Evacuee syndrome

Thanks Tarik Haiga on Unsplash

Last Monday, the 16th, I had a flight leaving Thailand on April 12th.  On Tuesday, it was moved to April 6th.  By Wednesday, it was on March 26th.  After the US's "do not travel" order, I got a ticket on Friday night, around midnight, to leave Thailand a mere 10 hours later.

Since landing in San Diego, I’ve discovered a new sensation; I’m calling it the “evacuee syndrome.”  I’d think with my constant travel with its share of mishaps and emergencies, I would be OK returning from Thailand in such chaotic fashion.

I recognize the familiar jet lag with the 14-hour time difference.  I also realize the impact of the ambient anxiety and stress we’re all currently living with.  But there is a new sensation.  I feel torn apart, not whole, neither here nor there…

And yesterday, I finally put my finger on it.  I’m struggling with “evacuee syndrome.”  In my own experiential analysis, it stems from a departure without proper closure, with no ability to finalize an experience, in which things are left incomplete and unfinished, and without adequate good-byes.  I literally feel like parts of me are still in Thailand.  And the smallest of things are really big deals:  I had planned on gift shopping during my last week of travel with Pete and, as I left in just a few hours, I came home almost empty handed.  My family and friends don’t need goodies beyond my safe return.  But as I had already planned what I wanted to get for several of them, this sense of incompleteness adds to my “evacuee” struggle.  Minor, I know, and yet, a really big deal for me right now… 

I have cousins who evacuated the Congo at its civil war, risking their lives and leaving everything they owned behind.  My experience is not that.  And yet… it hurts, maybe a little like theirs likely did.