The places we take with us

I'm sitting in our living room in Doha on the last Sunday morning I'll spend here. It's the most peaceful time of day, when the sunlight is gently filtering through the acacia tree, too early for children or dogs or cars, but with an appropriate level of birdsong for my mood, and it's still early enough in summer for an early morning run in the cool breeze before sunrise followed by a strong cup of coffee. 

In a few minutes, Rani will join me and we'll work the crossword puzzle together as the morning light sweeps through the room. These hours are something I look forward to every day.

This is a place I will take with me.

The streets around the compound are dusty and sidewalk-less, but there are hidden gems and mysteries for the intrepid explorer to discover on long afternoon walks with friends during the winter months, and early-morning runs to beat the heat in the summer. The wild sculptures that appeared during the world cup and were improved over the following years, the mansions that occasionally leave their gates open for a quick peak into these opaque lives, scents and sounds of unseen livestock behind high walls, men's groups jogging and chanting in the park, and an incredible range of stray cats. 
This is a place I will take with me.

Last week we had our final game day with the games crew. Sitting around the table snacking on various treats in a villa with occasional contact with various teens, playing Bananagrams, euchre, most recently 7 Wonders, and always finishing it off with a pig toss. At the end of the evening, the reluctant winner (usually Rani) accepts the Clencher, and agrees to add flair for the next round.

This is a place I will take with me.

Wednesday nights with a disparate group of adventurers, battling dragons and giants, ingesting various takeout options, imbibing copious beverages, trying to follow the sprawling plot and make some kind of contribution with my poorly constructed characters, and hanging back to shoot the shit with the host after everyone leaves.

This is a place I will take with me.

Three work days left in our weirdly narrow irregular polygon of a work room, surrounded by teachers from all over the world, one-upping each other with stories of the ridiculous (and occasionally wonderful) things our students do, sharing advice and commiserating, learning and growing from each other. I put on the headphones and stroll around campus when I need a break, nodding to all of the familiar faces, marveling at the new artwork. The bell rings and I'm in my poorly maintained classroom, with holes in the floor, stains on the ceiling, wobbly desks and chairs, surrounded by the (sometimes barely) contained chaos of groups of students standing and (mostly) doing math at the boards.

This is a place I will take with me.

This is my third time (in this stage of my life) leaving a place, and I'm feeling more at peace than I have with the other leavings, mainly because of the people we've connected with here. We threw ourselves a going-away party a few weeks ago, and people came, and they stayed, and it was a great time. We've built a family here, and that family has helped me find these places that are bigger than location or geography. They represent an aura of belonging, complete with the indescribable (but eternally welcome) feeling of being together with people who we've chosen and have chosen us back.

To those of you who are reading this, thank you for making a place for me here.

Peace and Love,

Jon