked out being here." To even be able to express myself in this way to someone is a relief; how exhausting it is to use the same worn buttons of language week after week. Like a good friend should, he smiled and asked me why I felt this way.

Why do I feel so lucky? Let me count the ways... for one thing, the location is beautiful. I have been fortunate enough to live in many lovely places over the years and so perhaps I have become slightly immune to how gorgeous this place is. I live in a perfect-sized hut-for-one, living simply, with little waste or environmental impact, very much an ideal lifestyle for me. My house is surrounded by a fence and sits next to an empty field (albeit frequently occupied by cows, ducks, chickens, noisy children, wild dogs and stray cats)... nonetheless, I have seen other volunteers' houses, smack-dab in the center of their towns, living within a relentless fishbowl. No privacy. I do sort of have friends, though they are still relationships in the making, who come by to visit and bring food, companionship, always willing to answer my questions as difficult as they may be to understand in my broken Malagasy.

I am experiencing an unprecedented level of freedom, which is interesting considering I'm 31 years old. However, along with this comes the standard everyday doldrums and worry about how to create a sense of purpose and contribution. I get to swim in the ocean as often as I like. I fish with my community members, support their livelihoods and eat what I catch. I live in close proximity to a wonderfully laidback and culturally-diverse city. My work projects can be those that I create myself versus being forced into a specific role with a partner organization. Being the third volunteer in Ambolobozokely, I don't have to do as much as other volunteers in the way of explaining why I'm here or what I'm trying to accomplish, though I do have to deal with a constant state of comparison, from looks to likes & dislikes to mannerisms. The weather is perfect right now; I only realized this was a stroke of luck after hearing other volunteers bitterly complaining about the weather at their sites in the highlands: cold, rainy, muddy; endless rain, endless muck.

And so my sense of luck seems to grow exponentially, as is always the case when the mind dwells on all there is to be grateful for: incredible girlfriends back home who support and inspire me across the miles; sweet emails, letters and care packages from loved ones; to all the events (including the tumult and the strife) that led me down this path; for the ways I was nurtured by ALL the parents and grandparents, in their own unique and at times opposing styles; for the jobs and experiences in all the states and countries; to the people whose path I crossed only briefly along the way; all the heartbreaks and tears and reckless leaps of faith; all these and more have led me to sit on this crooked concrete stoop at sunset in Madagascar, writing in my journal. Somehow.

But how could I express any of this to my Malagasy friend, who was gazing out at the full moon behind the swaying palms in my yard?

I simply took a swig of beer and smiled saying, "I'm just lucky, that's all."