The Annual Letter - 2010

December, 2010

It’s December 31st, 2010, and I am just now sitting down to write the annual letter. Call it writer’s block or whatever, but for some reason this entire year I have found it difficult to write about much of anything. That difficulty has now made its impact on our annual letter.

Certainly, 2010 has been another eventful year for our family. We have not moved, though I did go through a major job change. Melia is teaching 1st grade again. Tanner started his freshman year of high school. We traveled east over the summer to visit my extended family and learn some kite-boarding in the Atlantic Ocean. As always, there was lots of soccer. There were no significant injuries to report, though emotionally we all were given pause when I worked in Afghanistan in February. In fact, it was that experience that ultimately led, I believe, to the decisions that brought us to the outlook and place we find ourselves today.

Peering into the future is always a dangerous guess as you end up gambling on events that have yet to transpire. As someone who thrives on idealism, vision, and risk-taking, I have often found the temptation to look ahead too strong. I have never dwelt much in the past, rather it has been the future that has stolen my allegiance. But I am learning. I am learning and working to spend more time in the present. And I can pinpoint the exact moment in 2010 when that lesson started.

In February, I realized a dream of mine when I landed the opportunity to work in Afghanistan for Amnesty International. I was appointed as researcher on a mission to explore, understand and address the plight of Internally Displaced People (IDPs) who have been uprooted because of the ongoing conflict as well as deteriorating economic conditions. My heritage comes from the Persian/Arabic part of the world, so to work amongst people who knew my face was redemptive. I traveled all over the country and shared stories with very brave and enduring people. The hospitality extended me was overwhelming and humbling. I have been to every continent and in all my travels I honestly cannot think of another group of people with more strength, resilience, and heart.

Of course, this resilience comes from generations of conflict. From Genghis Khan and Alexander the Great to the Soviets and the Taliban, Afghanistan is a place that has been raped and pillaged by everyone else throughout history. Now, conflicting parties fight a war in their yard once again. Caught in the middle, most Afghans long for a peace they can only imagine. Daily life wraps seamlessly around military convoys, gunfire, the threat of kidnapping, IED’s, and suicide bombings. It was one of these bombings that literally got my attention at 6:30am on a Friday morning.

Roughly 300m from my guesthouse, a car bomb exploded, blowing me across my bed and shattering the front window of our dining hall. As I collected my thoughts, I also collected my grab-bag and ran out to our designated safe area to assess what was happening. For the next 3 hours, gunfire could be heard just outside the walls. We needed to stay put so for the next few hours I attempted to find ways of exercising out my adrenaline. We watched CNN to learn what was happening on the streets around our guesthouse. I called home to make sure all knew that I was ok. I called London to do the same with my colleagues. I contemplated those who face these dangers everyday. And I thought about all the communities and people I had interacted with around the world during the last several years in my work. As chaos rained outside, I realized that all I really had was that moment and I wanted more moments, as much as I could possibly control, to be spent with my family.

Human rights work can be personally devastating. To be exposed on a daily basis to the worst that humanity does to each other and itself has the potential to steal your very soul. Of course, there are heroic examples of people everyday combating conflict, poverty, oppression, disease, and disenfranchisement but too often than not there is the steady tide of despair that threatens to overwhelm. Our family lives with the strange tension of knowing peace and prosperity while much of humanity in which we share this place lives with only theoretical knowledge of such concepts. We work hard to not take it for granted, but it is indeed hard work. My moment in Afghanistan is in every essence minimal compared to what people endure there daily. That car-bomb killed 17 Indian doctors, killed by Taliban from Pakistan for simply being from India. As I stood at the bombsite 5 hours later, I was moved by the brutal force of raw violence that most of us only view as entertainment on our TVs, as well as the sheer irrationality of the whole ordeal. Again, these moments sped my mind to home and to the three other people I have chosen ultimate allegiance to.

So, I went home. Over the course of the next several months, I left my position as a Human Rights Researcher and Campaigner with Amnesty International and took a job in Corporate Environmental and Social Responsibility in the Denver area that keeps me home a lot more. I still travel, but I am home more often than not. I am coaching Konner’s soccer team. I am at most of Tanner’s games. And most importantly, Melia and I are taking small steps in renewing our relationship and the commitments we hold to this family we both have been gifted with.

In now our 20th year together as a family, we have found ways to survive. But this past year, we as a family are enjoying a renewal with a deeper appreciation for each other and for our identity together. There is no substitute for being home, being around, being together. Watching Tanner grow from a child into a young man, full of questions and energy and life is both taxing and exciting. Konner continues to challenge us with his propensity for risk-taking and adventure, a trait in him I both fear and am proud of. Both boys continue to excel at soccer, but now have added skateboarding and long-boarding to their athletic repertoire. But they are not the sum of their talents and activities. They are great kids simply and completely because of who they are.

Our year was full of some of the traditional events including Cousin Camp, Thanksgiving in Missouri, and a quiet Christmas here at home. But these events had an underlying theme of renewal for us. Time together playing texas hold’em, or in a car on a cross-country trip, or skiing together in our Colorado mountains – these everyday activities have an increased sense of importance for us these days. Maybe it is because we do peer into the future a bit and can see a day when our kids will be moving on. Or maybe it is more of a sense of gratefulness that despite all that goes on around us in this mad world, we are still here and still together. We are fully aware that this is no small thing. Indeed, my thoughts still wander to the corners of our globe where such things are not the in the landscape. But right now, I need to be home.

It snowed 5 inches here yesterday. Outside my window, the air is cold and the streets and yards are painted white. Tanner is on his way out the door to his friend Quinn’s house to snowboard and no doubt concoct some plan to build some sort of jump. Konner is eating lunch with his friend Eli in our kitchen, and he as well is headed out to go sledding. Melia is taking down Christmas decorations. Stig the dog is chewing his squeeze toy. And I am sitting on this couch trying to encapsulate all that these scenes mean to me on a page. I can’t.

This year much of the world recognized that it has been 30 years since John Lennon was killed. During that week, all I could think of were his lyrics, “All we are saying is give peace a chance.” The lords of war amongst us scoff at such idealism but the Christ of Christmas was called the Prince of Peace. It is not too much to ask, both in our homes and around our world. I hope this season and moreover the coming year for you and yours is one of peace, in your homes and yes, around our mad world.

As-Salaamu `Alaykum


Andrew, Melia, Tanner & Konner Syed