“It’s partly that, but it’s a little bit more selfish, I’m afraid.” I shifted in my chair, the conversation making me a little restless. This was never easy for me. I was so much better at listening to people’s problems than asking for help about my own.

“The thing is, even though there’s a lot about this work I love—and it’s definitely meaningful—I’m not sure it’s really what I want to do. My dad did this kind of work, and he was great at it. It was his calling, you know? Everyone I’ve ever met overseas who worked with him always talks about him with such reverence. I just don’t know if it’s what I’m meant to do.”

I felt exposed and vulnerable for talking about this. The one huge thing that I’d always known but never wanted to look at so closely.

But when I brought my gaze up to Elias, there was no judgment in his eyes. Then he spoke, and I felt something that I rarely did, even with Lucía. Elias got me. “This work is not for everyone. Even for those who love it, after some time, it makes sense to move on.”

I breathed in deeply and slowly exhaled before answering, feeling like this conversation was loosening something that had been coiled tightly in my chest for as long as I could remember, sapping my energy without me knowing. “I started out wanting to follow in his footsteps, not just for myself so much, but for my mom. When my dad died, it was like a light went out inside of her, and I was desperate to turn it back on.”

I shook my head at the memories of those first few months after my dad died, when we were both like husks walking around our house, obfuscated from grief.

“For a long time, the only moments when she would light up were when she talked about their work and the places they’d been. What they’d done together. I wanted to give some of that back to her, but now I need something different. And it makes me feel like shit because it’s an honor to do this work.”