About a year ago, I started making major changes in my life, fueled by the feeling that I was wasting my time and failing to live up to my potential. I’d recently completed a grad program in technology and development and was eager to put what I’d learned into practice. I knew the many pitfalls of aid-based approaches and how to ensure development programs were empowering and sustainable. What better place to apply this, I thought, than Africa?

I left my job when someone invited me to work for her newly formed nonprofit in Kenya, and soon discovered that she never intended to pay me. It was a humbling experience; leaving a position where I felt undervalued only to discover what it truly means to be treated as if your talents are worthless. As painful as it was, living in rural Kenya helped put my “problems” into perspective. I saw how hard people worked to put food on the table, how many children were dying because their parents couldn’t afford basic healthcare services, how far kids would lug heavy jugs filled with murky water, and how despite the many hardships faced, there was a nearly constant sense of good cheer in the way people would greet and interact with each other.

Although the kids never let me forget I was a foreigner, gleefully shouting “Muzungu, muzungu, how are you?” whenever I walked by, I felt a strong sense of belonging and naive desire to somehow help improve the quality of life in the village. I thought, if I could at least introduce renewable energy solutions, to offset the inconveniences of frequent power surges and outages and bring light into households with no electricity… maybe I’d feel that I accomplished something meaningful in life, so I found another job, with a community development organization. The salary was less than what I’d earned as an intern, but I was so blinded by my dream that I didn’t care about the money. As it turned out, it wasn’t meant to be… the necessary paperwork was never filed for me to obtain a work permit, and before I could secure another job, the Government of Kenya passed a new regulation banning work permits for foreigners under the age of 36 – and that’s when I realized it was time to go home.

But where was home for me now? Not Phoenix anymore – too much bitterness had radiated from the wake of my former relationship. I still have a handful of PHX friends I love dearly, but the vibe of the place is no longer welcoming for me. So I did what any 30-something would do when attempting to find that long-lost sense of “home” – I decided to move in with my parents. That’s not as bad as it sounds since my parents are amazingly awesome people who live in a tropical paradise. No, it’s not the life I envisioned for myself at this age, but the lesson I’ve been learning, time and again, is that what I think I want is often an illusion, and what I truly want is what happens.

So the last piece of my life’s puzzle that needed to fall into place was a job. Before I could stress out about it, a dear friend and former coworker asked if I might be interested in part-time work with my former employer. Yes!!! It’s true, what they say, sometimes you don’t know what you have until it’s gone. A situation that once seemed so bleak, with time and perspective, had been transformed into a shimmering jewel of opportunity.

Which brings me to the end of my journey, right back where I began.