It all started innocently enough. It was Thursday and I was having a conversation with one of my closest friends, who is a Habitat build addict. Although Michelle had sworn up and down that she was not planning a build this year, she was now considering going to Cambodia for a mini-build. All three previous Habitat for Humanity builds she had gone on had been in Nepal.
Nepal seemed like it would be a nice country and all but seemed to attract adrenalin-junkie foreigners drawn to conquer its high peaks. I was not such a person. I’ve never understood when people answer the question “why did you climb the mountain?” with the response “because it was there”. Really?
But Cambodia…. Thoughts of it infiltrated the tiny pocket of adventure in the back of my soul. Beautiful, friendly people. Former French colony (so probably some really yummy food). Heartbreaking past. Gorgeous architecture, temples and landscape. *sigh* But unlike my friend, I was not a “Habitater” I’m not particularly religious and have always thought that people who spent their holidays building houses in remote villages for extremely poor people were drawn to (and got through) such experiences because of their spiritualism, usually in the form of organized religion.
Michelle has, in the time I’ve know her, always acted from a core of spiritualism while continually questioning and searching for answers through organized religion. I, on the other hand, had given up on that long ago. I consider that I have a moral code of humanitarianism but am not really able to commit to more than that. In addition to which I was still recovering from my last foray into humanitarianism, but I digress.
Michelle, in her usual way, was torturing herself over whether she would go on this build or not and had been for a month now. I was urging her to go (I mean, its Cambodia). She decided she would probably go and we began talking about fundraising.
Of the two of us, I was thought of (including by Michelle) as the more outgoing one and she had asked me to MC her fundraising dinner. I had also offered to help her fundraise by hosting drinks or a morning tea at work. I made an offhand comment like “You have to go. I’m living vicariously through you and your adventures. Hell. I’d go with you if it weren’t for my elderly father and my umpteen thousands of dollars of debt.” She decided to go to Cambodia.
That night, on the way home from work, I was telling my husband about my day and mentioned my recent conversation with Michelle, including my off-hand remark. He said “Well, why don’t you go? I mean, if you really want to, you should.” Really? Should I? It was a real ‘ah ha’ moment when I realized that yes, I could go.
So then my torture started. Were there ‘better’ things I could spend my money on? Undoubtedly, depending on priorities. Did I have enough leave to do both that and my annual pilgrimage to the U.S. to see my dad? Yes. Was there enough time to do everything to get ready (write a will, get the panoply of shots required, fundraise, sign up, buy water filters and hand sanitizer, organize the time off)? Barely, but it was doable.
Then came the self-doubt. I’m 46 with bad knees and a crap back. Would a Habitat build cripple me? I’ve also become very fond of my cushy westernized lifestyle. Would I cope? Would I want to? Would I even be any use on such a build? And then the biggest question – would Michelle even want me tagging along? I mean, I would look like such a pathetic copycat. This is her big passion, not mine. And why did I want to go anyway? Maybe I could wuss out and just go for the touristy bit after the build? Maybe I shouldn’t go at all. It would involve reorganizing my plans to spend Christmas with Dad and if he took a bad turn, maybe I should be saving my money for that eventuality.
But it’s Cambodia. And Michelle.
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