Finding Oneself Through Service

As my newsfeed on FB begins to fill with my friends beginning their long trek across the US from their homes to Black Rock City, I'm reminded of a major life event I haven't undertaken: Burning Man. I've been to regional events and parties. I've volunteered and done ranging shifts. I've found some of my closest friends, yet I've never taken that step. I've never gone to the desert this last week in August to dance, experience art, and just find myself lost in the experience of BM.

Two years ago this week, I went to Utah the week before BM started. I got on a plane with hopes of counseling young minds in the Utah desert at a survival camp for at-risk youth. That dream didn't quite work out for me, but it lead me back home and back to my family and friends. Of course, a year later I applied to the Peace Corps, and now, here I am...in China. My group of trainees swear in today. We commit the next two years of our lives to service to our country and volunteering in our individually placed communities. I look back on the last few years and I am reminded that there are any number of ways to find oneself, to challenge oneself, and to commit oneself to the service of others.

I began my journey attempting to find a place I fit in this world at birth. I've never felt a sense of normalcy or "humanness," in my life. I've always felt like there was a chip missing or that I was somehow different from others. I've felt compelled to go just a little bit further and just a little bit farther. I love adrenaline and extreme sports, and I seek out-of-the-ordinary experiences to fill my life. When I was very little, I tried to fit in, to find that chip that so many other people have, and to find my "place," among the popular girls and the people wanting to get married or settle down. Five years ago, when I first went back to school, I was with a wonderful man who ended up leaving me, accusing me of needing "a big life," by this time, though, I knew something implicitly, "yeah, well, I only get one! I better make it count!" 

So here I am, five years later, no longer stumbling around looking for my place. I'm making it. I'm creating my own future. It doesn't look exactly like what I thought it would and it definitely doesn't look like most everyone else's. I made a different life for myself. I forged a different path. I am dedicating the next two years of my life to serving my country, the country I find myself in, and my students. I joined the Peace Corps because I wanted to give of myself. I wanted to experience a life that was dedicated to being a better person and never giving up on that dream. I made it happen. That's why I have so little sympathy for those who complain about their situations. Do something about it. This world is big and experiences are unlimited. The only limits you truly have are the ones you place on yourself.

I've found my place through service. What will you find when you stop making excuses?

Saying Goodbye to CDU

I woke up before the sun...as I always do, and I began reflecting on my PST so far at CDU. I have learned so much here both about China and about myself. My host family lives a very different life than my family back home. I've seen some wonderful things, some shocking things, and some valuable things. I've fallen in love with a puppy and he's fallen in love with me. I've eaten new foods, had to overcome language barriers, and studied for hours a day. I had one of the worst exams I've ever experienced, feeling like I was completely unprepared for what happened to me once I sat down. I've felt let down and propped up. I sang at KTV and danced in a classroom. Overall, it was a rewarding and significant experience that I will take with me always.

My host family lives at their store most of the time, but I slept in their three-bedroom apartment that they own a block away. It's always been my dream to be able to walk to work. Now I know why. The convenience of having your entire life in just a few city blocks is unparallelled. It's been a fantastic experience walking everywhere I need to go. Shopping in Chengdu is an interesting experience. There are many stores, including convenience stores, fruit sellers on the street, markets, clothing stores, and mini department/CVS stores everywhere, but they all carry the exact same items. Looking for a dress? You can go to your local shop and buy it there or you can go to a mall and buy it there for twice the price! Need a bottle of water? The store underneath your apartment sells them as does the street vendor sitting outside the bus station (be careful there, though, as that same vendor was rifling through the trash looking for empty bottles yesterday...) Would you like a vegetarian pancake wrap? Well, there is an entire line of vendors that set up shop in the evenings less than two blocks away! There are also restaurants everywhere, but only three real varieties: noodle restaurants (mian fanguanr), rice restaurants (mi fan fanguanr) with local dishes, and hot pot (huo guo). These are your options, folks!

Shopping on the weekends is a surreal experience. Stores set up huge stands in front of them and blare music on repeat (sometimes American, like yesterday when the clothing store next to my host family's store was blaring a song requesting all female listeners, "make that booty clap.") Sometimes they have games or prizes you can win. They can be quite elaborate in the system one must undertake to win the prizes, like the one I recently witnessed where one bought an item, won a chance to break a golden egg, and picked a prize based on the ticket inside.

The school itself is beautiful. The classrooms in some buildings are being redone right now. We had our model school in one of the older buildings. It was a fascinating and very hot experience, but it was lovely working with all these amazing kids. Stephen and I chose the younger kids to work with and I'm glad we did. It was nice to see where my future students probably came from and what they were like only a few short years ago.

The CDU campus is wide open with many trees and lily ponds. It's beautiful walking around it and seeing all there is to take in. We even had a PCT versus China Host Family basketball game where my host mama and I both played!

Speaking of my host mama, this morning she came into my room as I was writing this and told me I sneezed because the air conditioning was on. I told her it was just dust. She didn't understand that. Then I asked her for some space and quiet so I could finish writing this blog, so she sat down on my bed and started listening to her voice messages on WeChat on her speaker as loud as it would go. This is what China is like, very little personal space or understanding of needing space or quiet. Kids read out loud in class as a unit to memorize and study and people just don't get that your space or body is off limits for them to touch or comment on. I've been called "fat," "older than I look," and "too tall," many times since coming here. My friend's host mom makes fun of my laugh and screams in my face until I respond in English, laughing hysterically, then doing it all over again. These are the parts of China that have been a test in patience. 

Yet these people also took me around the lake I love to run at in the evenings and joked with me and tried to get to know me despite the language barrier. They fed me and clothed me and took me into their homes and made me a part of their families. That is why the barrier doesn't exist. It's why she opens my door and comes in and sits on my bed and pinches my elbow and tells me I'm getting thinner and that too much AC is bad for one's health. She cares. She cares that I get enough food and enough exercise and enough fresh air. 

Last night, Xiao Fu came over, dropped onto his side, and put his head directly on my foot. My host mama said, "tommorrow, Xiao Fu will be sad. He will miss Sūn Méi." This morning she said, "when Sūn Méi gets to CNU, she send email to mama." Yes, this family is overbearing and a little too in my business. It's not that different from my family back home really. I will definitely miss them and CDU. It's been a hell of an experience!

Hard or Soft Taozi

I've been having a debate with my host mama although I'm not sure she 100% knows it. Every time she gives me a peach to eat, I gently push on the flesh to see how hard/soft it is. If it is too hard (I like ripe peaches) I hand it back and say, "wo bu yao!" (I don't want) she then shoves the peach back at me saying, "hao chi! Hao chi!" (Delicious, delicious!) I stare at her, shaking my head, and repeat, "wo bu yao!" Sometimes I knock it with my knuckles and give her the side-eye like, 'how could you give me this rock to break my teeth on?!?!' I've told her I didn't want it because it wasn't ripe, but in China, it's simply a piece of fruit. There is no real word for "ripe." This concept is foreign to her. If you have a piece of fruit, you eat it. There is no waiting period for ripeness to develop. Yet for me, eating a hard crunchy peach is sacrilegious.

I posed this question to my Site Manager, Chloe, a Chinese woman who has experience overseas and she laughed and told me that this is an actual debate online here in China: Which is better? Hard or soft peaches? 

Let that sink in for a moment. In China, there is a debate on whether peaches are better crisp or juicy... They say that crisp like an apple or sweet and juicy and soft are the two types of ripeness for the fruit. This is an actual ongoing debate/conversation, yet they have no real word to describe ripeness that is understood the way Americans do. It's a linguistic lacking in my humble opinion.

Here, the Taoist teachings say fruit has two parts like yin and yang. I spoke to my Language teacher and she explained that there is an ancient Chinese tradition that says that eating the skin AND the flesh provides a person with balance. In China, people peel almost all fruit because they believe this prevents them from injesting pesticides. You would not believe the conversations I've had about pesticides, antioxidants, and organic farming methods since I got here. Chinese people are fascinated by the concept of systemic fruit. I had to explain that even most Americans don't understand how fruit actually grows and that systemic fruit has pesticides throughout the flesh.  Throwing away the peel only prevents one from injesting the part of the fruit with the highest concentration of antioxidants and doesn't prevent one from injesting pesticides basically at all. 

But back to the soft versus hard debate, if I could use a peach as a hammer, I don't want to try and put it anywhere near my mouth. Period. Sometimes I get a beautiful and magical ripe peach, perfect in its soft and juicy glory. Those are happy days indeed. Even my closest friend here has gotten in on this and sends me messages every time he gets a decently ripe peach. Sometimes the pictures he sends with the messages are downright pornographic. This is how we entertain ourselves in China. We send each other well lit pictures of the juicy ripe fruit our Zhongguo mamas give us. It's a hard life... 

Chengdu Sidewalks

To walk... You think you know but you have no idea. Have you ever walked out on a wet deck in flip-flops? The kind that is really new and has just been sealed? The slippery kind where you could basically just slide right across it? Where your flip-flop, because it has so little tread, just wants to slip out from under you and fly off your foot, leaving you hopping on this slip and slide of death in your flip-flop, hoping for the best but knowing your butt is about to land 'kerplunk,' right onto that slippery nightmare of pain? No? Okay, well I have, and as a sometimes clumsy person, it isn't fun. In fact, it's dangerous. Yet on a deck in the US there are usually railings or furniture pieces of some sort to grab a hold of for steadying.

Now imagine you are on that slippery deck, only is marble. Wet marble. You are in any type of shoe imaginable. It doesn't matter. Tread be damned. You are going to slide. You are going to slide until your foot hits the grooved ridges magically appearing in nine inch spaces from the slippery and ungrooved other nine inch space behind/flanking/in front of it. That is what it's like to walk on the sidewalk in China.

We call them 'Suicide Sidewalks,' because no matter how slowly or how carefully you place each step, the sliding from one grooved pavement piece to the next is inevitable at some point. Even worse, on most campuses, there are brick sidewalks worn down over time to a slick surface where in summer, moss and algae and mold grow, the Chengdu heat and humidity mixing in the perfect storm of slippery danger. Most Chinese people tell you to just, "walk in street. That safer."

Yes, walking in China can be hazardous and sometimes walking in the street can be safer than walking on the sidewalk. Mix in the fact that liability laws here are apparently nonexistent, so canals have no barriers, stairs often lack hand rails, and nobody is required to provide unslick walking surfaces, it can sometimes feel like an obstacle course in the rain. Yet this got me thinking. Without such strict liability laws, individuals are left with only one option when it comes to their own safety: pay attention. It is nobody's fault but your own if you can't walk properly. Nobody is responsible for salting ice that Mother Nature laid down on the ground. If you fall on someone else's property, get up, shake it off, and next time stay home if it's icy and order delivery instead of take-out.

As a former insurance agent, I've seen some interesting and ridiculous liability claims. Claims where people claim it is an establishment or business or individual's responsibility to basically combat Mother Nature and make an "inside" environment for their outside, essentially eliminating any natural elements just in case a person wants to walk in their door. Which has made our lawyers fat...and our personal responsibility nonexistent. It's always someone else's fault when we get hurt, not our own. We are not responsible for our fall by leaving our houses and entering the world. It's someone else's for not making that experience of leaving the house come with bumpers and handrails. Personal responsibility/culpability starts on this low level of simply being responsible for one's own safety while walking.

When Guiliani took over being Mayor in NYC he did one very small thing to combat crime. He ordered the local police force to start giving out jay walking tickets. I'm sure there was a more elaborate plan, but that was the basic source of crime reduction. Jay walking fines. If you can't even walk across a street at designated intersections at pre-determined times (it's blaringly obvious by the visual and audio aide) without getting a fine, what happens if you do something major? Basically, the idea is: personal responsibility starts small.

I realize that this is a little bit of a leap when it comes to hand rails and guard rails and slippery "slopes" if you will, but essentially, this is how I see Western China's "Suicide Sidewalks." You, as an individual, are responsible for being more careful when it rains. Step lightly. Pay attention. Follow the basic human rules for survival in the society in which you live. Don't pass the buck and don't escalate. It is so simple really. If you end up in a creek, it's your own fault.

Let's talk about...watermelon

I don't know about you, but I love watermelon. I'm not talking that, "oh, yeah, watermelon is a nice treat in the hot summer months at bbqs and evening soirées," type of love. I'm talking, when my parents know I'm coming to visit me, they buy a watermelon as a present for me. My dad brings me watermelon when he comes to my house to help me work on leaky pipes or electrical problems. My mother buys me watermelon juice from Costco because I like it even more than coconut water. This love goes deep.

My ex boyfriend once asked me what the strangest thing I ever got grounded from was. His was garlic bread, so the first time I made him dinner, guess what I made him? Pasta and garlic bread of course! My strangest grounding was from watermelon. Instead of throwing all my watermelon rinds in the compost heap, after consuming half and throwing those rinds in the compost, I threw the other half of them that I wasn't able to self-control myself from demolishing, in the trash. I wasn't allowed watermelon in my parent's house for years. Those were the worst years of my life! I tried to sneak it in to no avail. Finally, after some coaxing and prodding, "but I'm in my twenties now!" My mother submitted and on a visit to my parent's house on my birthday, I found myself face to face with my very own, personal sized, watermelon. It was the best day of my life.

I bet you are wondering why I'm even mentioning this love of watermelon in a blog dedicated to my Peace Corps service in China. Well, the answer is simple...I got placed here for a reason. The fates intervened and kept me from Moldovan Business Advisor status for a very distinct and specific reason...watermelon. Every single day here it is like a watermelon festival. There is fresh, cold, crisp, juicy watermelon on every street. The kind of watermelon that is sweet all the way to the rind and it dribbles down your chin at every bite. The juicy and crunchy kind of watermelon with seeds, so you don't get too full of yourself while eating it and always have to be careful so you don't get that annoying, "crack," when you bite down on a black seed. This watermelon is so good, that when I was very sick last week with a sore throat and sneezing, all I ate was watermelon. It's so good that when you go to a restaurant or something and they serve you an old, room temperature piece of watermelon, you look at the waiter like he just killed a kitten right in fronting you. This watermelon has spoiled me. It's made me invincible while I'm eating it. I could pluck bullets out of thin air just because of the super powers this delicious summer treat gives me.

I arrived here nearly two months ago, in June. It was already stiflingly hot. In two or three months, I'm sure the fruit stands will be filled with apples, pears, and beautiful autumn squashes. I learned recently on a trip to Wangcong Shrine, that the greatest Sichuan kings worked with the people to focus on crop rotation and using seasonal fruit and vegetable growing methods to avoid famine, which are still used today. This can only mean one thing, my watermelon will be disappearing soon. It will go the way of grapes and ramps, disappearing as the hot rainy season gives way to cold humidity. I can only hope that next year brings as sweet and lovely a crop of my favorite food.

Fulfilling a Dream

Doris loved teaching. That's why she got her PhD in teaching from Fordham. She worked hard for all her degrees and she didn't stop until she had that super coveted PhD. She dreamt of teaching teachers. She wanted to make a difference in the realm of education. She even wrote a textbook to help teachers teach English to non-native speakers.

As Doris's granddaughter, I remember what it was like to be taught how to read by that smiling and patient woman. It took two or three days of frustration on my part, but she always knew I could do it, and I never stopped reading once I learned. In fact, I loved it so much I ended up a writer so that I could contribute more into that realm of knowledge and books.

My grandmother (Nana to my brother and me and Grandma Doris to our cousins) never did teach teachers. She retired from Stamford Public Schools and moved south to Florida with my grandfather before later succumbing to dementia. Watching that once vibrant woman descend into the depths of forgetting herself and those she loved was absolute torture for my mother and the rest of our family. Even the knowledge of her own accomplishments disappeared. 

The other day, my mother and I were talking. My grandmother passed away before I graduated from college and well before I joined the Peace Corps, but I think she would be proud of me. And as I get ready for the start of my semester at this wonderful teacher's college, my mom reminded me quietly, "that was Nana's dream...to teach teachers." 

So this trip to China, this wonderfully challenging and sometimes frustrating endeavor that I decided to undertake at 33-years-old, I dedicate to her, my grandmother, who taught me how to read. I'm fulfilling this dream for both of us.

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.

The Reality of Joining Up

I realized a few days ago that I hadn't actually discussed the process of applying to the Peace Corps or what my experience has been like. I tend to focus on the poetry of prose, which makes fiction professors love me and science professors get out their red pens. Luckily, I studied a somewhat soft science. 

So today, I want to focus on something incredibly important: applying and going forward with entering the Peace Corps.

I have advice on what to do and what not to do, but mostly, I want to talk about the extreme emotions that go along with the kind of life change going into the Peace Corps actually is. It's life altering from the very first question answered on the very first page. I mean, who wants to go somewhere in the world to study a people, bring a sense of American culture and identity into that space, and teach a struggling population something that will enable them to collectively better their lives? It's not everyone. I expected, because I've studied French, to be placed somewhere in Africa. I expected to live in a hut á la Monique and the Mango Rains and work with a sick and struggling indigenous population. Instead, I was given Moldova, but what even led to that?

The process seems simple at first glance. Apply online, get recommendation letters, have an interview, smile on camera a lot, think about your morals and effect on these people you will be encountering, and get medically and legally cleared for service. If only it were that simple.

For one thing, I pored over my resume. I knew that I would be an ideal candidate in most ways. I had work experience in business in an international arena, I studied Antropology, and I have successfully survival camped without even a proper backpack, only a tarp and seatbelt material to hold my makeshift knapsack together. Essentially, I had the three elements I believed the Peace Corps would gravitate towards: guts, intelligence, and tact. I sent an email to an advisor serving my region for entry. His job was to get back to interested parties with information on the prospect of serving. I waited for three days in between contacting him about what to put on my resume and uploading my actual resume. He got back to me three days after that. This is typical in the pre-offer world of the Peace Corps and sometimes even after. It is a bueracratic federally funded arena of jumping through hoops and getting nowhere for what seems like weeks. It can be frustrating. You might make a phone call only to receive an answer two days later or not at all. Perseverance here is key. I admit, being employed in the private sector for so many years made me unprepared for the lag time. "I thought the Peace Corps WANTED quality volunteers!" I said many times. Luckily, my parents work for the federal government. They outlined the major difference in communication in the federal vs. private sector: don't expect an answer right away. It's not an organized process. It's a hectic, last-minute, ever-evolving and reworking machine that will eventually get a completed task to you, it just may not be what you originally ordered. My advice: be patient and adaptable. These are incredibly important skills that you will need not just through the process, but also in your assignment. I am glad I uploaded my resume without waiting for a response. I knew what I was doing. It would have been nice to have the advice of an advisor, but in the end, it really wasn't necessary! I received an interview email even before I received a response from the advisor, so I guess I was okay in the resume version I uploaded anyway.

My interview was through a Skype-business service. I spoke to my interviewer with nervousness. He asked for short succinct answers. I answered truthfully and tried to be charming and let my inner light shine through. Haha. It took me until 31 to get my degree, but not only did I get it, I was doing something with it!

My invitation to Moldova came relatively quickly. I accepted immediately. As I've discussed in other posts, I did have some reservations, but I ended up pushing them out of my mind. After all, like I said previously, adaptation is important in the PC. Then I began filling out paperwork and researching the country I would be serving my two years in. My medical paperwork and tasks came in and I was working crazy hours. I put off the paperwork until a time I could get it all done quickly. My deadline was approaching a month later and I had appointments. The day before the deadline I had about 80% of the paperwork complete and received a declination of service...they were denying me entry due to a lack of response on the paperwork. I went into panic mode and called everyone I could. The declination was stayed and I uploaded the paperwork....phew! If I could do this again, I would have found a way to at least communicate my intentions for completion. I worked so much during the time leading up to it that I really couldn't make time for appointments, but I should have communicated that to my PC nurse. I didn't really understand the process yet. The staff is there for that reason, to help you gain entry. After initial vetting, they want you. If you are non-responsive, they figure you don't want them, but I DID, so they worked with me.

The medical clearance is no easy task. In fact, it's a laundry list of very difficult ones. It's expensive. I knew I wanted to do this and after I got laid off last June, I didn't take another full-time long-term job because this was my goal. It meant that I did not have health insurance so all my tests, fillings, and visits were out-of-pocket. I am so lucky that I have parents that helped me financially to get these visits done. If I were not a part of such a loving and supportive family both emotionally and financially, there is absolutely no way I would be about to embark on the experience of a lifetime. 

 

It seemed like every step I completed, a new one came up. Everything I submitted caused ten more questions to arise. It was a never ending cycle of frustration and money being spent. I persevered. What my mom and I discussed later was that medical clearance is important for so many reasons. One is to make sure you are physically fit enough to serve in your job and country assigned. Another is to weed out those who just aren't committed. There were times I threw my hands up and was so close to quitting, but again, I have a supportive family who helped me find ways around every single concern and obstacle. Eventually, I received my medical clearance.

On top of medical clearance, there is legal clearance. The PC does a full background check. I had to be fingerprinted and fill out paperwork authorizing a full criminal background check. That was weird. I had never been fingerprinted before, so it freaked me out a little. It was digital too, and I lived with a conspiracy theorist for a while. Yet I did it. I'm going to be representing my wonderful United States of America. It makes sense that they would need my fingerprints and a full background check. That wasn't insanely expensive, but it wasn't free.

After that comes the online modules and tests about HIV and avoiding contraction and safety rules while in country. These modules are graded and you must pass to gain entry into the Peace Corps. None of them are so difficult that they are frustrating. The information is interesting and necessary. The only confusing aspect was actually accessing the modules. You will find that the Peace Corps sends a lot of emails with links. Some of them bring you to a website that then links you to another website. Keep your eyes open to this. There are constantly tasks that you must complete in multiple portals and there are multiple logins and access points. It is not a streamlined process where everything is in one place or there is a comprehensive list of tasks available for completion. You may want to make an excel spreadsheet and every time you get an email, add any new tasks that you must complete.

In another online space there is additional paperwork online for media releases, intellectual property while serving, among other things like insurance and next of kin.

You also have to apply for a no-fee passport that is used exclusively for PC Volunteer travel.

Finally, there is paperwork for your in-country host family during pre-service training. 

And of course, I switched from Moldova, a country with no visa restrictions, to China, a country with extreme visa and medical restrictions. It reopened my entire medical file and I had to apply for a visa as well. My paperwork was in translated English and Mandarin and the English didn't always translate properly. For instance, EKG was spelled ECC on my medical clearance paperwork and the doctor had no clue what to do with it. We worked on it together and it came together like a puzzle, slowly, and from the edges in. I had to get a chest X-ray, blood tests, additional vaccinations, and an additional blood work up. It was intense!

Of course, nothing compares to the sense of accomplishment I felt when hitting 'send,' on the completed paperwork. About five minutes ago an email came in detailing additional information they need for my host family. Maybe I will see you all in a week or so....

In the end, it's all just stuff that needed to be done. Every time I got a new medical assignment or had only a few days to complete something, it was frustrating and nerve wracking. I had this dream and it seemed almost out of reach every time I had to go back to the doctor or write a personal statement because each time it was an opportunity to say the wrong thing or be taken the wrong way. It was difficult to assess the reasoning behind certain requests, and after wanting this so badly for so long, every time I had an additional task added, it was another opportunity for failure. Yet it was also another opportunity for showing just how committed to this process I was and continue to be and that made my effort increase. If you REALLY want to join the ranks of the Peace Corps, no task they ask of you is insurmountable. A positive attitude is everything. Especially when you are frustrated or confused by the process. Perseverance is absolutely key! Keep going. Get the additional test or vaccination done. Get on the phone and inquire. Figure it out. Overseas you are going to encounter things you never dreamed. This process is an opportunity to train on that, to keep your head up and prove your worth and your commitment to gaining entry. And let's not forget, this is still a job. Yes, it's volunteer, you will not earn an actual salary while participating in this program, although your medical and basic needs will be taken care of by the program, which is funded by the American Public (thank you for that.) Your commitment to the cause is paramount. This is simply another interview and maybe one of the most complex interviews you will ever have, but it's also one of the most rewarding experiences as well. At the end, you join a cause. At the end you become something greater than just your identity. You belong amongst those people also willing to give up part of their lives, go to a new place, and make a difference in the lives of others. When you look at it from that perspective, a little writing and action and giving of blood doesn't seem so bad.

China

A few days ago I was sitting at work when my cell phone rang. It was the Peace Corps. I immediately got nervous. My volunteer passport application had been sent the week before and I saw that it had been received according to the tracking. I was nervous that something had happened to it. The man introduced himself as Russ and said, "some additional visas have opened up for China. We want to extend an invitation to you to switch assignments and go to China June 17." He offered to send me the paperwork and answer any questions I may have. He then said, "I need to know by tomorrow at 4pm." I called him three hours later and confirmed my wish to switch.

China. A land where over 20% of the world's population resides. A land where cities give way to farmland with no suburban transition and rice is the main staple in everyone's diet. A land where at 5'9" and a size 10.5 shoe, I will most likely be unable to find clothing that will fit me, so it's important that I pack well.

When I was about ten or so, I was sick with the flu and my mom gave me The Good Earth by Pearl S. Buck and eventually lead to her being awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature. I read it, poring through the pages and imagining such a different life and landscape from my own. Now, 23 years later, I am going to be living in an area that could probably be compared to that landscape, and where life has changed since pre-WWI China, many things have stayed the same. I took the assignment change for many reasons. One being that I really want to experience a completely different culture from my own. I don't want to just see poverty, which is guaranteed no matter where the Peace Corps sends you. I wanted to see staggeringly different life and experience it through the eyes of an anthropologist. As an anthropologist, my job is not to change a culture, but to observe it. As a Peace Corps Volunteer, my job is to foster positive relations and provide tools for greater community, economic, and educational development. I will be teaching college-age students English as a second language in China. My job in Moldova was to be a Business Adviser, which is very closely tied to my pre-alumnus life when I was an International Insurance Broker and a Marketing Manager. The difference in the old assignment and the new is obvious.

Many people don't know my goals when I return home, but one is to receive higher education and possibly become a college professor. I am very fond of saying that I want to go to school for the rest of my life. This job will enable me to get onto a track of educating myself and others. It will enable me to gain experience that will be absolutely paramount in my next steps as an adult human. Whether I study Anthropology, Public Health, or Law, the experience of teaching in China will give me incredible experience that I will carry with me in the next stages. In addition, I will be able to actually gauge the progress of these students and change their lives as well.  It reminds me of Taylor Mali's What Teachers Make Poetry Slam performance. I get to make a god damn difference!

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=RxsOVK4syxU

I'm not saying that going to Moldova wouldn't have been worthwhile and life changing, but it felt like following a path I already stepped off of. It felt like I was living someone else's life. I applied to the Peace Corps to change my life and a little piece of the world, and I wanted it to be on this new, less traveled path. I'm done with business and business development and making money and profit with no substance. It felt dirty...like I was still a registered Republican (yes, I believe in small government and state's rights, and yes, I also know that the party has been high jacked by evangelicals and the greedy, and with the cost of globalization making small government nearly impossible in this society, I am now a registered Democrat, because that's what happens when you become educated...you see the flaws in the system and want to make them better. You don't want to go back in time to a racist, bigoted, morally bankrupt time when things were "great," only if you were a middle aged straight married employed white man.) But I digress...I want to create a life that fits me, and China just feels right. It feels like the right wedding dress, my favorite champagne, and a bite of watermelon that is crisp, juicy, with no seeds. It feels right. So I'm going to China. The doctor who filled out my paperwork was so sweet. He talked to me for two hours about travel and how much he admired me for my service. This is a man who takes mission trips and does Doctors Without Borders multiple times a year, and he admires ME? Wow. I let that sink in and I found a place within me that felt whole and complete. I now feel full of joy and I feel blessed that in this life, I've already lived such an incredible one and that I have the opportunity to change, grow, and do something truly extraordinary.

Anthropology may lead me to the Peace Corps

My entire life, my parents have told me I can do anything. At around six years old I noticed that all songs on the radio were about love of another person. I asked my mom why. She said that the love of another person was most people's idea of their life's goal. I looked at her disgusted and said that there should be songs about other things....oh how naive and sweet I was. As I grew into adolescence and then early adulthood, I was somewhat boy crazy. I read over some of my poetry from my teen years recently and had to laugh. It is very angst ridden and totally filled with all the unrequited love I could fit into those years. In my twenties, I had a string of very long, very unsuited relationships. It seems that lasted all the way up to my current age, 32, when I suddenly realized: I don't want to do this anymore. Who cares about love of another person? I want to DO something with my life! I want to travel and change the world!

Don't get me wrong. I've always had big outside goals, but the prospect of having a partner who would help me and pick me up when I fell and encourage me, that was just icing on the cake, and I searched for it, as if my dreams were secondary, as if they would come if only I found this great love. I give a big thumbs-down to old-school Disney movies and, consequently, my grandpa, of whom this blog post is eventually going to be revealed as the inspiration. I have distinct memories of my father saying to me at fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, twenty, twenty two, and twenty five, "I wish you would stop focusing on relationships with guys and start focusing on the things that matter for you, like your goals." I would laugh and say, "I'm still focusing on my goals, dad." He would look at me slightly disgusted (this must be genetic) and I would feel like my dad, "just didn't get it."

Wasn't love the greatest goal?

It turns out, no, it is not, at least not for me. I had a boyfriend in my late twenties who, when he broke up with me, said, "you want this big life. You want to travel and make differences. I just want to get married and have kids." I was heartbroken. I wanted to get married and have kids! But he was right. The part about the traditional lifestyle and not traveling all over the world or changing small parts of it, it simply didn't appeal to me in the least. I kept modifying my wants and needs, still thinking that the right relationship would give me the stability and focus I needed to succeed in all the rest of my life. It's funny, though, that when one of my best friends said, "you should come work for me," because of my intense work ethic and ability to get things done, that my immediate response has usually been, "umm...maybe YOU should work for ME!" Because I couldn't imagine working at my friend's small business for one second. My dreams would have to be put on hold if I did that, and I simply didn't have time for that.

So now I'm questioning it all. Even love. And yesterday, when I was searching for a Peace Corps document in my inbox, I came across an email exchange I had with my grandfather seven years ago where he asks me why I won't just get married already. And I lose my flipping mind. I tell him that I love him, but I think he underestimates me, that I'm smart, and just because I'm female doesn't mean I can't accomplish something outside of getting married. I tell him that I may study anthropology in school and that may lead me to the Peace Corps (a revelation I forgot all about even though I DID end up studying anthropology and it DID lead me to the Peace Corps), and then I tell him, as a granddaughter who loves her grandfather, that I think he should be proud of me no matter what. I believe I was inspired to do this because when my father and I were cleaning out and packing my grandfather's house a few years earlier and my grandpa said something similar when I expressed my desire to be a writer, my dad, Mr. Passive who never ever talked back to my grandfather said sharply, "don't you dare tell my daughter what she can't do! Somebody has to! It might as well be her!" And you know what? My grandpa backed down. Both when my dad said that and when I called him out. I learned then that expressing one's feelings doesn't have to be dramatic or loud. It can simply be stated as in, "I feel like I would like my grandfather to be proud of me, even if I choose a different path than the norm," and it will be met with a far more mature response than if one were to scream, cry, or get offended and shut down completely.

My grandpa passed away a few years ago. It was rough, yet in 2014 I graduated from the University of Maryland with my Bachelors of Arts in Anthropology and in 2015, I was given an invitation to join the United States Peace Corps with a departure date in 2016. I'm just sorry my grandpa wasn't here to see it.

Passing the Test

In June of 2015 I was tired. I was exhausted actually. I had been working at a company I was not happy in within the confines of a career that didn't fulfill me. My relationship was failing and being given CPR only to fail again. I was miserable and I was doing it all because I wanted to pass the test. The test of life. Doesn't a happy and fulfilled life look a certain way? Doesn't it include a relationship you would do anything to keep and a career that may not fulfill you, but deposits a pre-determined amount of money into your bank account every other week? Doesn't it include children and white picket fences? 

What if it doesn't? What if my truth exists outside that perfect 1950s American Dream? In my quest for fulfillment I even learned how to put victory rolls in my hair and I bought midi dresses with flare skirts and little skinny belts that wrapped around my waist making me feel as if I were suffocating. Perhaps it was a sign that to pass this test, a costume would not be enough. It only covered the crumbling pieces. 

So I made changes. My first change was forced upon me: I got laid off from my crappy job. It forced me to reassess. I could easily have stayed in the industry, unhappily jumping from stressful lily pad to even more stressful lily pad. What I had learned about insurance was simple: people who thrive in small business insurance are usually piranhas and they are not very nice and people that are greatly successful in large insurance either have a ton of education and connections, or they are willing to give up absolutely everything else for their careers. Their careers consume them. I had been the latter. I didn't want to be that anymore, or at least, not if it meant being consumed by insurance, that dull and frustrating mistress that is only necessary because our culture revolves around entitlement and how much is mine, how much is yours. There are rare cases where insurance is both used properly and for the benefit of people, but as someone who worked in it for over a decade, I can tell you that petty claims and people fraudulently trying to get more than they were due was much more common and that disgusted me. My bosses disgusted me more. Nearly all men with big heads and booming voices who piled work upon their underlings and took long blissful vacations where they "ran" the office from cell phones, yelling if things didn't go their way but unwilling to actually get in the trenches and help things get done, I was disillusioned early on. Delegating tasks is an important quality in a manager, but it is certainly not the only quality necessary for a manager. In fact, it is actually one of the least important in a leader, and my last boss, that's really the only talent he had. That, and yelling when it didn't go exactly the way he saw it going. I walked out of that office in June 2015 feeling a weight lifting completely off my shoulders. I was free. I look back and I feel sorry for my old boss. He once told me that I was the type of person that should work in non-profit and that he was the type of person that should give a check. He was so incredibly right about that!

My next step to a new life was working on my relationship. I threw myself into that. I cooked, cleaned, and bought little nuggets for my boyfriend, all while dropping hints that I would like to get married. He had been engaged previously. One day he left work only to come home to an empty apartment. She had moved all her things out and was nowhere to be found. He couldn't imagine putting himself out there like that again, even for someone who loved him as much as I did. He simply didn't have it in him. Even now, I miss him. Sitting here in China, I think about him every single day. I think about how lovely he is when he wants to be. I think about how horrible he is at communicating and about how little he actually knows about himself and how to be a good partner. And then I think about the big three: would I really be happy married to a man with so little communication skills? Would I be able to compromise enough of myself and what I believe is important to raise children with a man who has so little in common with me? Would I love him forever and will he love me forever? 

To that last one, I know the answer is yes, but to the first two, it's a no, and that means that the third one means nothing. If I wouldn't be happy and I wouldn't want to raise kids with him, the heartache I feel without him is necessary. It may or may not be temporary. I may never get over him, but that's okay, because despite my ability to love, it isn't the only important factor. If I am someday blessed with a good partner whom I wish to procreate with, that person will not be a smoking, meat-eating, gun-owning individual who disparages traditional relationships simply because he doesn't know how to be in one. I will not pass that on to my children. I simply don't want to pull them apart in that way.

So I'm here now. I made the decisions I made because I was tired. I was tired of trying to pass a test only I knew I was taking and hadn't studied because there is no real test. It's all a test and it's all not a test. It simply depends on one's perspective. To pass, you must find a way to feel fulfilled. For me that meant escaping the rat race and escaping all-consuming, doomed love. It meant taking a chance on doing something few people in their lives dare to. It meant endeavoring to be different and fill my life with passion instead of passionately looking for something to fill my life. So I packed my bags and here I am. In China. Single. Unemployed/Volunteering but doing a job many others have done before me, hoping to have my own individual experience.

The Net

How does one decide to change their life? Is it a sudden decision? Does one morning just feel different upon waking and the person jumps up and says, "today I am a new person. I am going to change my life!" Or is it slow and gradual? Could it be a mix of the two? Maybe even a menagerie of systems and chances leading to a culmination of one momentous occasion where "change" takes place?

For me, it was a little of everything. It was working at a soul-sucking job in a dismal career mixed with a man breaking my heart and a long-time discontented feeling as if I was meant for more. 

I tried for years to fit into a perfect little box with a pretty little bow. I wanted to be "wife," and "mother," and "writer," and "world traveler," and "financial success," so that nobody could say I hadn't made anything of myself. But those were all tall orders and none of them made complete sense to me. How could I be a financial success if I was traveling and not working? How could I be a good mother if I wasn't at home? How could I be a wife when nobody that I have wanted to marry has ever wanted to marry me (thank god!)? And am I not already a writer? I have seven blogs and a manuscript for a novel sitting in my desk drawer. Doesn't that mean I'm already a writer, despite not yet being any type of commercial success? So I broke down the boxes and I recycled them. I began examining my life and figuring out which pieces fit NOW and which ones I needed to reexamine once all the corners and edges were assembled in this jigsaw puzzle we call "life." 

The first thing I did was very difficult: I forgave myself. I forgave my past transgressions and my faults. I realized that without them, I am not 'me.' Without occasionally putting my foot in my mouth or telling a little too much truth, I am not me. Without romanticizing picnics into huge affairs bedecked with the perfect basket, bike, food combination. Without wild adventures like white water rafting with my dad in the freezing cold rain on Father's Day for no apparent reason other than I love to make my dad's back hurt so bad he can't sleep for three days straight. Or even without the weird cleaning habits I've created for myself over the years like cleaning the toilet EVERY Saturday and only on Saturday, I simply would not be "me," and I like "me." I think that I'm pretty cool actually, and I deserved to give myself a break. So I did.

Then I examined what I want out of life again and decided that my next step should be something that will fulfill me in a way nothing else has. Finishing college was good for me, but I wanted to give back. I had wanted to join the Peace Corps for about twelve years. It was in my mind ever since my mom mentioned it to me in the same conversation she told me that "doing for others is the only way to feel fulfillment. It's what measures our self-worth." It took until my early thirties to understand that she did not mean that by being a martyr in my personal relationships, I could find happiness. She meant that by being strong and truly giving of oneself to strangers who need help, we can find greater purpose and fulfill our need to create a legacy. So I joined the Peace Corps.

Now here I am. I'm going to Moldova in less than two months. I'm selling every last thing I own that I can't take with me or my parents can't store. They refuse to store anything that is not a family heirloom, so essentially, all my stuff is on eBay and Craigslist. And I, for the first time in my life, feel free. I feel like I did the night before we left for Colorado for my first ski trip: so giddy I can't sleep. I've cast the line, reeled it in, and in my net, I've caught an adventure, but the type of adventure that redefines your life. The type that changes everything you know about the world. When I come back, I may define success differently. I may not want to come back at all, or I may be itching to get on the plane. I don't really know yet. I hope that the changes make me stronger, more well-rounded, and happier over all. I hope it is a worthwhile endeavor. 

I plan on examining my experiences here. It's a change from writing about the love of another or the search for love in a relationship to the search for self and self-fulfillment, but I'm excited for that change as well. It's time to move, shake, and experience. I hope you all enjoy coming on this journey with me!