Watson Year Suicide

On March 15, 2019 (a year ago, to the day) I was given the best news of my life.

 Congratulations Samantha,

    You have been selected to join the 51st Class of Thomas J. Watson Fellows!

On July 29, 2019, I drove to the SeaTac International Airport overwhelmed with emotion.

I dropped off Sylvia, my beautiful tortoiseshell cat, and sped away from all of my community in Tacoma. Elton John’s voice echoed through Dante, my 2012 Black Fiat 500, that day.
In Dante’s trunk, my Breville Conical Burr Grinder, my 6 Cup Chemex, and every book I owned over my four years at the University of Puget Sound. I met my mom, my aunt, and my cousin Abby at the Departures desk.

My mom handed me over thirty letters and cards to accompany me on my year. I haphazardly stuffed them into my suitcase, with the exception of one:

“Open On Your Flight to The Netherlands:” “Sam, I am so proud of you.” - Mom

I have opened each other letter in due time –

“Open When You Feel Sick:” (Two doses of NyQuil Gel Caps were found inside, I used both of them within my first week in the Netherlands, damn those Dutch baptisms.)

“Open When You’re Missing Blue Copper:” “Sam, baby! I miss you! Have a cappuccino on me! - Kenzi.”

There are still some letters I have yet to open.

“Open on Mother’s Day”

“Open When You Need To Smile”

etc.

Unfortunately, my mom didn’t have the foresight for this letter:

“Open When a Global Pandemic Erupts and You Have to Decide to Stay Out in the World or Come Back to the U.S.A.”
—————————-

The Coronavirus has wreaked havoc on the world. Every single community, everywhere I have been, has been impacted in one way or another. From the Netherlands to Argentina to Indonesia, people are out of work. People are scared.

I am no exception.

My itinerary to Colombia was made suddenly unviable a day after booking it. Their president, Iván Duque Márquez, closed their borders to anyone who has been in Asia in the past two weeks. (He has now closed the Colombian borders to anyone but citizens, nationals, and diplomats.)  

So, I planned to go to Chile – however, that move felt inappropriate. A last ditch effort to stay out in the world – not for the sake of my project, but for the sake of not returning home.

 I sat on the phone with Qantas and CheapOaire for a cumulative twelve hours yesterday.

“We are currently experiencing an unprecedented demand and high call volume. If your flight is not within the next seven days, please send our customer service team an email and they will get back to you in a few hours.”

“We strongly recommend buying travel insurance.”

“We will be with you momentarily.”

“Thank you for choosing Qantas, your call is important to us. A Customer Service Specialist will be with you shortly. The current wait time is between five  hours and thirty-seven minutes and six hours.”

“Thank you for continuing to hold.”

I never got through.  

Chile was no longer an option.

(And, staying in Indonesia isn’t an option either. My project is slowly falling to pieces here, as it would anywhere.)

 --——————————————

For those of you who know me, I have wanted The Watson since I was a sophomore at UPS. I fought tooth and nail for it.

I have cried over it more times than I can count. At my Honors Senior Thesis Presentation. To Syliva. In my interview with the Foundation.

And, today, I will cry for it once more.

————————————-

Out of all of my identities, my identity as a Watson Fellow is the one I am proudest of.

Because a Watson Fellow embodies everything that I desire to be.

Bold. Brave. Courageous. Kind. Intelligent. Adventurous. Naïve. Patient.

I did this.

I did this for myself.

However, I am pulling the trigger on this year.

Killing off this identity, at least as I once knew it.

I’ll be flying home to the States on Wednesday.

And, I’d be lying if it didn’t hurt like hell.

Because it hurts like hell.

I see this darkness around me.

And, it feels like forgetting. It feels lonely.

But, I am certain that journeying home, is the most true-to-Watson-Fellow-doctrine-move I can make in this moment. It feels disingenuous to be out in the world right now. Not to mention, my project is quickly becoming unviable wherever I am. And, don’t get me wrong, Bali is beautiful. But, I’d rather be closer to my family and community than on some fucking beach with a bunch of tourists.

More importantly, as a suicidologist, I am certain that this viral epidemic is so much larger than those dying in hospital beds. People’s lives are changing drastically and dramatically. And, it feels fake to go on with my project as though nothing is wrong.

So, I will fly back to the U.S.A. to study suicide as it relates to an International Pandemic. (lol).

But, really, I have every intention to get in touch with both local and international governments and their coroners to track their suicide rates during this time.

And, who knows, maybe this will all blow over and I’ll be back in Bali before mid-April. But, I’d rather be cautious than caviler. (Indeed, I’m trying to find virtue in this. Thx for that, Aristotle.)

All I know, is that difficult decisions are difficult because they present two attractive options. They wouldn’t be difficult if we didn’t value their outcomes equally in some way. They are merely different decisions, because they may represent different values we hold. And, when we are forced to choose – we write our narrative – we tell the world who we are.

And, I’m telling you that my choice to return home is my choice to write a narrative for my life that chooses generosity, community, love, courage, and authenticity over pride, ego, and insecurity.

During my self-quarantine, I’ll try my best to finish Infinite Jest (rhyme unintended).

Send some love if you have it.

I don’t know if these tears are because I am sad to be leaving or because I am grateful for the experience.

Because I am, grateful.

Thank you, Nayla.

Thank you, Rose.

Thank you, Brynn.

Thank you, Mushawn.

Thank you, Flo.

Thank you, Nina.

Thank you, Ier.

Thank you, Mica.

Thank you, Marcos.

Thank you, Den.

Thank you, Faraday.

Thank you, Russ.

Thank you, Cherry Beth.

Thank you, Karl.

 Thank you all for your love.

You have made this year special.

This yellow paint makes me want to fucking vomit.

 Sam