I turned in my final bid list this morning. It’s out of my hands. After spending the last couple of days obsessively tinkering, moving one post up a slot, one down, like there’s really that huge a difference between 21st and 22nd place, I can quit thinking about it.
I’m not that thrilled with my final list, overall. The timing rules turned out to be a bit stricter than I had originally thought, and various quirks in my schedule and FSI’s class schedule limit my options – with a very few exceptions – to English-speaking jobs. I have some exciting options at the top, fun-sounding reporting jobs in a variety of exotic cosmopolitan cities my friends and family would be delighted to visit me in. The middle is essentially made up of consular jobs in nice locales, so the work might be a bit out of my main interests but the rest of the time would be fun. The bottom is largely filled with jobs like the one I have now, in tiny, isolated African countries. Been there, done that, ready to move on.
I’m told that most people coming out of a first tour in Conakry end up with one of their top five picks for tour number two, so I’m not really that concerned about getting my #30 job. But there are no guarantees. I’ve done what I can do: I expressed my preferences, made my desires known. Now the best thing is to put it out of my mind until the day I get the portentous email revealing my fate for the next 2-3 years. That should be Augustish, for those of you who like to plan your travel well in advance.