Worst Day

Well, I finally did it. I opened the letter. The letter my best friend gave me just before I hopped on a plane to come to Uganda 15 months ago. I was saving it for my worst day in country and today was that day.

Strangely, my worst day in country was in a place where I have electricity and running water. HOT running water. In a place with a big, luxurious bathtub. In my home with smooth tile floors and an actual ceiling. My worst day happened with a belly full of cheddar cheese and sweet corn. As it turns out, worst days aren’t made of cockroaches and bats and candlelight bucket baths. Worst days aren’t about being called “Muzungu” a hundred times and being cat-called by motorcycle drivers. Worst days aren’t even about eating eggs for dinner AGAIN or running out of gas to boil yourself some drinking water. Instead, worst days are about the things that happen in your head.

One of my favorite things to see in Uganda is people digging in their fields. Granted, it doesn’t sound idyllic, but it’s a thing of beauty. Imagine a lone, wrinkled woman with her hair wrapped in a red cloth, bright green banana trees all around her, and rolling green hills behind her. She lifts a heavy hoe above her head and it glints in the sunlight. There is a moment, one perfect moment, where the hoe stands still above her. She brings it up and it pauses, hovering in the air before coming back down again. It’s the pause that appeals to me most.

That pause, that sacred pause, is something I think about a lot. This week, this horrible week, I bought a ring with a blue stone. My blue stone reminds me to pause. To take one deep breath. To stop the flood of thoughts and feelings and doubt. Doubt about myself. About my ability. About my worth. About what I do and do not deserve. I pause, and in that moment, with the sun glinting, I know the Truth. Yes, the moment is fleeting. Yes, the thoughts come rushing back again. But I have my sacred pause.

On the blackest moment of the worst day in Uganda, I paused. I paused and I opened a sealed envelope. It was filled with pictures and stories and memories and love. It was filled with Truth about who I am and the important parts about the life I’ve lived.

I am now armed. I have my letter. I have my ring. I have my sacred pause. I have access to Truth. When the next worst day comes, I am ready.