2019: The Year in Review

Time may be a flat circle, but life is an oscillating wave.  And you don’t know if you are at a crest or trough until you are no longer there, finding yourself on the opposite slope.  In retrospect I can say that 2018 was a trough, and 2019 was a series of peaks.  The start of 2019 found me living in a condo wrapped in plastic and scaffolding, the result of extensive water damage to the building.  Apart from the financial stress of ballooning assessments, the loss of natural light made me depressed.  So naturally I booked a vacation to San José del Cabo (not to be confused with the more raucous Cabo San Lucas).  I spent three days on the beach, snorkeling and kayaking.  I spent three days in a treehouse, practicing yoga in the mango grove and enjoying farm to table meals.  Something shifted in those six days in Baja.  At the treehouse resort, I met writer/teacher extraordinaire Ellen Sussman (more about that later).  On the way home, my real estate agent called to let me know a buyer had made an offer on the condo.

So fast forward through February and March.  I sold the condo and moved into a rental townhouse in Portage Bay.  I was sad to leave my beautiful Leschi home, with its lake view and a deck awash in flowers, but happy to be free of the condo albatross.  The sale gave me freedom to focus on more important things, such as governance work with Orthopedics Overseas and figuring out a healthy work-life balance.  Around the same time, I began a temporary stint at Kaiser Permanente in Seattle (previously known as Group Health Permanente, where I had worked for eight years).  After a 3-year hiatus, I rejoined surgical practice in America.  My muscle memory from 20+ years of operating served me well, and I found myself enjoying orthopedic surgery again.  It helped that I only worked part-time, did not have a commute, and took no call.

After a year of vetting, I got offered an “intermittent, permanent” job with the Indian Health Service at the Northern Navajo Medical Center.  This position is a domestic extension of my desire to provide medical care to underserved communities.  As of July, I spend one week a month in Shiprock, New Mexico.  I take care of the Diné population and live on the reservation.  It’s a dry week: no internet, alcohol, trees, or water.  I have taken the opportunity to explore the Four Corners area of the country, visiting various national parks and landmarks (e.g. Capitol Reef NP, Georgia O’Keefe’s Ghost Ranch, Mesa Verde NP).  As a federal employee, with a recently impeached DJ Trump as my boss, I cannot publicly engage in any partisan political activities.  It’s a weird position to be in, but you can rest assured I continue to advocate as a private citizen.

In June, my friend Elizabeth and I took a Scotland reunion road trip.  Elizabeth and I had met thirty years earlier during our junior year abroad in Edinburgh.  After an emotion filled return to Edinburgh, we went to John O’Groats, the Orkney Islands, and the Highlands.  Orkney was rich in historical sites, influenced by the Neolithic, the Nordic, and the British.  We were there during the annual St. Magnus festival.  On the evening of the summer solstice, we heard the BBC Scottish Symphony perform in St. Magnus’ cathedral.  The Scots treated us like long lost friends, with unflagging helpfulness and hospitality.

In August, I attended my very first writers’ workshop (Sonoma County Writers Camp), co-organized by the above-mentioned Ellen Sussman.  Ellen had seen me journaling in Baja and encouraged me to take my writing more seriously.  The camp was held in a bucolic setting, with yoga, wine tasting, organic vegetarian food, and supportive writing community.  Truly my version of nirvana.  I was inspired by the guest writers, many of whom were women of color.

In October I continued my romance with Italy, embarking on a Tofino Expedition kayaking trip in Sicily.  Everything went smoothly, with glorious days of paddling, hiking, and eating.  The trinity of Mount Etna, the Mediterranean, and the sun has created a volcanic island of abundance—of food, of wine, of stunning shoreline and landscapes.  The influx of migrants and refugees from North Africa, Asia, and the Middle East has both stressed Sicily’s resources and contributed to its diverse culture.  Paddling around Cyclops Island inspired me to re-read the Odyssey; I highly recommend Emily Wilson’s new translation.  I was reminded that Xenos can mean both stranger and guest; xenophobia and xenophilia derive from the same root.

Photo courtesy of Grant Thompson

I took my first trip to the Middle East in November and December.  Egypt tested my traveling fortitude.  The pre-arranged transfer did not materialize when I landed in Cairo at midnight, leading to a series of surreal and inconvenient events.  The following day I met up with my Intrepid tour group.  Group travel involves compromise and tolerance, which is why I usually prefer to travel alone.  For this trip, however, I was happy to have the protection of the herd.  Egypt’s political and economic instability, combined with archaic attitudes towards women, have created an atmosphere of constant harassment which is not abated by the heavily armed police presence.  The glories of the Pyramids and the Sphinx, the Alexandrian library, and the Valley of the Kings are reminders that all great cultures crumble into dust eventually.

The Jordan and Oman legs of the trip had far fewer hassles.  I joined a new group of Intrepid travelers.  We camped in the Wadi Rum desert, swam in the Red and the Dead Seas, and hiked through glorious Petra.  In Oman, I spent most of my time working, since I was presenting at an international orthopedic conference (SICOT).  Work feels much less onerous when the desk looks out at the Sea of Oman.  The biggest decisions involved whether to swim in the infinity pool or in the Sea; whether to have Italian or Persian food.  During my SICOT session, I was the keynote speaker, the panel moderator, and the A-V person, all at the same time, adding to my list of new multi-tasking skills.

I finished the year with a week in Shiprock, a weekend in Santa Fe, and a week with my parents in Louisville.  The winter solstice was spent listening to the Desert Chorale perform in St Francis’ Cathedral in Santa Fe.  It was the first time in many years I did not spend the Christmas holidays in Seattle.  Having lived in Seattle for fourteen years, I have forged my own traditions and created my own community.  Ever the wanderer, even I grew weary of travel.  All year I have reflected on what makes a good host and what makes a good guest.  At the heart of the wandering is the eternal quest for a home.  So wherever the end of this decade finds you, I hope you are feeling welcomed, cared for, and loved.

2019: The Year in Review photos