In the stillness of winter

Perhaps it’s because of the grey weather, or the general stillness of winter, but I’ve been having one of those self-reflective sort of weeks. It all started because the Vienna Forum for the Global Initiative to Fight Human Trafficking is occurring right now, and it’s the event nearly all my efforts at the UNODC went towards. It’s a little strange to work exclusively on an event and never get to see it come to fruition. It’s the plight of many of the short-term UN folks like us, but I’ve been talking to my friends and colleagues in Vienna regularly over Skype and email, and they’ve been keeping me abreast of the activities there.

I have such an assortment of feelings when I look back on Vienna. I don’t know if I could work on human trafficking exclusively – as one friend put it, I managed to find the only thing more depressing than cancer to work on when I went to work on human trafficking – but I loved every minute of working for UNODC, and feeling a part of a larger, global cause. This isn’t to say that I dislike my job at Yale. It’s just a very, very different world. When I think of possible life paths, I don’t regret what I’m doing or my decision to come to New Haven. I look at Todd every day and know I made the right decision. And most days I like my job quite a lot. I just sometimes think about the other paths life could have taken.

Really, this is all Jonathan’s fault. Let me explain. Jonathan is a friend and former colleague of mine from UNODC, and had the somewhat dubious honor of being the only other American in my unit. In addition, Jonathan was my “Northern Exposure” hookup, as he received periodic care packages from his Illinois parents that included DVDs of the Cicely, Alaska-based show. As my time at UNODC was ending, Jonathan’s consultancy contract had come to an end, and in classic UN style, his new consultancy contract was tied up on bureaucratic red tape. He ended up enjoyed a few weeks of unpaid, forced relaxation, and then was hired to head up UNODC’s anti-human trafficking efforts in Afghanistan. He now spends a couple weeks each month in Kabul implementing anti-human trafficking programs, which honestly has to be one of the toughest and most noble jobs I can imagine a person doing. He and I frequently chat via Skype, and there is something very strange about sitting in my office talking to someone who’s typing away in a UN compound in war-torn Afghanistan.

I realize I romanticize what Jonathan does. For one, to do the work that Jonathan is doing in Afghanistan -- but as a woman -- would be infinitely more difficult than it already is. He works long and tireless hours, often just shuttling between the UN compound and back home again because security is so abysmal. He doesn’t get to spend much of his spare time wandering around Kabul. But when he does, he finds the pleasure in life there and in the warmth of the Afghani people, despite the country being pulled apart by conflict. When one day he instant messaged me, I looked at the clock and wrote back, “Jesus, what time is it there?” He responded, “Mohammed, its 3:30 in the morning.” His sense of humor manages to keep things intact.

I don’t know if I could do exactly what Jonathan does, but I miss feeling truly connected to the work that I’m doing, and feeling like what it does makes a difference in the world. I’m not going to flatter myself to say that my work at ACS and UNODC had a significant impact on the ground, but I did get to interact with people who made me feel like what I did mattered to them – breast cancer survivors and team leaders, former smokers, and Active for Life participants who stuck with a physical activity a year after the AFL campaign. I have a great group of committee members and volunteers here at Yale, but it’s just not the same feeling. I try to create that feeling for myself as much as I can (for example, when I receive a gift towards a financial aid scholarship, I like to think that what I do matters to the student who will now receive this scholarship), but it’s just a completely different set of circumstances.

I’m sure my mood will change once the sun starts to shine. Go without sun for two weeks and you’ll start believing in seasonal mood disorder too. But for that at least I now have “sunshine in a box,” a collection of mementos that remind me of California and sunny days at the beach, courtesy of Todd for Valentine’s Day. And come reunion weekend, when I get to see the culmination of my efforts, and the great work that will come from my labors, I know it will all be worth it. Until then, I’ll just keep waiting for sunshine – and spring.