Arrival

The plane ride to Chengdu was a difficult one for me. The highlight was watching movies I had wanted to see but never had time to, How to Be Single made me laugh pretty hysterically. Pride and Prejudice and Zombies was just as ridiculous as I had expected. Frozen put me to sleep for an hour, which was a blessing as I had an aisle seat and was extremely uncomfortable for most of the 14-hour flight. Because of our last names, I was sandwiched between Erin and Logan, already my best friends on this trip. The two of them are a godsend. I've been so fortunate to find people already that are kind, generous, funny, sarcastic, and just generally fun to be with.

I have found that a positive attitude in life makes everything easier to handle. Negativity really does breed more negativity, and although when I stepped on the plane I was nervous and scared and missing my family and friends, I was already surrounded by people who were fast becoming my new family. This process can be highly stressful. From day one, entering the Peace Corps is a highly bueracratic process with hoops and slow responses, but as Russ sent me in an email after I arrived, the people you work with, volunteers, staff, site teachers, and students are what make this experience worthwhile. Back home, in my other blogs, I write a lot about how the only way to change anther person's outlook is through education. The only way to make this world a more educated and logical place is also to educate the people. That is why I came to China. To make a difference by educating. It's why I want to be a professor. My TA experience taught me that I am a good, fair, diligent teacher. I am kind and laugh with my students, but I also make them learn. I want to see progress, not perfection. I am not judgmental of their failures, nor do I take it personally, but as a wonderful man once told me, "the best question you can ask yourself and others is, 'why?'" As in, 'why were you late?' Or even, 'why are you struggling?' The why is the most important part when assessing someone's ability and response. Assuming the worst only prevents you from seeing the best.

I kept that in mind when I stepped off the plane in China. We were signed into the country using our PC Passports with their visa stickers and then corralled around the baggage claim where PC Volunteers pulled bags off of the carousel and stacked them for each other. When I had all my bags, I headed to customs thinking it would be a three hour process like when I went to Israel with the US Swimming Team for the Maccabiah. Nope. It was painless. In fact, it was quicker than going through security to get on the plane in the United States. The Chinese were so efficient that everyone (all 80-something) were on the buses and on the way to the hotel in less than 25 minutes. It was incredible.

I sat next to Logan on the way and remarked on the buildings and landscape. It reminded me of Florida with the pink paint jobs and high heat and humidity. The streets were full at 7:00 pm. I watched buildings pass by and thought to myself, 'this is home. This is where I belong right now.' I felt at peace. I felt excitement. The nervousness of the flight was erased the moment that drive started. This is my life, and I'm truly living it, and I'm excited!

Staging

Getting to staging was probably the first time I felt both like a child and an adult going to a job. My parents dropped me off at the airport with my backpacks and my suitcases (two backpacks and two suitcases, a large and small of each) and helped me check my bags then waited by the security checkpoint. My mother had tears in her eyes as I walked through the line getting ready to go on the adventure of a lifetime, equal parts of pride, worry, and excitement crossed her face as I got closer and closer to the checkpoint. My bag was of course rifled through and my reason for traveling to San Francisco questioned. Once my Peace Corps journey was discovered, the bag was still rifled through, but a bit more carefully. I had a block of maple sugar for my host family's gift in their after all, and the man rifling was clearly intrigued by me. I may or may not have flirted with him a little, aka, made his day!

Of course, sitting down at the gate was rough. I called all my best friends and my honey and I either left messages or spoke to them, crying in the messages and managing to send love and light through the ether if they picked up my 7 am phone call. I cried for a while, a strange man hovering nearby until I stared at him with tear filled eyes. I think he wanted the seat next to me but didn't want to ask me to stop crying. There were plenty of other seats. Eventually we boarded and I was in the back of the plane next to a current military service woman. She told me I was serving my country and that so was she and then told me about her autistic son and her trip. Her presence made the flight easier. I slept for some of it and listened to bad 90s alternative to make it feel like I was fresh outbid college going on my first adult adventure. It was somewhere over the Rockies that I realized that was actually true. I am two years out of college and going on my first adult adventure. And I'm not backpacking across Europe or hiking the Appalachian Trail. I'm moving to China for two years to make the world better and serve my country. I'm forcing myself to become the type of person I've always wanted to be. Take that, insurance! 

Upon arrival to San Francisco I felt a little lost. My phone was dying and I needed to get to my hotel. I somehow managed to get to the shuttles where a wonderful flight attendant helped me get my bags into the shuttle and offered me websites that help translate English to over 100 languages. She was very sweet. Of course, Justin and Logan and Oscar were sitting around me and it was quickly revealed that we were all PC volunteers going to China. We became fast friends almost immediately and I'm pretty sure Logan was my misplaced youngest brother, a 23-year-old knitter who loves 60-year-old ladies and is very excited to go with me to karaoke...he's my spirit animal. Oscar, I would find out, would eventually be in my language classes for the next ten weeks, and Justin has the warmest smile of anyone I've ever met, is in his late twenties, and has had ups and downs in his career just like me. I knew as soon as I got onto that shuttle and met those men that I was in the right place surrounded by the right people.

We got to the hotel, checked in, settled in, and met for a beer and then went for dinner. We wandered down the bike path until it was clear there were no restaurants to be found, but there was a man fishing. I coyly asked him about restaurants in the area and he said there were some expensive options, but that the diner we had already dismissed was a good one. I asked him to catch me a fish and told him that he was standing in a patch of asparagus that would be a nice side dish if he were to make me dinner before we walked off to go to the diner. Oscar and Logan laughed at my flirtation. I told them that was nothing...

My roommate Erin texted me to tell me she was there and I headed back to meet her. She gave me a hug as I walked in the door...another affirmation of correct choices. We headed down at 4:00 to register and I, of course, asked Russel Evans about our chest x-rays as mine had become slightly crumpled during the flight. I said, "it's hard to see my beautiful......chest...." As I waved my hand around my chest, realizing the sexual nature but not completely registering the appropriate/inappropriate level...hey, it's me after all. Russ was speechless before laughing. My crumpled x-rays would be fine.

We all met in a conference room to hear Russ speak and welcome us to Staging where I became a group leader by default. The group leaders got together after learning our Staging itinerary to go over our additional duties. I took them very seriously.

A few people went into San Francisco that night, but most of us simply had dinner in groups and went to bed, eager to start our journey the next day. Erin and I got up early and took showers, called loved ones, and made our way down to the lobby to get breakfast and get ready to go. I had to collect funds for tips and give our ribbons to my group members. I once again acted like this was the most important job in the world. I like to get my duties done first and relax later. It's in my blood. A man, Michael, in my group had  family present to see him off and they sweetly talked to me and asked me to look out for him. I said that I certainly would. We became Facebook friends, he was mortified. I laughed. I believe my mom would have done the same thing.

I hugged our bus driver and told him he was awesome. He told me he wanted another hug at the airport. Russ said goodbye to us and stepped off the bus...and finally, we were off on our buses to go to the airport. 

The Precipice

It's 2:15 am. I went to bed around 9 pm. I've been working like a mad woman the past few days, getting things organized in my place and packing four bags for two years in China. I've repacked these bags over ten times, weighing, reorganizing, getting frustrated, doing it all again. I purchased the essentials: Old Bay, a charger adapter for China, and various matching accessories for my flight. I have switched the outfit I will wear four times and set my alarm for 4:30 am (I woke up at 1:30 am and haven't been able to fall back asleep). I've received text messages, phone calls, emails, visits, packing help, hugs, tears, love, and prideful encouragement. My phone keeps pinging from WeChat messages being received from other sleepless volunteers. We are already bonding as family although we have never met as we stand on the precipice of what is to probably become the greatest adventure we will ever embark upon. We are laughing, crying, and commiserating over the reality of our choice to do something many people would never even dream of doing.

My cousin and I found a "peace keeper's" fake tattoo in my stuff the other day and I boldly put it on, knowing my mother would say, "well that's ugly" (she did) but not caring, because doing something a little childish just felt fun and liberating in the moment. 

My mother is right, it is quite ugly...

Over the past few weeks, I've been forced to realize the gravity of my decisions. My mother, the closest person in the world to me, goes from being more proud of me than I ever thought possible, to being absolutely distraught. My brother, unable to visit from Florida before I leave, remains unable to process exactly what he feels, but always tells me how proud of his big sister he is and that when he goes to tables in the restaurant where he works, he tells complete strangers I'm going to China with the Peace Corps. My dad, well, he's my dad, and he just smiles and pretends like none of this affects him, but I can tell when he comes over and pats my shoulder, the mixture of pride and frustration over the knowledge that I will not be just a car ride away is weighing heavy upon him, as he tries to make the last few days easier for me by not showing how much he will miss me and worry. My family members have traveled to visit me from NYC, Asheville, and Houston and have told me how much they love/envy/are just so stinking proud of me. My friends have rallied behind me. I've been told how much I mean to these extended "chosen" family members. I've been hugged and cried on and loved. I have heard that I'm a "safe space" and that these wonderful people don't know what they will do without my solid and constant presence and listening ear. I can say with confidence: you will all be okay! You are all smart, funny, and perfectly capable of running your own lives! 

My anxiety has been an 11 on a scale of 1-10. I haven't meditated enough. I've been too busy. My schedule has forced a back seat to my immediate stress levels and mental health. I'm looking forward to just sitting at the departure gate at Reagan, way too early in the morning, crying by myself as I say to myself, "oh geez, what in the world have I gotten myself into?!?!"

Last night I spoke to a special person and they said to me, "you are leaving me for that side chick China," as if China was my mistress. I sort of liked that. I'm going to spend two years with my side chick, ya'll, and I'm going to have a relationship with her. I'm going to eat spicy noodles at dinner and pretend it's no problem to impress her, grinning as my eyes tear and I nod to the waiter to bring more water please, saying, 'no, don't stop refilling until it basically spills over the top....' with watery eyes. Nod....smile. I'm going to laugh at her jokes, even though I can't understand a word of Mandarin, smiling and nodding as I think, 'dafuq did she just say?' I'm going to mime "bathroom" when I have to pee, as her voice gets louder in her native tongue, frustrated that I don't just understand, and I'll just give up and look for international signs of female and male to blissfully empty my bladder within a private space. I'll probably stand against walls right inside my apartment and sigh, allowing them to prop me up after my first sunset and sunrise with her, and when she's a fickle bitch, I'll sit on the floor and cry, wishing I had brought that chocolate bar everybody told me was essential. Then I'll unpack my first love's memories like the Old Bay and brick of maple sugar I carefully wrapped and placed in my carry on luggage and look through pictures of the good old U.S. Of A. when things were super fly and I'll miss that original lover, crying over the "good times." Maybe I'll even wish they could meet, a polyamorous blend of the old love and the new love intersecting in a perfect blend of magical bliss. I'll caress articles of clothing from both relationships and when I unroll my travel yoga mat, I'll say, 'it was different this time, but still good, and no, the size doesn't matter...' And if I'm really lucky, I'll introduce her to some of my closest friends from home when they come for a visit, showing them the places we've built the solid foundation of love and trust upon, "oh, once we took a stroll across that bridge and fed the ducks, and see that restaurant? That was the first time we had spicy noodles and I CRIED! At the table! Oh! And that over there? That's where I fell down and instead of laughing at me, she sent a local to help me up, brushing me off and speaking to me unintelligibly, and that spot over there is where I realized that I Ioved her for the first time, no, not there....there, under that tree. I was sitting there meditating with my mala beads, repeating my mantra in my head, and it hit me....this is my home and I love her."

I am on the precipice. I am standing on the edge, looking into the abyss that is my future, and I'm ready to jump.

A 33-Year-Old Volunteer

Over the last few weeks I've come to realize that being a 33-year-old volunteer in the Peace Corps is a little different from being a younger or older volunteer. I'm at a point in my life where many of my peers are getting married, having children, or really taking off in their careers. I made a change a few years ago and left a career I was highly unhappy in to go back to school to study a topic that most people love studying, but avoid majoring in because there is very little financial benefit to doing so. Clearly from my choice to both major in that and then volunteer overseas for two years, I am not one of those people concerned with the financial benefit of my choices...

Of course, as I pack up my condo with (A LOT of) help from my friends and family, I began realizing the subtle differences of being a little older and a little younger than the average Peace Corps volunteer. For one, I have a completely stocked home. From my Kitchenaid mixer to my fine art, everything has a place, a use, and a value. I have organized my home, but as I rip through documents, clothing, and items used for crafting/hobbies/outdoor sports, I see just how much stuff I have accumulated over the years. Books are highly sentimental, yet I pack them into bins headed for Goodwill or the second-hand bookstore with childlike abandon, happy to see the "things" I own disappear into a new life. 

I am ready for it all to be gone. Short of a few books, clothing items, and sporting equipment, the only things I care about are my family heirlooms and my bedroom furniture. Yet I feel pressured to keep things that have little to no value other than sentimental. My teenage journals are on the chopping block, yet my cousin and aunt and best friends look horrified and gasp when I admit I have no further use for words I wrote fifteen to twenty years ago that hold nothing but the memory of difficult emotional years. Why would I keep them? To remind myself of dark times when my future is so bright? It makes little to no sense to me, yet I will dutifully pack them into clear plastic bins along with masks bought for masquerade balls and socks labeled with my favorite sports teams. Because maybe, just maybe, one day I will want to read those pain filled words and see the art I and others created within the pages. 

Younger volunteers who have a less established residence don't seem to share this hellacious ordeal. I see my fellow volunteers describing last-minute trips and basking in the glow of sun on hikes while I slowly toil away making trips to Goodwill and my parent's basement. I am both envious of these people and grateful that I'm doing this now and will have the experience to accumulate less stuff for the rest of my life. Those of them that come back and nest will only have to go through this process themselves in ten to fifteen years when they move residences, although they will have the ability to take it all with them, where I unceremoniously shove glasses and culottes alike into trash bags headed for the dump or a second-hand store. I do try to save as much as I can for a second life somewhere, hoping that someone else will get use out of these items I so often remember buying for specific purposes. When the item is out of site, does the memory fade? Possibly, but the most important ones are triggered so often by sights and smells of leaves blowing in the breeze or the scent of bread baking. The things don't hold the meaning. My synapses do, so item after item gets piled away, ready to go to a new home.

Older volunteers are often able to keep their stuff in their homes, simply turning off water and electricity, possibly laying big white sheets, like in old movies, over their precious furniture, and set up bank accounts to pay their mortgages and basic bills from retirement accounts, so they don't have to even touch the items of their past, leaving them encased within the walls of their home for inspection on a distant day, in the future, once their adventure with the Peace Corps is over.

I do not have that luxury. I cannot financially afford that at this stage in my life, so I am purging nearly all of the stuff I own to make way for a new and what I hope, better life. I did go to my former employer and set up a will and medical directive. I signed up for life insurance and set up a deposit and pay system for my existing bills. I spoke to family and friends and wrote letters to each of them. I said goodbye to some and so long to others. I had a big party thrown for me by my mother and father where over twenty people came to show their support and love for me, even telling me that I was their "safe space," and that they will miss me terribly. I said goodbye to two loves, one former, where we cried a little, hugged a little, and when our embrace broke, we knew it was probably for the last time ever. I watched my current love struggle with a family emergency a few days before my departure and have to cancel the very last night we would spend together to go to Alabama and be with his family. I saw the internal struggle cross through his features as he realized...'I need to go, but I want to stay here and hold you, because I won't be able to for two years and I need that too.' I heard him say, "I have to go...it's the right thing," and I agreed, even though my heart was breaking at the thought of not really being able to say goodbye, or saying the things that lovers say to each other when they part for long periods of time. Because as an adult, I realize that life throws curve balls at us and the true measure of our worth lies in the way we handle those situations. I would like my worth to measured by resilience and grace. 

Of course, I am not alone in this process. My parents have supported and helped me every single step of the way. My friends have walked through the process with me, packing, hauling off items, and generally just being the bubbly and upbeat personalities that I have come to know and love. I have been highly stressed the last few days and my aunt and cousin came to help me and see me before I leave. In my anxiety, I sat down, asked them both in an exasperated voice, "can I get you some water?" And my aunt, in true Cari fashion said, "can I get you some water?" We all laughed. The tension broke in me. I was able to keep packing. And where I am not as lucky to have a partner present holding my hand and directing traffic for me, I am so relieved to have family and friends that I do, helping me carry boxes and making me laugh every step of the way.

My Truth

Last night I got to drive out of Washington, DC and look at the monuments that have so clearly defined "home" for me the last over decade of my life. I drove away knowing that I may never see them again and probably not for at least two years. I drove away from a hotel where one of the most amazing people I have ever met is staying because she just HAD to see me one last time before I leave for China. I drove away knowing that I'm terrified of my next adventure.

I'm not scared in the traditional sense. I'm scared because I am about to find out who I really am. While I go on my journey in the Peace Corps, I'm going to face new challenges. Challenges involving language barriers, cultural differences, and isolation. I'm going to encounter things that I can't even imagine and I'm probably going to do that alone.

Up until this decision, most of my life has been dedicated to helping the people in my life feel better about themselves. At my going away party, after a relatively traumatic event occurred, my friends sat around a fire pit and told me what they knew about me, and almost every single one had the same thing to say, "Meredith is my safe space. The one who listens and doesn't judge and who I call when I just need someone to talk to." I'm amazed at this. It's not that I don't know it's true. It's that I didn't realize how far-reaching my ability to just be present really goes. How much it meant to these people. How much I meant to them. Hearing it out loud changed my view of my place in this world.

As I drove past monuments and buildings dedicated to my country tonight, I felt pride and joy that I'm becoming one of the many volunteers of the United Stares Peace Corps. Living in the DC metro area gives me a unique perspective on this country's culture, politics, and morals. I have been exposed to the best and the brightest. Being a Peace Corps volunteer is not actually that unique here, yet it is. Giving of oneself to one's country for two years, volunteering and growing internally in a foreign land, that is something special anywhere. It sticks out. 

For so much of my life I just wanted to blend in. In second grade I invited the cool girls to my birthday party instead of the girls who were my real friends. I did that because I so desperately wanted to be accepted. As I grew older, I began to realize that being different did not mean I wouldn't be accepted or find wonderful people in my life. In fact, I would argue that it helped me establish one of the kindest, gentlest, most intelligent friend groups I've ever encountered. My unique gifts allowed me to draw people of varying races, religions, and socio-economic backgrounds into my circle and hold them tight. I no longer think that being "normal" is something to strive for. It was that realization that has allowed me to write openly about things some people believe should be "kept private," because I don't care if some people judge me. If I help even one person with my truth, any negative consequence is worth it. I am proud of my journey. It has led me here. I am proud of my country and my family and friends. I hope to serve you well and always tell my truth.