Finding the Geography of Joy
I'm writing this from the Mara with one week down and one to go, and something unexpected has happened. All those feelings I've been wrestling with – the geography of missing, the weight of decisions, the tyranny of choosing sides – they're all still here. But they're sharing space with something lighter.
Joy. Pure, uncomplicated joy.
The week has been generous in ways I didn't expect. More river crossings in five days than I've witnessed in the last five years of coming here. Not just any crossings – the kind that remind you why people travel halfway around the world to sit in a dusty vehicle and watch wildebeest make impossible decisions.
And I made a point to be present for every single one.
Maybe that's the secret I've been missing. You can carry the weight of difficult decisions and still find space for wonder. You can acknowledge what's ending while celebrating what's happening right now. You can hold the complexity and the joy simultaneously.
The Mara can be chaos. Cars everywhere, the inevitable circus that comes with one of the world's great spectacles. You can't let the noise take away from the music. The crossing doesn't care about the traffic jam. The wildebeest don't check the guest count before they leap.
The magic happens regardless of the madness.
I've been thinking about that phrase – "somewhere only we know." Not the physical place, but the headspace. That moment when you stop worrying about who else is watching and just watch. When you stop managing the experience and start living it.
Africa has this way of calling you back to what matters. Maybe it's the vastness that puts your problems in perspective. Maybe it's the rhythm of life and death playing out in real time. Maybe it's just that when you're sitting with a lion, your to-do list suddenly seems ridiculous.
The camp staff have been incredible. Late nights around the fire, stories that make your sides hurt from laughing, moments that remind you why connection is everything. It's funny how being away from home can sometimes bring you closer to yourself.
And yes, all those decisions are still waiting. The geography of missing is still mapped out in my head. The binary choices still demand attention. But this week has taught me something important: you don't have to solve everything to enjoy anything.
Peace of mind, I've decided, is a better metric than happiness. Happiness comes and goes like weather. Peace of mind is what you build when you stop fighting what is and start appreciating what's right in front of you.
I've made peace with the situation, which turns out to be another way of saying I've stopped torturing myself with imaginary futures and started inhabiting the actual present.
The wildebeest have it figured out. They don't agonize over the crossing. They don't form committees to discuss the crocodile situation. They don't spend weeks analyzing whether this is the right river at the right time. They just sense when it's time to move, and they move.
Maybe wisdom isn't about having all the answers. Maybe it's about being present enough to feel when it's time to leap.
There's something beautiful about choosing presence over perfection. About deciding that this moment, right here, with its dust and chaos and impossible beauty, is enough. More than enough.
The Mara is a special place. Everything is green and alive and possible. It feels like a metaphor, but maybe sometimes life just hands you perfect timing without requiring you to decode it.
One more week ahead. One more week of mornings that start before dawn and end with stories around the fire. One more week of watching people fall in love with wild places and wild things. One more week of doing what I've done for twenty-three years, but with the knowledge that I'm choosing to be here rather than being trapped here.
That makes all the difference.
The geography of missing will always be there – those spaces where we should have been but weren't. But this week I've been discovering the geography of joy. The places where presence and privilege intersect. Where gratitude and wonder share the same coordinates.
Maybe that's enough geography for now. Maybe some places are worth getting lost in.
The Mara has reminded me of something I'd forgotten: you can carry difficult decisions and still choose joy. You can acknowledge endings while celebrating beginnings. You can be exactly where you are instead of everywhere you're not.
Sometimes the place you need to find isn't somewhere else at all. Sometimes it's right here, disguised as ordinary Tuesday in an extraordinary place, waiting for you to stop searching and start seeing.
The crossing continues. But so does the joy.
And that, it turns out, changes everything.