The biggest hazard of leading a nomadic life is never finding a home. And though the changing environment satiates the hunger to savor new sights and sounds, it also makes it impossible to cast the anchor of our hearts in one particular place. Nowhere is this more evident than in China. 

It is always exciting to visit the country and see the collision of old and new…how global influences are weaving themselves into the fabric of China’s ancient culture.  But I’m also always hesitant. In the space between all those years of my absence, lies a sense of guilt over the distance that is separating me and my relatives.

I remember when my family – my maternal grandparents, paternal grandmother, great grandmother, uncle, aunt, cousin, dad, mom and me- all lived together in a stone house with three floors.  But in the 20 years since I had left, our lives have grown worlds apart… I have grown apart.  Now, it almost seems impossible to fill the gaps.  Nuances, jokes, revelations… they often get lost in the translation of foreign experiences, especially ones that span 5 continents over 2 decades.

This has always been my one grievance over relocation.  And, as I head off to Tanzania, I cannot help think of the family and friends I am once again parting ways from….