Author: Robin Chartier

Yes, I’m still here . . . still in limbo, but doing fine. ish

I mean, I could tell you that my car died. Like off to the junkyard dead. Technically it still runs, but the engine isn’t getting enough air so when I push on the gas pedal the engine skips and sputters and the car moves forward, but on these roads I need a car that moves when I tell it to go so it’s dead to me. Which is sad because I love that car. It’s 15 years old and a beast on the road. Big enough to not get pushed around by other drivers, small enough to maneuver in traffic, old enough to not worry that the paint is going to be chipped by a stray rock, and it just suits me. In a world where most people drive new cars, I’m rather fond of my unique “antique.”

Josh rented a brand new Toyota sedan for a week with less than 100 miles on it and I would have chosen my red Pajero over it in a heartbeat. Our current rental (for the next month) is a Kia sedan that isn’t anything special either. We’re waiting around for a used SUV with 4 wheel drive that we can take camping — as we reach the end of the school year and people leave to move home there should be some decently priced options to choose from. Presuming that we are still here past this summer. I mean, I think we will be, but it’s all still unknown.

I’ve been reading a lot this month. I’m making an effort to spend less time on technology and more time being present in life. It’s kind of difficult because it turns out that real life takes more effort than mindlessly scrolling through my email or Instagram . . . shocker. Books have been a happy medium. I can appear intellectual while still escaping from reality.
Win. Win.

I have a stack of books lined up for spring break — and I’ll have plenty of time to read as these two boys are off to the Seychelles for vacation. I know. Crazy, right? We are thankful to have great friends who love to travel and love our boys. Someday I’ll visit that island paradise for myself . . .

We are trying to do a few special things at home over the next week to make up for the fact that the boys are island living and Camille is home with us. She picked a visit to Ski Dubai this morning so she’s making sure to squeeze every last bit of fun out of us.

I’ve almost reached the 14th anniversary of my relationship with Zoloft. It sounds a bit ridiculous to call it that, but in the early years I really did celebrate my “Zoloft birthday” because it felt like my life started over again once I finally broke down and started taking it.

Since UAE has a complicated relationship with mental health, I brought over a supply of Zoloft that has lasted until now, delaying the hassle as long as possible. But as my bottle gets lighter and lighter the nagging voice in my head gets louder: you need to find a new supplier — don’t run out!

The problem is my meds are considered a controlled substance. Not just prescription, but they can only be prescribed by a psychiatrist and even then, can only be given out 30 days at a time. That means to get my meds I have to go see a psychiatrist every month. I haven’t needed a psychiatrist since 2006. Typically I pop in once a year, the doc writes a script for a year, and I go on my merry way, picking up my refills every 3 months from the pharmacy (actually through the mail). No fuss at all.

Thankfully Josh has amazing medical insurance that actually includes mental heath coverage, something most local insurance doesn’t. That means while it is an inconvenience, at least I don’t have to pay an expensive psychiatrist bill every 30 days. That would be adding insult to injury!

All that to say, I’ve been putting it off. But over the weekend, when I glimpsed the bottom of my bottle through the remaining pills, I knew it was time. My insurance requires that I get a referral from a general doctor first, but thankfully they had one on site and could set me up with back to back appointments.

Josh dropped me off at an old villa that has been converted to a medical clinic — not really confidence inducing, but all I need is that piece of paper with the magic word Sertraline printed on it and I’ll be good. The GP wanted to get all up in my business and do blood tests to see if I had liver damage from taking the medicine for so long . . . sigh, I hate that stuff. I’m only seeing you because I have to and I’m not getting blood drawn in a space where people used to sit around eating bread and biriani. Just give me my referral and let me go. I escaped by telling him I have a regular doctor who takes care of all of my normal health care. And I do . . . ish.

Then I headed upstairs to the third floor to one of the bedrooms to see the psychiatrist. Who thankfully was happy to see me, give me what I needed, and apologetic about the system. He agreed that someone in maintenance mode doesn’t need a psychiatrist, but that’s just the way things are here. He wrote the prescription so I could stretch my visits out to 6 weeks instead of 30 days and said the appointment next time would be even faster. Yay!

So now I’m set for the next 30 days. Woo. Hoo. I really can’t complain. My visits are covered, my meds are covered, and all that it costs me is a bit of time and inconvenience.

This week last year we visited Motiongate for the first time and were caught completely by surprise when the Madagascar kiddie ride turned out to be a literal Mad Pursuit. We were tossed around, holding on for dear life, the skin on our faces pulled back to our ears as we shot through space faster than we could have imagined. (the link takes you to a YouTube video of what it’s like to be on the ride — so fast, but so fun).

A year later and we find ourselves on a similarly frenetic ride. This is the week that we’ve been praying for all month as we knew that the defense expo that is in town would bring all of the major players in the business to Abu Dhabi. Our future here has been unclear and we were hoping that some in-person meetings would clear out some of the fog that has been shrouding our path.

The past 24 hours have felt like we’ve been shot out of a cannon once again as we find ourselves riding up and down and flying toward something we couldn’t have imagined a month ago. It appears that this change in direction means that we will be able to stay in Abu Dhabi for another year. We’re waiting for it to become official, but we’re celebrating today.

Well, it’s February. I guess it’s time for an update. 

Day 347 — still drifting on the raft. Water still salty. The sun is hot. 

Or to put it another way: same, same.

Actually, in Abu Dhabi this week I actually needed a sweater outside (I usually have to wear one inside because of the AC). I think it was a frigid 72. I had goosebumps. Seriously, I really did. Brrrr.  

So what’s our plan? We are continuing on, day by day as if we will be here long term, but holding it all loosely, ready to give it up at any time. Josh has a job, which is great, but we’re still bobbing along without an anchor, a sail, or a map.

If you want to know how to pray for us in the month of Feb, please pray for wisdom and clarity and confirmation for our next step. We anticipate that we will have to make a decision in March and we currently don’t have enough info to move ahead. I hate being vague, but honestly, there’s not much else to tell. It’s work related and that’s 95% of the info I currently have. 

We are content and at peace, but fatigued mentally (which makes us tired physically). On the flip side, Camille has been having a great run these past few months. She’s excited to go to school, jumped right back into swim team without any tears, and has been cheerful and enthusiastic instead of timid and fearful. It’s a 180 degree shift from February last year.

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The kids have all been busy, but doing well with academics, sports (Cross-Country for the boys), and music. The boys are in Dubai this weekend for a 3 day workshop as part of a combined choir with students from all over the region. Next weekend both Carter and Caleb made the team for Cross-Country finals so they’ll be racing here in Abu Dhabi, and then they both have a variety show performance 2 days later featuring songs from the 90s. My house has been filled with the sounds of MMMBop and NSync these past few weeks as they practice their parts. Good times. Someone asked us what we’ve been doing lately and we realized that we’re busy, but none of it is our stuff. It’s all kid-related — it’s a good thing we like them so much.

So we’ll just keep on day by day until things change. It’s a good life, but an unsettled one. We’ve been talking about how nothing in life is certain, no matter where you live, but we get a front row view as we are constantly reminded that nothing we do here is permanent. Whether we are in Abu Dhabi for 10 months or 10 years, our time will end. Our foundation is built on sand, both literally and figuratively.

So my favorite carpet suffered a tragedy. Which really isn’t a tragedy, but it took a day or two to get to that place.

Our dog has had chronic allergies ever since moving to Abu Dhabi and we started him on a course of medicine that made him sick. He threw up on Carter’s small rug (thankfully) that has already suffered a series of injustices over the years, so I dragged it outside to hose it off. He also threw up on one of my big carpets, but I was able to blot it and clean it in place.

An hour later, while I was at the gym, the dog got sick again on one of my bigger carpets and the boys, thinking they were being helpful, took it outside and hosed it off to try and clean it. Well this particular gorgeous carpet is the type that isn’t colorfast so the red dye ran everywhere — turning all of the beautiful white detailing into a rusty, muddy mess.

I came home and freaked out and ranted about how two people who can’t even be bothered to pick a wet towel up off the floor or put dishes in the dishwasher decided they would wrestle a big rug outside and hose it off and why couldn’t they start by being helpful with the things I’ve actually asked them to do instead of ignoring me all the time . . . and on and on . . . and a little more. I almost cried (for those who know me in person, that’s one of the signs of the apocalypse).

For context of my pain, it’s the carpet that makes up the background of this blog — my most recent acquisition from Bahrain, a beloved Qashqai. I fell in love with this carpet long distance the moment I spotted a corner of it under a pile of rugs in a photograph that Josh sent to me.

I let my baby dry overnight, hoping that daylight and drying out would make everything look better, but no. The damage has been done. There’s a whole process of removing color run from a carpet, but it has to be done with chemicals and by professionals and it’s not my style. I have my things to be used and enjoyed and not to fuss over so I decided to leave it and just be sad about it. I knew I’d get over it eventually.

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The damage is only on one end of the carpet, but that means I get to be reminded of exactly how different it looks every time I see it. Blah, blah . . . woe is me.

And then I went to church the following morning and the sermon was about eternity. And how our lives here, even if we live to be 100, are only a dot on a timeline that would wrap around the globe 1000 times, just as a starting point. And this short period of time pales in significance to the time we will spend in eternity with God, or eternity in Hell, without God. And my water damaged rug suddenly shrunk in importance as I was reminded that this rug is only a dot in the span of my life, which is an even tinier dot in the span of eternity. And 100 years from now it won’t matter that today my carpet is patchy orange on one end — it barely matters now.

So now when I look at my carpet I am reminded that life is short and I can smile. I love having a visible reminder that my focus on earth should be God and his glory for eternity. That makes my rug priceless in an entirely different way.