The next time I complain when a thunderstorm causes the power to flicker…
Remind me of the month I spent in the bush of Uganda, guiding myself by the tiny light of my headlamp after 6pm sunsets.
(Photo courtesy of Ash Garcia)
The next time I complain about being put on hold by a customer service number…
Remind me of the time I walked 2 miles to the nearest wifi location, called my credit card customer service number via Skype, strained to hear the representative after being put on hold, and having the call dropped.
The next time I complain about riding in a 5-seater car with 4 other people…
Remind me of that time my teammates and I leapt into the back of an open-air truck, squeezed into a sea of 30 sweaty Ugandan soccer players and demonstrated “human dominos” whenever the driver tapped the breaks or hit the gas.
The next time I complain about my entrée at my favorite Italian restaurant lacking…
Remind me of the months I spent eating mountains of bland rice, wishing for the simplest Chef Boyardee concoction.
The next time I complain about getting stuck in 5:00 traffic in Rome, Georgia….
Remind me of the month I spent in Vietnam crossing major intersections on foot, dodging 100s of motorcycles, trucks and buses while fearing for my life.
The next time I complain about having “Nothing to wear"…
Remind me of the 11 months I spent re-wearing the same 5 outfits and living out of a backpack.
The next time I complain about having to do laundry…
Remind me of the many hours spent washing my clothes by hand, scrubbing violently with sour-smelling detergent, hanging clothes to dry on barbed wire, waiting full days for each “load” to dry, only to produce semi-clean, stretched, tattered clothes.
The next time I complain about a smelly public restroom…
Remind me of the many occasions I squatted over a muddy hole in the African ground, without the luxury of toilet paper.
(photo courtesy of Ash Garcia)
The next time I complain about waiting in line for a public restroom…
Remind me of the month I spent in Honduras, sharing a 2-toilet, 2-shower bathroom with 51 other World Racers.
The next time I complain about not wanting to workout…
Remind me of the month when my teammates and I would set up a compact laptop and attempt Insanity in the sweltering Malaysian heat.
The next time I complain about the inconvenience of a doctor’s appointment across town…
Remind me of those two times I flew across the world (From Malaysia and Uganda) for a 3-hour eye appointment in Atlanta.
The next time I complain about the air-conditioning being too cold…
Remind me of the month in Cambodia, when Ash and I duct-taped our fan’s timer, so that it continued to push semi-cool air our direction throughout the night.
The next time I complain about the water pressure of my hot shower…
Remind me of the numerous bathing endeavors I had with buckets of cold water.
The next time I complain about feeling lonely…
Remind me of the 333 days I spent unable to escape from the presence of the other human beings (my teammates.)
The next time I complain about a 30 minute drive to town…
Remind me of the 18+ hour rides across rocky, pot-holed African terrain in tacky-decorated public transportation, usually blaring music in a language other than English.
The next time I complain about Chick-fil-A being closed on Sunday….
Remind me hours I spent day-dreaming of Chick-fil-a, with the nearest store being 1,000s of miles out of reach.
The next time I complain about how hard my grad classes are….
Remind me of the many children I met who’s biggest dream is to go to university one day.
The next time I complain about not having enough money for an evening out….
Remind me of the Latin American, Asian and African fathers who provided for their family on a meager $1 a day.
The next time I complain about being too full from eating too much…
Remind me of Henry, the tiny, malnourished baby I held at Casa Jackson in Guatemala.
The next time I complain about being thirsty…
Remind me of the many children who walk for multiple miles, carrying the weight of 40lbs water jugs that will last their family a couple of days.
The next time I complain about the 2-hour long wait in the Emergency room…
Remind me of the Kenyan woman who watched her sick daughter die in her arms after days spent in the waiting room of the local hospital.
The next time I complain about not getting what I want for Christmas…
Remind me of the Christmas celebration at La Quinta Orphanage in Nicaragua, when the children each received a small present with great excitement and thankfulness.
The next time I complain about my weight…
Remind me of the skinny, dirty little hands that extended towards me on foreign public streets, begging for a bite of food.
