As I sit here in the San stage house, one day, 12 hours before I head to site for the first time, I think of the biggest fear that kept me from applying to the peace corps. In the 12 hours, I will be facing a fear that has reserved me from reaching many of my dreams, many of the things I have wanted to do in my short life, and which I have chosen not to. This fear is loneliness. All who know me well know my biggest fear in life is to be alone. This is not uncommon with youth my age, who have yet to find their true love or companion. Being one in this group, I find myself sitting here, on a cliff, if you will, of my whole life behind me; my fears begging me not to descend into the black hole which if life. Yet, when I wake up tomorrow morning and put my bug hut away I know that I will be, finally, choosing to take this plunge and stop being scared (well kind of).
Being scared is such a part of life. Everything that we do, in some way, has been affected, or will be affected by an inner fear each and every one of us holds dear to our hearts. As I said earlier, my fear is loneliness. Being alone in a village, not being able to communicate, except “I need to eat” and “I’m tired”, is such a terrifying thought for me. Finally, I will be independent, on my own. For the last couple of years my life has turned upside down and completely re-written. I have thought, before this moment, that I have become an independent young woman; I don’t think so. I think the experience that I am about to encounter will make me the independent and responsible woman I WANT to be. It will force me to face my fears, literally and metaphorically. For some of us, we have fears that we can handle at a distance, encountering them only in a safe space of family and friends. For me, for any Peace Corps volunteer, we face this alone. We are forced to grow up and live on our own, in a country we don’t know, with a language we don’t understand (but hopefully will), and on top of all that, all that growing up we HAVE to do, we are expected and branded with a most important task, the task of being a representative of a country. Wow, I think about what I am expected to do here, and that is to be a representative of the United States of America. Shit, that’s deep stuff. I not only have to take care of myself, but I have to take care of an image that means so much to millions of people. I have to be an ambassador of the American dream, American values, American ethics, and the American people. How many people, at the age of 23, can say that is their job? to this date, over 200,000 people, and I am one of them. I am one of the lucky ones who gets to be a leader for the American people, on the ground of another country. I am blessed to learn another language, be a “middle gender” and discuss issues that normally would never be contemplated. I am here for the people, the Malian people and the American people.
Having this task on my back, I feel, has made this fear of mine grow exponentially. I am so afraid of being alone, and now I have to not only combat my fear but succeed when others have failed, I can not fail, I will not fail. In this book that I am reading, the writer says: “She was simply numb, her mind having absorbed all the fear it could, like a sponge saturated with water; after a while the fear became a constant, cold companion, a simple fact of existence”. This has been my life for the last 23 years; so consumed with fear that I have been unable to exist in any other context. I am done. I am no longer afraid. I am ready to confront these fears and be ok with an outcome that does not match my dreams. I have been avoiding opening the door because I am so afraid of what is on the other side. But I don’t want to live that way, with fear controlling my every move and decision. I want to love my dad so much, that I have been resisting opening that door, in fear that what I will find on the other side will banish my love for him. I cannot live like that any more.
In essence, this blog posting was a reassurance to myself that I can do this. I am strong enough, I am able enough, I am courageous enough to embrace the future. I don’t know what will happen, but I hope to think that my past experiences will have “toughened me up”. I hope to think I am strong enough now to overcome any feat that may or may not impede its way on my path of life. So tomorrow when I leave the safety of this stage house and embark on a new journey, a journey to my new home, I will go with gusto, and as my grandmother would say “hello world, here I come”.
- This blog post is dedicated to my dear and closest friend Frosty, who with her strength and courage, made it possible for me to be here today.
Friday, April 15, 2011
Friday, April 8, 2011
What the F*** am I doing here?
There has been talk recently among other Peace Corps volunteers and trainees about the age old question each of us has had to and must answer eventually: why the F*** am I here? Now to some of you at home, you’re probably thinking “why hasn’t she already answered this question?, you should probably have know what you were going to do before you left all your friends and family for a country half a world away!”. This is my time to answer, or begin to answer that question. I worn you though, this blog might appear to resemble a soapbox session. It is.
Many of you know my past. It is not pretty, like many others who have come before me, and that is ok. I love my family and would not change them for the world. For this reason, I have had the opportunity to learn some “life lessons” that many have yet to experience. The first time I left home for a country abroad I was running away. I was running away from my family, from my past, from my fears and from the inevitable future. This time, I have left for another reason, which I am starting to discover.
I graduated college and moved myself, packed up my belongs, everything that defines who I am in boxes and moved to Africa. Definition and identity are strange concepts. We all like to say that we are individualistic and unique; “there is only one of me”. In reality, I think, it is otherwise. We are all defined; our identities are shaped by what we do. In college and for a long time, I was defined as an athlete. I was a rower. Everything about me was a rower. Being a rower made it ok that I was 6 foot and 180 pounds. I would tell myself it was ok to eat that one sandwich or wear that size 14 pair of pants because I was a rower and you wanted to be big. Being a rower became so much engraved in my identity that once I realized I needed to stop, it was one of the hardest things I had ever done, and it took me 3 years to do it! My mom always said I was stubborn ☺. When I stopped rowing, I still faked my identity and would say “I can’t row because I got injured”. This was true, but if I really wanted to continue, I could have. I could have gone to more physical therapy, I could be careful to NOT workout (which I would purposefully do just to get injured again and have my excuse). I realized, by the end of my forth year in college, my whole identity was scattered. The only place I felt normal, where people did not criticize me for my faults were when I was with my sorority sisters. These women looked at the fact that I worked out every day as a triumph, and not what number I pulled on the erg. They saw that I did something and praised me for actually going through with a plan. Even my family would criticize me sometimes. They would say “wow, you’re looking fat today”, and although I would want them to say that so I could keep myself in track, a part of my confidence would always go down the drain. Anyways, I was talking about identity. My identity was shattered when I stopped rowing and when I graduated college. I felt lost. I felt know one could understand what I had been going through (which was a feeling I realized was consistent for much of my life).
Sooo…..I decided on the Peace Corps. Not to lie, this idea has been gathering in my mind for many years, but I never had the courage to go through with it. I always envisioned them leaving me in the middle of a village and me being so scared of that idea I never actually turned in the application. Now, I had filled out around 5 or 6 applications before, but never clicked the “apply” button. Through the application process for the PC I was always excited to go, but knew that I could not get too excited because I had know idea what I was getting myself into. I was going in blind. I had never gone in blind before. I had this idea of “saving the world” and “making a difference”, which right now, as I write this, sounds soooo stupid.
I am writing this blog right now, being on my soap box, to partly remind myself of why I am here, what I have learned and to complete one of the goals of the Peace Corps, which is cross cultural exchange. I have been here for 2 months. In this two months and I have discovered that 1) I am meant to be here. I always told myself that this was the right journey and direction to be going on, the right path to precede with, and I am happy to say I was right (for once in my life). 2) The people here, the Malians, are a breed of their own. Out of every person I have meet in my travels and at home I have never experienced anyone so kind, loving, welcoming and warm as every Malian I have met here. They care about family, relationships, their personal values and morals. Everything here happens in a family. You eat with your family, you drink tea with your family, you work with your family to support your family, and everyone participates. This concept, for westerners, sounds strange. We call it child labor; they say: “family participation”. We say electricity; they say why do you need it? We say individualism; they say family. Now, I am not dissing America and our values, I just feel like we, Americans, have so much to learn from Malians. We need to learn the value of family, learn how to get along with someone out of respect and friendship, even if we might not agree on certain points. We need to learn the concept of working together, for a common cause. We are so individualist that sometimes, I feel, in my opinion, we forget about the important things in life. I sit here and think, yes I don’t have electricity but that means that at night I sit with my family and play cards under the moonlight. To see the stars, to actually see them, is a spectacular vision. No I don’t have a toilet, but I do have the opportunity to be sensitized to another culture and to appreciate a nice clean lu (when I get home of course).
Now, back to my original question, which to all of you who are reading I am sorry (I went on a little tangent there for a bit), why the F*** am I here. I am here, simply, because I can be here, because I made a choice to give 2 years of my life to helping someone and learning about them. I am here because I can be here. I am healthy, have a supportive family, and a set of amazing friends who accept me for my crazy adventures. I am here because in this world, there are people who are intelligent, beautiful people on the inside and out, who just have been born into circumstances that are at a disadvantage to others. The Malian government asked me (well the PC) to come educate and sensitize their communities and peoples about topics. This act of welfare was an act of courage, an act of strength. They understand that we can help and have enough bravery to ask. That simple act, to ask for help, is something that we, in America, I feel sometimes view as detrimental and a sign of weakness. Actually understanding a problem and realizing that you cant figure it out yourself, which leads one to ask for help, is simply one of the most powerful actions one can do.
So the Malian government has asked us to come here and do what? To assimilate into their culture and to learn; to teach Malians about water sanitation, that there are things called germs and that if you simply wash your hands with soap and water your kids or parents or friends wont get sick; to build wells and pumps, to teach about loans, capital and how to strengthen personal economic values. We are here not to change a country, but to add to it; we are here to give this country a chance. A chance to use the intelligent people it has and its natural resources to grow personally, economically and physically, a chance to develop. We are here not to “change the world” but to plant a seed. Knowing that one child washes his/her hands and therefore preventing illness is more important than giving a family Western toilets, or washing machines or forks and knifes. If we can plant a seed and help ONE person, just one, in one way or another, my job here is done.
So that is why I am here. I am here to learn, to teach and to grow. I am here because I chose to be here, because I am able.
Many of you know my past. It is not pretty, like many others who have come before me, and that is ok. I love my family and would not change them for the world. For this reason, I have had the opportunity to learn some “life lessons” that many have yet to experience. The first time I left home for a country abroad I was running away. I was running away from my family, from my past, from my fears and from the inevitable future. This time, I have left for another reason, which I am starting to discover.
I graduated college and moved myself, packed up my belongs, everything that defines who I am in boxes and moved to Africa. Definition and identity are strange concepts. We all like to say that we are individualistic and unique; “there is only one of me”. In reality, I think, it is otherwise. We are all defined; our identities are shaped by what we do. In college and for a long time, I was defined as an athlete. I was a rower. Everything about me was a rower. Being a rower made it ok that I was 6 foot and 180 pounds. I would tell myself it was ok to eat that one sandwich or wear that size 14 pair of pants because I was a rower and you wanted to be big. Being a rower became so much engraved in my identity that once I realized I needed to stop, it was one of the hardest things I had ever done, and it took me 3 years to do it! My mom always said I was stubborn ☺. When I stopped rowing, I still faked my identity and would say “I can’t row because I got injured”. This was true, but if I really wanted to continue, I could have. I could have gone to more physical therapy, I could be careful to NOT workout (which I would purposefully do just to get injured again and have my excuse). I realized, by the end of my forth year in college, my whole identity was scattered. The only place I felt normal, where people did not criticize me for my faults were when I was with my sorority sisters. These women looked at the fact that I worked out every day as a triumph, and not what number I pulled on the erg. They saw that I did something and praised me for actually going through with a plan. Even my family would criticize me sometimes. They would say “wow, you’re looking fat today”, and although I would want them to say that so I could keep myself in track, a part of my confidence would always go down the drain. Anyways, I was talking about identity. My identity was shattered when I stopped rowing and when I graduated college. I felt lost. I felt know one could understand what I had been going through (which was a feeling I realized was consistent for much of my life).
Sooo…..I decided on the Peace Corps. Not to lie, this idea has been gathering in my mind for many years, but I never had the courage to go through with it. I always envisioned them leaving me in the middle of a village and me being so scared of that idea I never actually turned in the application. Now, I had filled out around 5 or 6 applications before, but never clicked the “apply” button. Through the application process for the PC I was always excited to go, but knew that I could not get too excited because I had know idea what I was getting myself into. I was going in blind. I had never gone in blind before. I had this idea of “saving the world” and “making a difference”, which right now, as I write this, sounds soooo stupid.
I am writing this blog right now, being on my soap box, to partly remind myself of why I am here, what I have learned and to complete one of the goals of the Peace Corps, which is cross cultural exchange. I have been here for 2 months. In this two months and I have discovered that 1) I am meant to be here. I always told myself that this was the right journey and direction to be going on, the right path to precede with, and I am happy to say I was right (for once in my life). 2) The people here, the Malians, are a breed of their own. Out of every person I have meet in my travels and at home I have never experienced anyone so kind, loving, welcoming and warm as every Malian I have met here. They care about family, relationships, their personal values and morals. Everything here happens in a family. You eat with your family, you drink tea with your family, you work with your family to support your family, and everyone participates. This concept, for westerners, sounds strange. We call it child labor; they say: “family participation”. We say electricity; they say why do you need it? We say individualism; they say family. Now, I am not dissing America and our values, I just feel like we, Americans, have so much to learn from Malians. We need to learn the value of family, learn how to get along with someone out of respect and friendship, even if we might not agree on certain points. We need to learn the concept of working together, for a common cause. We are so individualist that sometimes, I feel, in my opinion, we forget about the important things in life. I sit here and think, yes I don’t have electricity but that means that at night I sit with my family and play cards under the moonlight. To see the stars, to actually see them, is a spectacular vision. No I don’t have a toilet, but I do have the opportunity to be sensitized to another culture and to appreciate a nice clean lu (when I get home of course).
Now, back to my original question, which to all of you who are reading I am sorry (I went on a little tangent there for a bit), why the F*** am I here. I am here, simply, because I can be here, because I made a choice to give 2 years of my life to helping someone and learning about them. I am here because I can be here. I am healthy, have a supportive family, and a set of amazing friends who accept me for my crazy adventures. I am here because in this world, there are people who are intelligent, beautiful people on the inside and out, who just have been born into circumstances that are at a disadvantage to others. The Malian government asked me (well the PC) to come educate and sensitize their communities and peoples about topics. This act of welfare was an act of courage, an act of strength. They understand that we can help and have enough bravery to ask. That simple act, to ask for help, is something that we, in America, I feel sometimes view as detrimental and a sign of weakness. Actually understanding a problem and realizing that you cant figure it out yourself, which leads one to ask for help, is simply one of the most powerful actions one can do.
So the Malian government has asked us to come here and do what? To assimilate into their culture and to learn; to teach Malians about water sanitation, that there are things called germs and that if you simply wash your hands with soap and water your kids or parents or friends wont get sick; to build wells and pumps, to teach about loans, capital and how to strengthen personal economic values. We are here not to change a country, but to add to it; we are here to give this country a chance. A chance to use the intelligent people it has and its natural resources to grow personally, economically and physically, a chance to develop. We are here not to “change the world” but to plant a seed. Knowing that one child washes his/her hands and therefore preventing illness is more important than giving a family Western toilets, or washing machines or forks and knifes. If we can plant a seed and help ONE person, just one, in one way or another, my job here is done.
So that is why I am here. I am here to learn, to teach and to grow. I am here because I chose to be here, because I am able.
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