Just Quit Already

I have quit so many things that I lost count a long time ago. Flute lessons and Girl Scouts, various sports, scrapbooks and journals, learning how to knit and how to sail, watching Dexter, and sewing projects big and small.

The "winners never quit" attitude never appealed to me. I stop reading books as soon as soon as I have that it's just not worth my time feeling. This is not to say that I choose not to persevere ever, just that I persevere with what seems right at the time. I forced myself to read Twilight even though the writing was awful, and I'm glad I did because it's something I refer to in class (conflicts in literature, word choice - every page says "Edward chuckled" - and foreshadowing). I persevered reading a book I would never normally choose to read because I knew it would be useful. I persevered during our first year of marriage when both Chris and I were earning master's degrees but not earning an income, knowing that in time our decision to further our educations would be useful (and one day, we hoped, earn us a decent salary seeing as how I was also pregnant during this time).

I think this blog might be useful too. I'm not sure how exactly, but it may come in handy someday. Not many people read it, not many people need it, but someday, for someone near or far, it might be useful.

So I promise not to quit.

Vietnam, our December destination, is somewhere I have longed to experience ever since I read a National Geographic article about Hanoi during my teens. Yes, the beaches are beautiful, and yes, the food is beyond delicious. The rice paddies really are as emerald as in the pictures and it really is a life-risking adventure crossing city streets. My favorite memories from the trip, however, are snippets of dialogue from Nolan and Greta. We visited the beautifully-housed modern art museum, and as she entered the second floor, Greta whispered, "I feel as light as a feather in here." Not a crumb of cliche in those words, she just felt light and happy and calm. It was a perfect life moment and, being an artist's daughter, I love that it was in a museum. In Vietnam. If you look at the pictures from our trip, I think you'll agree that Greta possesses an uncommon (for her) calmness.

On Phu Quoc island, where we spent our final days

of vacation, Nolan (after hesitating repeatedly) ran into the ocean, all smiles, and yelled, "I'm amazing!" Yes, little one, you are. He was so proud of himself, and he simply could not contain his jubilance. He still asks if we can return to that morsel-of-heaven cove.

Traveling to Vietnam with Chris meant exploring some historical sites (which I have grown to appreciate more and more). We went to the Cu Chi tunnels to see for ourselves the underground maze of dugout earth that protected the Vietnamese during the "American War" and during their battles with the French. Our guide was a sweet older lady who Chris posited had endured the reeducation camps common for the southern residents after the American War. She was chatting about the bombs dropped and the environmental damaged caused and the heartache of war, when Nolan, in all his big-blue-eyed innocence, gently grabbed her hand asking,

"Were we the enemy?"

My heart sank. I held my breath. Our friends, Pete and Julie, looked at us with an anticipatory What can she possibly say to that? We hadn't prepared our kids for this part. Oops. Too busy packing and daydreaming and booking hotels. "We're friends now," she replied, hugging him. I exhaled.

I hope I never stop traveling with my kids. We started small, and we've come a long way. Our first adventure was taking Greta on a two week road trip to Montana, Idaho, and Wyoming when she was thirteen months. A few years later, determined to score a free airline ticket while Nolan was still under two years old, we packed up the kids and went to the Yucatan for beaches and ancient ruins (one of our favorite holiday combos). Then, after moving to Qatar, came India, Sri Lanka, Italy, Vietnam, and now we're off to Spain and Andorra. I love that our family has experienced these places together. It's fun to see the world with kids. It forces us to slow down, to alter our pace to a five-year-old's footsteps, to take ice cream breaks and visit toy shops if only for the air-conditioned interior.

Not that it's always easy. Like when we rented bicycles in Hoi An, determined to view Vietnam from two (rickety) wheels. We put a kid on the back of each bike, local style, and rode for about ten minutes before Nolan's foot slipped (darn Crocs) between the spokes, stopping Chris's bike on the side of a busy street. I screamed. Chris hopped off the bike. Nolan was eerily silent but dazed, and I was flush with guilt (why did we think we could do this?). An old Vietnamese woman ran up to us offering us a bottle of oil. A woman tending her kiosk pointed us to the direction of a hospital, so off we went. The hospital (no sign, we just had to guess) basically ignored us. Nolan wasn't bleeding, but his ankle wore the imprint of a bike chain and bluish bruises marked up all sides of his now-swollen foot. Back at the hotel, I took pictures of his foot just to remind myself to slow down, for goodness sakes.

Last week, I experienced my first inkling of wanting to quit my job. It was the first time that I thought, with that ugly wince of regret, why on earth did I sign a contract for next year? Wouldn't everything be easier if I was still working at the library and Chris still teaching on the island? And, wait, aren't I living in a country seemingly surrounded by countries in the midst of, or on the brink of, chaos? Does all of this really matter - the stellar but stressful job, the travel, the can't-beat-it schedule of teaching? The truth is that we probably should have done this overseas gig in our twenties, then moved home, scored jobs and a house, had kids, adopted a dog, and built a normal life. We never planned this move, but somewhere inside of us was this desire to be out in the world, to be a part of something that seemed attainable only for other people. Whatever happens after next year, if we quit and move home, go to another international school, or stay in Doha, I know that our time overseas is worthwhile, possible even useful.