YOU CAN'T KISS ME IF YOU CALL ME TERRIBLE

There is nothing like dancing. Especially in Ghana. (Editor's note, though it may seem as if all I did in Ghana was dance, this was truly not the case!) Last night the live band at the Chelsea hotel kicked into motion and the Nigerian students started a circle. "Go Reggie! Go Reggie!" (etc, etc, etc.) The band played the classic hits (the students changing the lyrics of "My Girl" to "My Non-Fiction") and we all worked it out for hours. I taught Chris Michael the two step. Masese taught us traditional dances. J.P. and Grant pulled out their goofiest moves ever and at once point we find ourselves hand in hand, dancing around in a circle, kicking our legs into the center. I don't believe I've laughed (or sweat) so much in my entire life.


After the drama of the kiss, I have come to a distinct clarity on my own experience of solitude. I want to sleep in my bed alone. I enjoy waking up alone. Africa is allowing me to spend valuable time with my own person, paralleled with time spent along side new friends. Romance is not a priority or much of a desire, but an unfulfilling distraction from what I am meant to do. The thought of leaving this special time and place returns. The anxiety of returning to an office job, an apartment that feels ghost-like, friends whom I love but never seem to have enough time for. But one cannot stay in limbo forever. This feeling of being new and anonymous eventually fades in any place you remain. I am beginning to understand the appeal of travel, beyond the crave to see the world. You can reinvent yourself. Your old stories can be omitted. Here, you can live as the most brilliant version of your person. How can I bring some of these lessons home with me? "That's the trick," Grant says one night, "That's what its all about."