No Longer Sand
I just returned from a ten day recruitment tour across Doha, Kuwait City, Muscat, and Dubai. Participating in these types of efforts is always invigorating - I recommend that even with a dedicated international recruiter that leadership participate in recruitment tours when they can. They are such a wonderful way to hear the dreams, worries, and expectations of students. These conversations are a kind of compass for how we can better serve the students already on our campuses and the ones who will join us next.
I’m always amazed at the schools we visit and the students we see. My only point of reference for a high school is my own, which was more years ago than I wish to disclose, and only in my last year were we not in temporary trailer classrooms… so, I am dazzled by these places of learning for young students across the world. Nowadays, schools, from international to public ones, are innovative, exciting, stimulating, and it shows in the questions students ask. I had such great conversations with the students about their hopes and dreams. I’ll be honest and say the best conversations are with the young women, especially those who want to be lawyers. They ask me if they should become a lawyer too, how I use my degree, what it means to pass the Bar, what they can do with a law degree, where they should study. I can see them being changemakers, and even if they don’t choose to attend my university, I know they will make a difference in the world. This is why I do what I do.
Even with these refreshing conversations, new places to see, rugs to buy, and food to eat, I found my light a bit dimmed after the day was over.
In the mid 1970s, my father traveled to Dubai and elsewhere in the Middle East, to sell floating concrete docks patented by my grandfather. These docks were attractive in the Dubai creek area, having been successfully installed across the U.S. in places like the Inner Harbor in Baltimore, and governmental introductions were made and my father, grandfather, and others traveled in the region. I remember as a child poring over his architectural desk, and he would bring out these huge plans of Dubai and Abu Dhabi. I would trace the areas with my finger. There was nothing there. He said, “Deira was just sand.”
As I was walking along the creek one night, I saw the foundation stone of our hotel: laid 1974. It was then I realized (duh) that at the time my father traveled there, there would have been very few hotels serving American travelers (much different than the present-day Dubai hotel ecosystem). I could pinpoint his location! Based on the year, location by the water, and his proclivity for staying at InterContinentals, I deduced that they likely stayed at the InterContinental, now a Radisson Blu. It was right down the street from my hotel.
On the night I left, since my flight was at 1:55 am, I took one last walk down the creek and sat in front of the Radisson Blu. I looked across the water where I knew he stood decades ago. What did you think of then, Daddy? I wondered what possibilities you saw in that empty sand and whether you imagined your daughter would one day stand here too (who was then just a rosebud in heaven as my Aunt Billie would say).
It has now been a little over seven months since he died. In crowds I sometimes feel slightly out of phase with everyone else, as if grief has shifted my species. I try to be light and engaged, but the effort often feels theatrical. Even in these beautiful cities I would move from genuine joy to sudden distance, as if someone turned down the dimmer on the world.
Back home, in the evenings I “eat” my protein shake for dinner and curl up on the couch where I don’t even turn on the television. Sometimes I work from the couch if I’m feeling motivated; many days I do not. I am gladly distracted by funny memes or Seinfeld clips or good conversations even if they are just texts. One or two nights a week I might meet friends for dinner. Especially if one says “Imma make y’all gather.” as if we are a coven. These are good times, and times that I need to feel like I am indeed not an alien.
I know it will take time to get back to some semblance of normal; however, I will never be the same. It will never be normal. I miss the one person who knew me best. The one who understood why I do this work, who saw in those plans the same possibilities I now see in students' questions. The one who made it possible for me to travel internationally for the first time at nineteen.
Happiness still requires effort, but moments of ease are beginning to find me. For now, I'm grateful for the small moments, for the people who have carried me through these months without knowing the weight they have lifted (or maybe they do). My father saw possibilities in empty sand. Now I sit with students who see possibilities in their empty canvases. Both require a kind of faith I'm still learning.
