In late October, I headed back down to the land of sand and monotony. It wasn’t a choice this time and it wasn’t the same location. This time I had the “pleasure” of landing in Qatar. Fortunately the weather was a bit cooler than my summer in Kuwait, but so was my attitude. I’ve discovered though that my attitude is rarely an accurate bellwether of my reality. Yes, as many of my friends who have deployed know, living in deployed conditions can feel monotonous and isolating. I had a room to myself, didn’t have to drive to different locations to teach, and I wasn’t teaching all basic writing courses, so I had time on my hands. Which perhaps was part of the problem. What do I do with time when living in a box?

Each day felt exactly like the one before. Each morning I’d lay in bed and wonder which day it was, then realize it didn’t really matter. Same pattern, different day. Walk to the cadillac, shower, back to the room. Mindlessly imbibe, plastic spoon in hand, cereal from a plastic container filled with milk from a carton covered in Arabic. Walk to the bus stop, and then walk to the “mall” that houses the education center and Green Beans. The Bangladeshi men who ran the coffee shop had my “large hot coffee, tiny sugar, barely milk” ready for me by the time I got to the counter. Push through the doors to the office and faces in uniforms that don’t change for the day. Grade papers, plan lessons, meet with students, sip more coffee, teach class, walk back to the dorm, back to the cadillac, then back to bed. The definition of groundhog’s day.

The only exception to the routine was what kind of bland and overcooked product the DFAC offered up as food each day. Was it Italian day, Taco Tuesday, Soul Food Thursday, or any of the other meaningless monikers? I learned early to steer clear of the fresh veggies unless I had time to wash them myself, or spend the next 12 hours in distress. The food was free, so who was I to complain? Except I did. Food means more to me than simply something to quench a need. Food is a first step in community and relationship. More than breaking bread, the act of cooking together creates a dance between people sharing space and developing flavor. Instead of interacting over a stove, I walked into the DFAC at least two times a day willing better options that never emerged. What emerged instead were friendships forged out of conversations of intestinal distress and a longing for food with flavor and spice. It’s amazing how quickly relationships form when forced to spend almost every day together in a strange kind of shared half-life. From “family” counseling sessions, to Thanksgiving spent watching Christmas movies, too many ridiculous puzzles, and many, many laughs, we found a way to ooze meaning from the sand around us. Here’s the thing though, many of those relationships can exist only within the confines of the wires in which you live for that deployment. We’ll “stay in touch” for a time through social media, but those bonds seem tethered to the moment despite how essential they were in that moment. Our expectations of each other once leaving that base are fundamentally different than any others I’ve known. I found the lack of expectations beyond being in the moment freeing.

I had time to think about the things that bind us before I left the Middle East to begin a marathon trip to the states to see family over the holidays. I sat and mapped out a logistical masterpiece of flights and road trips to span just under three weeks, four states, and over eight airports while wondering if the time and effort was “worth it.” The logistics of deployment were easier than those of this trip. The easy thing to do would be to fly to a central location and let those who could come see me, right? Right. Except the reality is few of them could. So I go to them. Several times over the past couple of months, I tried to figure out why when the trip is so taxing at the end of a taxing few months. There is the typical sense of responsibility. I’m the oldest, I have no kids, I have the time, and, for once, I have the money. Why shouldn’t I be the one to make the effort? Like most people I know, I have a problem with the word “should.” Who determines what we “should” do in any circumstance? “Should” requires a negotiation with ourselves to determine who we are. Those “shoulds” connected to family even more so. Perhaps I do it because I want to, and on some level I do. But sometimes even my desire to be with family gets tempered by the effort it takes to travel and be present with each person or group I’m with at the moment. There are days I’d like to pick and choose who I spend my time with based on who feeds me as much as I feed into them. But is that fair? Fair to whom? Relationships are built on expectations. Spoken or not, we expect certain things from each other. Often our expectations are unrealistic; at least I know mine can be. And family expectations exist on a plane all their own. They are messy, complicated, deep, and laden with history that we sometimes don’t understand. I come from a family whose “quiver is very full” and who will one day populate the entire earth. I also have another family who, while more traditional on the surface, has morphed into something much more multi-national and complex. Each relationship is unique and each one comes with particular trip wires that trigger caverns of emotions related to each person’s sense of being. Adoption, loss, separation, and insecurity has that effect on all of us. The sense of fairness I feel tugging at me is a warning system connected to the heart of family. At some point in my mental gymnastics, even I tire of the questions and I simply pack my bags and go.

Love manifests itself in many different ways. Some people show love by baking muffins, or sending care packages. Others show love in regular communication. Still others show love by making space in their lives to hear the people around them. I grew up watching my dad interact with large groups because, let’s face it, every group with my family was large. He’s not an extrovert by any stretch of the imagination. He gets a little grumpy when crowds are around too long. He’ll often simply disappear for a while. However, everyone in the family tells stories about their conversations with dad. In the midst of a crowd of people he can sit with someone and make them feel like the only person in a room. He will share his heart, and somehow elicit the same from each individual he turns his attention to. I think for him, showing love means listening well.

I’ve not lived near part of my family for over twenty years. It’s been many years since I’ve lived near the other side of my family as well and they continue to disperse themselves. Distance can make relationships and showing love more complicated. I believe deep down, I show my love by showing up and paying attention. Just maybe I learned a thing or two from my dad. Time is our most precious commodity and I choose to invest time into family. My time won’t always meet their expectations, and their reactions to my time won’t always meet mine.

To love is to know and we all want to be known.

Knowing runs deep and isn’t dependent on the amount of time spent together but rather in the quality of that time. Knowing shows itself in conversations that pick up as if no time had passed or distance crossed. Knowing someone manifests itself in a month, or year, old conversation picked up exactly where we left it. It shows itself in gratitude for what is shared, not for what is lacking. The sibling who says, “we feel so grateful that you’re going out of your way to see us, it’s more than gift enough” and the other who says, “I’ll drive to as many airports as necessary to get time with you;” the family who all takes a day off to make themselves available or drives hours out of their way to hang out with lots of extra family; the family member who says, “I don’t say it enough, thank you for making the effort;” the kind family member who wakes up early to act as sous chef for a Christmas breakfast for 33; and the friend who drives too many hours in a 36 hour span just to catch up….. those are the responses that remind me love is worth the time. These are the responses that speak of love completely unconditional.

Here’s the truth, in the midst of juggling expectations, emotions, and logistics are moments of genuine joy. I find those moments over coffee as kids shout around us, while baking biscuits way too late at night, in the midst of Costco the Saturday before Christmas, watching the sunrise through mountain peaks, when cheering as a two-year-old learns the joy of peeing in a toilet, over meltdowns and manic highs, I see eyes staring back at me from faces I cherish. People who know the journey I’ve been on and have either cheered me on or walked portions with me. We show up for each other and, sometimes, we walk away fed by the time spent together.  I think I’ve learned something from my time spent around the military about relationships. Separation is sometimes as natural as togetherness. But that separation does not have to diminish connections, rather it can nourish them. I return to family with more to offer for that distance.

Relationships that enrich us come in many shapes. Some are family, some dear friends; others are new friends, or temporary connections. I’m learning to hold them all with an open hand. To say I love you to all of them through my time and my presence for as long as I can. And, at the end of the day, relationships forged over styrofoam trays of food, a beer in a foreign city, or a lifetime spent together provide meaning exactly when and where I need it.