Father's Day

I look out the window and I see lights everywhere. Neon signs and car horns honk constantly throughout the night. I finally have a few minutes (I woke up at 3:00 am after going to bed at 12:30 am) to sit and write a blog post with fully connected Internet. It was Father's Day yesterday. It still is in the US. Today is Monday for me though, because I am currently in my hotel room in China. I figure that I have some time to write this because I crossed the international date line (something my dad hasn't yet done, but will, because he and my mother will be coming to visit me here.) I wanted to post about my dad for a few reasons.

My dad, carrying me around on his back. Not much has changed...he still carries me when I falter.

The first reason I'm writing this is that my dad always instilled in me a sense of adventure. He helped me realize that there are two types of people in this world: those that do things they want to do and those who talk about things they want to do. When I was about 22 or 23-years-old, my dad and I had been talking about rock climbing for a few years. We both wanted to learn. We both thought it was a great idea. We hadn't DONE anything about it. So I signed us up for a class. We had a blast, the two of us learning how to set up rope systems, belay, and generally just enjoy the outdoors. My dad even let the tiny 5' tall girl with the skinny arms belay him because nobody else would. I stood by watching with sweat dripping down my face, realizing that he took a risk with his life just so that girl wouldn't feel left out or untrusted. It was that important to him that she feel a part of the group. He taught me that sometimes risks are worth taking to help someone else stay strong and feel confident. The teacher stayed close to her to catch him if he fell, but that girl held fast, never breaking her eyes off my dad. She knew he trusted her to keep him safe and she wasn't going to fail him! I learned a lot about love in that moment. I learned that love isn't something we say. It's something we do, even when it makes us a little uncomfortable.

My dad and I taking climbing classes

Of course, there is also the reason that my dad is always proud of me. Since birth, he's been telling me that I'm curious. The quintessential story from my mom after she gave birth to me that defines how my dad sees me goes like this: "Penny! (My mom's name) Guess what? I just went to the nursery and our baby is the only one propping herself up with her head up, and she's looking aaaaaaallllllllllllll around!" 

My dad holding me on my birthday.

Yes, I was born curious. Probably an inherited trait as I remember watching my dad read books on topics from engineering to medical science to car repair as a kid. My father read textbooks like most people read newspapers: diligently and quickly with their morning coffee (only my dad drinks tea.) There is a joke in my family. If you want to know where my dad has disappeared to in the grocery/book/convenient store, he's 90% most likely standing by the magazine rack, one foot crossed in front of the other, pulling on his mustache with his right fore and middle finger, reading some article in some science or cycling magazine. My dad is an information sponge. He is also killer at Jeopardy except that he never remembers to answer in the form of a question. This lust for learning is something he and my mother instilled in me as well, and even though my dad doesn't push me and has never made me do anything, telling me that my life is mine to live, I knew he was very proud of me when I finished college.  Now, as I embark on my journey into the Peace Corps, I know he is fascinated with my choice to do something so different and "cool." 

Yes, I did graduate...at 31!

My dad taught me to ride my bike, change a light fixture, tighten a loose water pipe, pull up flooring, read critically, think for myself, form a really bad pun but laugh hysterically at it, and to finish what home improvement projects I started, even if it's three years later. He's the most active and fun dude I've ever met, enjoying nature in a way that is unparalleled. He also enjoys bending nature to his will and can often be found in his backyard, cutting out paths and forming new sitting areas, completely and blissfully unaware that anything but trees and fresh air exist. He's had poison ivy about 72 times since I was a kid and always stops to point out the leaves and red hairs on the older vines. I know to NEVER burn them, because the smoke could cause an outbreak in my throat and lungs because he warned me about that.

Hiking with mom and dad.

When I was about three or four my dad found a snapping turtle outside our house in Connecticut and he showed it to me in my sun bleached orange sand pail from the sandbox. I wanted to touch it, but he slowly and carefully explained that it was dangerous and then told me about how many pounds of pressure their jaws come down on little fingers. He explained the science behind that too, and I looked at him like, 'you know I'm only three, right?' He didn't care. Even at three, the science was the most important part. Learning why something was dangerous or the way it worked, that was the fascinating part. He wanted to share that with me. He also wanted to share that with my brother once he came along. Sometimes Devin and I would sit in the back seat of our car, eyes glazed over, as my dad would explain some form of quantum mechanics or why the sky appears blue, not realizing it at the time, but our dad is the absolute nerdiest/coolest man on the planet. I think of him as a human encyclopedia who is going to be able to explain any theorem you may be able to throw at him, and if he can't, he will be able to soon. If you stump him, he will spend hours, days, and sometimes weeks researching and reading about something until he can fully explain it to you and to an expert on the subject. That's my dad. The researcher.

Check out that style!

Of course, my dad was in the Army and he always took care of his family. I attribute my dad finishing school to my mom, but my penchant for dating military men with decent jobs comes from him. He shakes every service member's hand as we walk through the airport and thanks them for their service. He also worked incredibly hard to keep us not just afloat, but to succeed in his career. I attribute his military experience, his education, and his love of his dependents to this, and I look for similar qualities in the men I date. My dad loves my mom more than anybody has ever loved another human being. Everybody can see that. He embraces her quirkiness, her weirdness, and her complete intelligent and sometimes frustrating nature. He fell in love with her and he adores her. He made a commitment and has stayed true to that. He is the reason I know what real love looks like. I want someone to love me like that. I want someone to provide for my kids like that. I want a man that can stand up to the stand up guy my dad is.

My parents at Luray Caverns after our family vacation last year.

My dad also encouraged me to do anything I wanted. I really don't think he sees me as a girl. He sees me as an incredibly complex person that happens to be a female. He loves that I've cultivated multiple aspects to my personality and have never shied away from things that aren't gender specific or gender neutral. When my grandfather once asked me why I didn't just get married and have kids because being a writer was a "tough job with a lot of competition," my dad looked at him and said, "don't you DARE tell my daughter what she can't do! Somebody has to! It may as well be her!" I had never seen my dad talk like that to my grandpa. Usually he was deeply respectful, but in that moment, my dad taught me something: nobody, not even your dad, can tell you what is right for you. It's your job to be it and to own it.

My Grandpa Joe, me, my dad, my brother, and our dog Beau

Of course, culture and the arts are deeply important in my father's family and he encourages that love I have for all forms of art. He dutifully came to the opera with me on my birthday and researched it beforehand so he could tell us the storyline, my mom enraptured by the music, my dad pointing and saying, "and that's the beginning of the downfall of the time period..." smiling and then pointing out the beauty of the sets. Watching them together is watching a swirling dance of science and reason and art and faith, a perfect blend of human interaction where they complement each other and their knowledge. My parents are best friends and they walk through life together.

Before the opera for my birthday a few years ago with my parents and my friend Ian.

My dad also taught me the love I have of reading, which in turn led me to being a writer. He acted out books for my brother and me, bringing Tolkein books and Dr. Seuss books alike alive for us with his voice and his animated facial expressions, teaching us early that reading is fun.

My dad reading to my cousin Tim and me as kids.

My dad comes from a pretty intelligent and somewhat stoic family. He was probably the most sensitive of them and got to form opinions on life that transend the normal within their ranks. It gave him the ability to marry a Jew and learn enough Hebrew to get through Passover and be accepted by his wife's community without converting. He wears a yarmulke with grace and follows along in spoken Hebrew like a pro.

My friend Sam and my parents at Passover dinner at my house

He also taught me that it's okay to enjoy the small things in life like a beer with your family and friends or just a pretty sunset. To sit around a fire pit after a good day with a box of vegan crackers and sip on an IPA. He has taken me on walks in the woods and on the beach and told me that happiness doesn't come from being the best at anything (although you should still try.)

At a bar with my dad and my uncle in Houston...it was a Guiness kind of evening.

At a wine festival with my friend Kat.

Essentially, my dad is my rock. He's the logical part of me, but also the half mellowed out half anxious side too. He's the part that picks out brush strokes when looking at a painting before and after admitting the beauty of the whole picture. He's the person who inspires me to learn more about topics than anyone would ever want to know and say, "did you know that...." at parties. He's my rock, my confidant, and my safe space to land. He's the truth teller without hurting your feelings and the one who will always turn around and go back if you forgot something. He is the tree trunk that holds up my family's tree house. He's our ground wire. He's the dad who always chased us that extra two minutes playing gizzard (tag) even when mom wanted to leave, and the guy you can always count on to help you with any task you throw out there. My dad taught me the value of being a good person without having to tell anybody about it, which is really why I'm writing this, so everybody knows. Because my dad is the best person.

I love you dad.

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.

Mother's Day

Another commercial holiday that really should be celebrated every single day, but it's the one day dedicated to giving a giant shout out to those ladies who both give us life and teach us all how to live it.

The first day my mom and I met outside the womb.

I myself have a mother. She's wonderfully complicated and complex and funny and dedicated and loyal. She's the type of mom who, when I wanted to go on the BIG slide as a youngster, hid her fear and said, "okay, honey!" And she sat at the bottom, watching me speed up the ladder, always ready to catch me. She also let me jump off the high dive, ride my bike around our mountain community at breakneck speeds (sometimes with no hands), and try pretty much anything I wanted at least once. She says now that many times her heart was racing and she had to stifle a small gasp, unwilling to allow her fear for my safety to overshadow my need for adventure and discovery. She did not instill my sense of wonder and curiosity. As my dad tells it, I was born with that, but she took it and ran with it and cultivated it.

My parents and me...looking curios.

In elementary school, my mom used to come to my classroom once a week and play guitar or read an age appropriate book to my class, usually some gold medal winner. She would request that for one hour, we all pay attention to the story and put away notes and homework and just experience literature with her. I took this so seriously that when I caught a girl in my row doing homework as my mom was reading, I looked at her menacingly. She smiled at me sheepishly. I narrowed my eyes and shook my head once. She put her homework away. I didn't talk to the girl for a week, but she never did homework while my mom was reading ever again. I don't think I ever told my mom that story, so surprise Mom! I believe now that these moments, coupled with my mom introducing me at night to the world of Narnia and the Ox Cart Man, made me a more imaginative child. As I grew older, my mom gave me non-age-appropriate books, because I loved to read. Despite not always understanding all the themes, I grew a deep and profound respect for stories and those who tell them. I truly believe it's how I found my creative outlet, writing. I knew I was a writer in second grade. I had other artistic endeavors over the years most instilled by my mother's own zeal for creativity and need to create, but writing and reading have always been the old standbys that get me through anything. I am lucky I come from a family who reads. I am even luckier that my parents read to me and even luckier that it was so important to my mom that she even shared it with my classmates.

There she is...looking gorgeous and carefree as I make faces in the background.

In my teen years, I was incredibly difficult (sorry mom...and dad!) I had raging hormones that just wouldn't let me be happy or nice. I struggled in those years to find my identity and to be empathic with my family. I think all that empathy got stored for later and sometimes overflows at times. My mom now says I'm too emotional, but I digress. I was a shitty teen. My mom was angelic. Sometimes she lost her patience and her temper, but for the most part, she just kept going. Like the brick she is. She just kept trucking. Like always. She had some bouts of loneliness and sadness after we moved to Maryland, and it definitely affected my brother and me, but the important thing we saw was that she tried. She still tried to find community and to volunteer and she hauled me to swim practice and my brother to camp and guitar and she tried to do her art and she planned vacations and she made dinner. She showed me that no feeling is too overwhelming to at least make a salad. And later, when I went through my own bouts of sadness, she would say, "did you eat today, honey?" And even in my teen years, she managed to find good things about me. She said once with a giant smile on her face, "Meri, I always know where you are in a room. You are always the one dancing, even when there is no music on!" I attribute this trait to her. She will sing anywhere. The car, the kitchen, the grocery store, the dressing room at Victoria's Secret. It's as if my mom has tapped into some higher consciousness where it's always a party and everyone is invited. Nothing in this world is so bad that you can't sing along to Marvin Gaye or Aretha Franklin for a moment. Nobody is that busy or tired or sad. Come on, people! This is music!

My mom and dad singing karaoke in their basement...see that ethereal halo of light surrounding my mom? Typical...

Wow...the four of us just hanging out...that hair!

In my twenties, my mom told me that I needed to finish college and find something rewarding to do with my life, like join the Peace Corps. So what did I do? Well, spoiler alert, I finished school and joined the Peace Corps. Do you know why? Because my mom also gave me other things too. She gave me an incredible respect and deep love of education. She helped my dad finish school and she pushed me to do the same. She regaled us with stories about how much she loved college and how it changed her as a human being. And she found a way to get my dad through school even once I came along and she found a way to make sure I finished too. She's the biggest cheerleader in our family. And when we went on a bike ride right after I went back to school, I rode behind her on the big hill leading back to the condo saying things like, "you can do it mom! Just a little farther! Almost to the top! You got this!" Where do you think I learned this behavior? That's right. From my mom. "You can do it honey!" Was the most repeated phrase from my childhood. I was never taught to fear or to accept defeat. I was taught that practice makes perfect and that I could do anything. No gender identity was assigned to me nor role in society required. As far as my mother was concerned, I could do or be anything or anybody I wanted, and she wasn't going to let anybody tell me different. She is the reason I'm not scared now of my own future.

The creativity abounds here.

Now, as an adult in my thirties, I can see the little idiosyncrasies that make up my mom as a whole person. Her personality traits, some of which she's passed onto me and some to my brother. For one, when my mom finds something that works for her, she can't wait to tell you about it...and to tell you to do it too!!! Because she wants the best for everyone all the time. If she found a new lifestyle change or diet or homeopathic remedy, you will hear about it. If she finds a list she thinks you need to know about, she will probably print out cards, laminate them, hand them out, and tell you and everyone else she knows to put it in your wallet. Because my mom is at heart an educator. She's learned and she knows that knowledge is power. It gives us the ability to not only change our own lives, but also the lives of others, and my mom feels a deep responsibility to spread knowledge. She gave me that personality trait too.

Sipping some wine and playing a game we call, 'Watch people walk by and guess if they are vegans or not'

Basically, nothing in my life would have been possible without this amazing woman I get to call my mom, and every single person who comes across her path is better for knowing her. She is an enlightened being on so many levels, she has been put through hell by both her children at different times and also been given great prideful and peaceful moments by them. She has walked through both with more grace and patience than she gives herself credit for. She is the person that would take the fork that fell on the floor at dinner time and eat the pancakes with the yucky syrup and not complain about any of it. She is constantly trying to make this world a better place and will stop at nothing to make that happen. She loves animals, her husband, and indoor plants more than anybody I've ever met, and she loves her children even more. But the best thing she showed me, the absolute most fantastic thing she instilled in me, was that even when you aren't feeling so great about yourself, when things suck or you feel your self-esteem slipping, it's okay, just don't let it become a habit and always, always remember this: you can do or be ANYTHING!

I love you, Mom.