Every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end.

I don’t remember a time in my life when I didn’t know exactly when the major aspect of my life was going to end. (Not really a job since I have yet to hold a long-term, full-time position where I make more 28 cents an hour.) Not that I have a lot of experience, but I always knew exactly when I would graduate high school and no longer live with my parents, when I would be leaving my London flat behind for the next group of students, how long I had left before I would start saying goodbye to friends from college and now, I know within a date of one month when my life in Benin will end.

The cyclical nature of this experience hit me today when I said goodbye to one of my friends who is returning to the US, but is leaving a city that will only have to wait 54 days before another volunteer arrives. When there have been Americans in a country for 45 years, and another group has just arrived, it’s hard to not imagine yourself as just a small part of the impact.

Yes, there are people who will miss me when I’m gone. Yes, there will be (semi) permanent reminders that I was once here. Yes, there are students who I hope look back one day and remember those two years that an American danced around their school. But there will be other people and other structures and other experiences that who isn’t to say will trump these two years? Is there any way that, even for just a moment, you can make time stand still before it turns madly on?