Goodbye, Baghdad.

It’s been a week since I boarded a helicopter in the wee hours of the morning to begin the long journey from Baghdad to Grand Rapids, Michigan, completing my work in Baghdad and rejoining my family. It’s been a perfect Midwestern summer week full of green landscapes, sweet seasonal produce, and the Olympics on TV. Now I sit under a tree as I watch a moving crew pack up our household gear for yet another move to yet another country.

My current leisurely view from a lawn chair, coffee in hand, could hardly be more different from my view of a week ago. I’ve traded high walls and razor wire for trees and flowers. Cafeteria casseroles have been replaced by buttery sweet corn and fresh frozen custard. The oven blast of 120 degree heat has given way to cool mornings and warm afternoons. The 24/7 flow of urgent email has stepped aside for the building of Lego sets and the riding of tricycles. In two weeks the scene will shift again as we return to the land of palm trees, mangos, steamy air, and afternoon rain showers that we know and love so well. The journey continues.

I would be lying if I said I wasn’t glad to move onto the next chapter. This year has been tough, in lots of ways. The Embassy compound came under attack from drones and rockets while I was there, which was pretty scary. Necessary COVID precautions, on top of a tricky security situation, made the work of diplomacy incredibly difficult and frustrating, and contributed to loneliness. Those same security precautions kept me out of the country for an extended stretch, adding bureaucratic confusion to the already plentiful challenges of the job. And being separate from K and the kids for months at a time was no fun at all. I’m eager to turn the page.

Even the hard chapters, though, contain passages of wisdom. This year has given me gifts for which I am thankful, and I would like to mark some of them before flipping the page on the calendar.

I am thankful for a reliable Internet connection, and the things it allows that we so often take for granted. I was able to see the faces and hear the voices of my wife and kids every day despite the continents and oceans that separated us.

I am thankful for the birds who so easily ignored the walls and gates of our secure compound to grace us with their presence every day. Familiar friends like the inquisitive white-eared bulbul joined with new (to me) species like the spur-winged lapwing and the India roller to bring color and music to the compound. I’m thankful for the reminder that the Middle East is a particularly beautiful part of creation. I’m also thankful for my friends and colleagues who would convincingly fake some enthusiasm when I reported spotting a new species.

I am thankful for the Kenyan and Ugandan guards who would play soccer on the Embassy lawn during the day, despite the blistering summer heat. Their love of the game made apparent by their laughter was an important reminder to look up from the phone on occasion.

I am thankful for the Rose family, protagonists of the beloved show Schitt’s Creek. Viewing the comical dysfunction of their family provided me with welcome laughter at many moments during which I deeply missed my own family. Those characters were with me through the tour, and I will always treasure the show because of that.

I am thankful for the unpalatable hamburger casseroles, boiled chicken, and steamed spinach on offer in our dining facility. It made the amazing dals, curries, and biryanis prepared by the Indian kitchen staff taste all the more heavenly by comparison.

I am thankful for the little church that meets every weekend in the compound bar. In an Embassy community defined by hierarchy this was a place where people would come together as equals. Leaders of the Mission would stand alongside security contractors, soldiers, Marines, and kitchen and maintenance workers, all praying to the same God. American, Indian, Kenyan, Ugandan, and Filipino voices singing together. It was a weekly reminder of things that are far bigger, older, and more important, than that which we usually focus on.

I am thankful for bright and dedicated colleagues and bosses who work hard and inspire me to work hard as well. Iraq is as hard a place as any to do diplomacy, but our country is fortunate to have lots of public servants who are doing it anyway. I had the honor this past year of working under and beside some incredibly talented people, and they make me want to be a better diplomat.

I am thankful for the Marine guards who ate breakfast most days at the picnic table outside my window. Young men, and a few women, far from home, chowing down on scrambled eggs and sugary cereal, laughing with their friends. Knowing that they are the ones who would man the front lines if things ever got bad provided an incredibly real reminder of that to which the members of our armed forces commit. We mustn’t take it for granted. It also reminded me that the heaviest burdens of war are carried by those who are very, very young.

And most of all, I am thankful for the Iraqi people. My biggest regret of the last year is that I did not get to know more of them. In my lifetime Iraq has been through war after war after war, experiencing more turmoil and sheer horror than most of us can imagine. Its people, though, maintain a rich sense of themselves and their culture, practice unbelievable hospitality, and cook some of the most amazing food I’ve tasted in my travels. They teach me what it means to endure, and to do so with joy and good humor. I hope to one day experience more of the beauties of Iraqi culture, and for my family to as well.

But for now the last of the masgoof and dolma have been eaten, and the heat of the desert is behind me. There are many stories to tell, and many of you will hear them in the months and years to come. But for now, there is a moving van to load, and more adventures to be had.

“The Road goes ever on and on,
Down from the door where it began.
Now far ahead the Road has gone,
And I must follow, if I can,
Pursuing it with eager feet,
Until it joins some larger way
Where many paths and errands meet.
And whither then? I cannot say.” JRR Tolkien