Saying Goodbye to Africa...

...has proven to be more difficult than I expected.

Normally I am pretty well adjusted to be able to live in the moment. One of the many benefits of my personality. Granted, it is also a part of me I fight with often... it makes me forget things easily. Thus the reasons I am a photographer and a writer. It's the only way I can hold on to memories sometimes.

So I just assumed that I know all about culture shock and re-entry and emotions. We gave ourselves a week of silence to readjust and came home with plenty of photos and stories journaled out. I guess I thought I'd rest for a week, wash my hair, gorge myself at Little Mexico and Bombay Cuisine and be able to dance back into life here at home... conversations of my awe and delight and struggles and confusion and questions and joy would punctuate my interactions with people.

But instead, I just can't seem to emerge from this funk. I can't seem to reconcile my life here and life there. I can't seem to shake the bitter feeling that here I am, waking up in my clean, safe, comfortable home and life... and little faces that we held in our hands are waking up today... still in poverty, in fear, in pain.

It just isn't okay.

But I know I have to (and I will) come to a balance again. We've only been home for a week. I can give myself permission to take time to unpack my heart and my mind.

But I have a headache and it makes it hard.

So I'll just keep thinking about Africa.

And you'll hopefully give me time to do that.

And soon we'll figure out how to live well in the truths of both worlds.