One lesson that stuck with me from that retreat is learning that our processes of transition and grief are not linear. Rather than a smooth line from point A to point B, our journeys of growth are overlapping squiggles that form what looks to be a messy plate of spaghetti. Though I am coming onto 7 years of being back in Canada, I still experience moments of being profoundly unsettled, and I am reminded that I am still amidst the process of transition and grief. Many of these moments occur when I travel, where I am given the opportunity to once again be in a space of limbo.
On one hand, the familiarity we have with these spaces can be quite comforting. Sitting at an airport gate and overhearing unfamiliar languages, the international jumble starts to feel like somewhere I belong. In this place, I am not expected to fit into any cultural archetype. Image by Malik Dieleman. Over the last year, I took more flights than I ever have within a single year.
This has invited me to reflect more deeply on why I am where I am in the world, and how that continues to shape my identity. In these spaces I momentarily re-enter into the journey of transition and grief. Throughout my time there, I was reminded of countries I use to call home. I discovered that there are many things I had no idea I was missing so much while in Canada.
I found myself seeing France and Senegal in the sights, sounds, and smells. And while my ethnicity and beginner-level language skills made me stick out as an obvious foreigner — these familiarities kept me from feeling quite like a tourist exploring an exotic land. During one visit to a national park, there were loads of tourists following local guides who pointed out wildlife.
Something about seeing these large numbers of tourists put me off — I so desperately did not want to be associated with them. The label of tourist for me reeks of cultural faux-pas, classism sometimes arguably outright racism , and the need to overspend to enjoy oneself.
