A quiet year?

It’s the last Sunday of the month and my first trip of the year. I couldn’t help but notice the reactions from friends when I told them I’m travelling: a variation of light-hearted jests with “there you go again” sentiments. They aren’t wrong considering that the past few years have been characterised by lots of travel (another friend joked that I came home only to do my laundry, lol!). This year is the first time in a long time that I don’t have a string of trips waiting to unfold. I have one international trip and a few other local trips and I am relieved.

Earlier at church I found myself struck by a line from the Covenant service liturgy (this needs its own overdue post: umnqophiso is an annual service in the black Methodist church. Bookmarking.) “ma ndisetyenziselwe wena, mhlawumbi ndibekwe bucala ngenxa yakho” (the poetics are too beautiful to translate; I'll try when I eventually write about umnqiphiso; for now use google translate if you can't read isiXhosa). I think I am drawn to a new line every year and sometimes it's in the fleeting moment, sometimes I savour it throughout the year. To read these lines just before heading to the airport for the first conference of the year (African Women in Dialogue; where 1000 women from all over the African continent gather for a week. Another bookmark) and hopefully the only mega-conference I will attend this year; had me feeling tender.

I found myself wanting to linger on this line because I am yearning for a quiet year. A year dedicated to very few things and being as home bound as possible. As much as I love the thrill and growth with travelling, I’m not sure if it’s sustainable to constantly be on the road. Routine suffers. My garden suffers. Friendships suffer. Although, to be fair, my friends have been incredibly generous with my absences and video calls have meant distances have shrunk.

My biggest gripe with travel has been the lack of routine with just simply being home. I miss the obvious things: the feeling of a weekend morning with nowhere to be. Schloompfing on the couch on a random afternoon. Having friends over (spur of the moment or planned) and that feeling of just being home with nothing to do. Most of last year, my suitcases occupied the spare bed where I normally pack and unpack my suitcase. When I packed away my suitcase in December after the last trip of the year I felt a sense of relief. Taking the suitcase down again and organising my toiletry bag reminded me that my traveling got so hectic, a standard toiletry bag (rather than packing and repacking toiletries) has been my favourite travel hack in the past few years.

Last year I noticed that when I was home, I would want to binge on everything: the garden needed tending, I had to do laundry, I wanted to pot around and move things around. It was only after Christmas that I felt like I could simply be in my space without feeling restless. I now need to find the joy of washing the dishes again because that’s normal as opposed to washing them because I need to leave the sink empty before a trip (I really enjoy washing dishes; especially organising them; I even wrote a poem about it). But just as I was getting into meal prep I had to freeze all the leftovers so they don’t go off during the week (another travel hack).

I started writing this piece while at the airport waiting for my flight. I’m finishing it in a hotel room where I will be for the next 5 days. It feels as though I am fooling myself in hoping for a quiet year as the first conference has already launched me into some magical moments and it’s only arrival day.