When I was still traveling the world
on business as the Expat Expert, I would be so exhausted at the end
of long working days of lecturing, answering questions and handing out
reassurance like the Candy Lady, that I would often soak in my hotel bath tub
and sob like there was no tomorrow.
I probably just wished there would not be another tomorrow, listening and absorbing the heart-breaking stories of dysfunctional expatriate families that women shared with me.
There were (and still are!) many happy experiences of living abroad, but for some reason, it just took one look at my face and expat women generally felt like they were talking to their therapist, a best friend, or maybe their mother. They would unload too much information about their unhappy lives into my bottomless basket of empathy. By the time my day ended, that basket would be full of their tears with just enough room for me to add my own.
It might have just been jet lag, menopause, or a combination of both. Hormone supplements do not travel well.
So, how do I explain the weepiness I just experienced on a working vacation in Asia with my husband? The pills still came with me (thyroid meds, check, estrogen, check, progesterone, check) but I had the time of my life as the previous blog postings will confirm.
More importantly, I was not sleep deprived at all, especially after the hot mud tub experience. Lack of sleep usually leads to my tears. If anything, I was getting too much sleep, my body momentarily forgetting it belonged to an insomniac (which sadly, it remembered last night!)
This time my crying was, as t-shirts scream at tourists all over Asia, same same but different.
My sadness overcame me as it always does because of the gaping hole in my life, the one that would have been filled by the presence, comfort, friendship and love of my mother if she hadn't died suddenly in her early forties, before I even reached puberty.
The unfairness of her unlived life usually hits me in the summer, when Rodney and I explore the golf courses of the interior of British Columbia. I always get weepy thinking how much my parents would have enjoyed the same experience and how much I would have enjoyed golfing with her (even though family folklore had her shooting in the low 90s when I refuse to even keep score. I'm not sure she would have pleased with that.)
I probably just wished there would not be another tomorrow, listening and absorbing the heart-breaking stories of dysfunctional expatriate families that women shared with me.
There were (and still are!) many happy experiences of living abroad, but for some reason, it just took one look at my face and expat women generally felt like they were talking to their therapist, a best friend, or maybe their mother. They would unload too much information about their unhappy lives into my bottomless basket of empathy. By the time my day ended, that basket would be full of their tears with just enough room for me to add my own.
It might have just been jet lag, menopause, or a combination of both. Hormone supplements do not travel well.
So, how do I explain the weepiness I just experienced on a working vacation in Asia with my husband? The pills still came with me (thyroid meds, check, estrogen, check, progesterone, check) but I had the time of my life as the previous blog postings will confirm.
More importantly, I was not sleep deprived at all, especially after the hot mud tub experience. Lack of sleep usually leads to my tears. If anything, I was getting too much sleep, my body momentarily forgetting it belonged to an insomniac (which sadly, it remembered last night!)
This time my crying was, as t-shirts scream at tourists all over Asia, same same but different.
My sadness overcame me as it always does because of the gaping hole in my life, the one that would have been filled by the presence, comfort, friendship and love of my mother if she hadn't died suddenly in her early forties, before I even reached puberty.
The unfairness of her unlived life usually hits me in the summer, when Rodney and I explore the golf courses of the interior of British Columbia. I always get weepy thinking how much my parents would have enjoyed the same experience and how much I would have enjoyed golfing with her (even though family folklore had her shooting in the low 90s when I refuse to even keep score. I'm not sure she would have pleased with that.)
I stopped traveling on business for many reasons (believing I could chain smoke in Asia without consequence being high on the list) but there was another more compelling reason: I was exhausted by the pace I was keeping, never stopping as if my life depended on it or rather, two lives.
I believed retirement would bring me to a new stage where my loss would lose its power. But I'm learning that it only changes and heads off in a different direction.
It would seem that I'm now desperately traveling for
two. And still having a good cry in the bath tub.
