Backlog, August 15: The Great Escape

On my last night in Africa I feel that I should feel differently. More inspired, transcended somehow. Hungrier, more determined, or learned would be appropriate.

I guess I am feeling human, though barely. In the face of all the suffering, poverty, derision, and disease in South Sudan, it's really been these two weeks, stuck in Addis Ababa, that have make me feel a bit bereft of my spirit, my humor, my sense of humanity. Much like visitors to ground zero, I feel like a tourist visiting death. I drink the green-gold crop – bottomless cups of it – while watching CNN coverage of famine across this land, and can't help feeling ridiculous.

Luellen and I spent moments aplenty reflecting on our respective summers; moments that carried a fleeting sense of inspiration, transcendence, hunger, determination or learning.

I've learned about myself, it's true, and I've learned about people, and about seeing through as opposed to around and over. I recognize changes in myself and stronger ideas and convictions. My patience will always be limited, but it's certainly expanded and has grown softer. I'm more conscious of my professional tangent, in that my resolve for avoiding halogen lights, cubicle corners, and anything termed 9 – 5 has never been stronger. I can assert that I don't want my cynicism to prevent me from reaching people, but I also realize that my ability to state the obvious can be an asset in an industry plagued by obfuscation. A dashing Irish-man with a dream job convinced me that not all dreams are enviable.

My instinct to escape is as palpable as ever. While I can taste this unending need-to-flee, what it is that I'm escaping remains as mysterious as ever.

Off to Dubai.