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.
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