Tonight, as I was hurriedly walking through the library so I can keep working on our first Sumatra presentation for tomorrow, out of the corner of my eye I saw a man in the corner on a mat, faced East, and praying.
It was a small reminder of Indonesia, and in a different sort of way, it felt close to home. I remember watching everyone go to prayer at 7 every night and falling asleep to the Qur'an playing over the loud speakers in each village.
As I found in my Sumatra journal today:
"I'm exhausted. I'm so worn out, stressed out and burnt out on eating the exact same thing every day. But this; these exact things I'm feeling and experiencing are everything and nothing like I have ever dreamed."
I'm starting to feel the slowness of fall time. The golden light in the morning, the thick smell of the coffee in the grinder, the days that I have to put on a sweater, tie my hair up and put on work boots to go out and feed the chickens. It's a slow moving routine, and it's allowed me to spend more time planning out what I'd like to do that day.
Everything feels very honest as of lately, and my bones are starting to crave some place different; maps feel more like home than other places, and vastness seems more reasonable than anything else.