I make things more complicated.
I know I do. It's a curse, really. These last few days have been difficult, confusing, busy, boring, scary and full of freedom. This is an exercise in patience and self-confidence as well as how I see and understand myself, the people around me and my world.
I have not had one dime come in since I arrived back in the U.S. I have only had money go out in bills, buying a car, buying groceries and gas. I have been home almost 4 weeks. This is scary for just about anyone, let alone someone like me, who always saves more than she spends and who worries about money on a good day. I have spent time looking at job listings and applying for positions that really interest me. I have had three interviews, been offered a full-time professional position which I turned down, have two more interviews next week, have begun one restaurant job, quit that one, and begin another on Sunday. I have reviewed my resume with a friend of a friend and I have tried to set up informational interviews. I have been exercising some and sleeping plenty and have started playing around with writing about my experience in the Peace Corps.
I had dinner with my parents the other night (mom brought home lobsters!) and we talked about why I shouldn't been freaking out yet. They are being really supportive and have even offered for me to live there again for free if I need to. I don't want to do that. There's this triangle theory of happiness. It says that there are three parts of anyone's life that need to be sorted out in order for true happiness to be achieved. One is your home, one is your relationship and one is your work. If you have at least one of these at any given time, you'll be okay. If you have two, even better, and three, you are truly happy. Right now I have one. Home. I like it here in my house in Boston. I have no relationship at the moment and I obviously don't have meaningful work. So if I give up the Home part and move back in with my parents, I think I'd be in bad shape very quickly. So I'm not going to do that. Yet. Ever. Hopefully.
I have been projecting onto others that they are disapproving of what I am doing and what I've done and then I'm internalizing it. I've created a vicious cycle all my own without anyone else's involvement and I'm suffering because of it. I am obviously worried that people think I should be working by now or that I should be doing something different than I am doing. I feel a little out of control, and I'm a control freak. But there's nothing else I could be controlling. :) What a predicament. It's funny. I have to laugh at myself. My mother said "If you want to freak out, go ahead..." What is that going to help? Nothing.
So, I am making things more complicated than they have to be. I think I need to take a deep deep breath, and then breathe it out. And then, remember that I have enough money to get through another couple of months without any money coming in, and I will be earning money waiting tables after training in another two weeks. I need to remember that I have already, in only three weeks, had positive response from three different non-profit job opportunities, which can't possibly be a fluke. I need to remember that it's never easy. Life is a challenge. I have my health. I have family. I have enough money. I have the ability to borrow if need be. It's hard to remember to breathe sometimes.
Estoy tratando estar mas tranquilo. I am trying to be calmer. We'll see how it goes.
Thursday, September 21, 2006
Sunday, September 17, 2006
Estoy pensando sobre muchas cosas...
I am thinking about lots of things...
Two weeks now. That's how long I've been back in the U.S. I've driven a car, seen a movie, eaten lobster, thrown toilet paper in the toilet again, shopped in a huge grocery store, walked in high heels all day, moved all my belongings (again!), gotten a little drunk with my friends and family, told my Peace Corps story more times than I can count, hidden from my Peace Corps recruiter who I saw on the subway because I couldn't deal with having to tell her the story that day, looked for jobs, and written a long email in what I'm sure is rapidly failing Spanish to my host family in Ita. I think the most difficult of that list has been the high heels. En serio.
Life feels really normal. Too normal? I'm not sure. I'm a little worried that if I don't pay attention, I won't have learned anything from this experience, and instead, I'll just have "spent 3 months in Paraguay one time." I am honing how I answer the question about why I'm home. It's coming a little bit easier on the tongue each time I say it. I still struggle with the quitting. I know, I know, everyone keeps telling me that I tried, I didn't quit. And that's true. But it's also true that I quit. I guess I can live with it at the moment because I didn't know. I didn't know that the timing would be so off and I didn't know that I would hate being an island. That's informing me as I do this job search. I know I need colleagues and comrades, especially if I'm going to do a job that's challenging or difficult, like the ones I've interviewed for so far.
Today, I drove for the first time past the Jamaica Plain pond in Boston. I love that place. It gives me peace and solace. I can walk the path around the pond and think. And I also walked through JP today, down Centre Street. There were people pushing baby carriages, and a whole line of people sitting on the bright red bench outside of Emack & Bolios eating ice cream. It was about 82 degrees out today and the sun was shining. I went into Boomerang's, the awesome thrift store (all the money goes to AIDS Action), and they had added an extra room in the time I'd been gone. I walked down to the Centre Street Cafe and got an application to work there. I think I may be waitressing for a while until I find a job. I've always loved waitressing. I love the people, and serving them and giving them a good meal and a good experience. I think going out to eat is one of the great pleasures in life and I love to enable other people to have that, too.
After that, I walked back to the car, and a woman outside the real estate office asked if I wanted a Deval Patrick lawn sign (he's running for Governor of Massachusetts and the primary elections are Tuesday). I told her no, thanks, but that I was voting for Patrick...she smiled and waved and said "Thanks!" It felt good, the simplicity and the basic-ness of the interaction.
I miss speaking Spanish. I'm acutely aware of it every day and even more aware that I'm losing more and more each day that passes and that I'm not doing anything about it. My schedule has been so up in the air that I haven't bothered to connect with my mother's three Spanish-speaking friends. I've unpacked, so I know where my Spanish books are and I could be using them right now instead of writing this with "Cliffhanger" with Sylvester Stallone On-Demand in the background. But I'm not. What's that about? Is it hopelessness? That I won't be able to learn as much as I did there? That I will never be totally fluent? Or am I avoiding it for another reason? I have no idea yet. One of the jobs I'm currently intervieiwing for would allow me to use Spanish, which would give me a kick in the ass...
I sat in the backyard today, of my home. The one I lived in for a year before I left for Paraguay and the one in which I live now, again. I swung on the swing and read an Entertainment Weekly. I listened to the squirrels eating and throwing the acorns down with a rapidness that surprised me. I talked with my roommate and together we tried to get a splinter out of her finger. Then I cooked shrimp with zuchini and onions over penne pasta and sat at the table in the backyard and ate it slowly. And now, I write this from the livingroom couch, on my roommate's laptopthat she bought while I was gone on the wireless internet that she finally cracked and had installed in the apartment. I'm incredibly priveleged. I have everything I need and if I didn't, I know someone from whom I could borrow it. I need to spend more time reflecting on that.
This fall has a lot to offer, if I open my eyes, listen to the messages and let the universe interfere. I hope I have enough courage to do that. People think I'm brave. First for going and then for coming home. I'm not. I'm practical. And self-serving. And family-oriented. Sure, I travel alone, and I take risks like other people change their clothes, but I don't think that makes me brave. A little crazy, maybe...but brave I'd argue with.
It's 11 p.m., Cliffhanger is almost over and I'm tired. I'll be back, though.
Two weeks now. That's how long I've been back in the U.S. I've driven a car, seen a movie, eaten lobster, thrown toilet paper in the toilet again, shopped in a huge grocery store, walked in high heels all day, moved all my belongings (again!), gotten a little drunk with my friends and family, told my Peace Corps story more times than I can count, hidden from my Peace Corps recruiter who I saw on the subway because I couldn't deal with having to tell her the story that day, looked for jobs, and written a long email in what I'm sure is rapidly failing Spanish to my host family in Ita. I think the most difficult of that list has been the high heels. En serio.
Life feels really normal. Too normal? I'm not sure. I'm a little worried that if I don't pay attention, I won't have learned anything from this experience, and instead, I'll just have "spent 3 months in Paraguay one time." I am honing how I answer the question about why I'm home. It's coming a little bit easier on the tongue each time I say it. I still struggle with the quitting. I know, I know, everyone keeps telling me that I tried, I didn't quit. And that's true. But it's also true that I quit. I guess I can live with it at the moment because I didn't know. I didn't know that the timing would be so off and I didn't know that I would hate being an island. That's informing me as I do this job search. I know I need colleagues and comrades, especially if I'm going to do a job that's challenging or difficult, like the ones I've interviewed for so far.
Today, I drove for the first time past the Jamaica Plain pond in Boston. I love that place. It gives me peace and solace. I can walk the path around the pond and think. And I also walked through JP today, down Centre Street. There were people pushing baby carriages, and a whole line of people sitting on the bright red bench outside of Emack & Bolios eating ice cream. It was about 82 degrees out today and the sun was shining. I went into Boomerang's, the awesome thrift store (all the money goes to AIDS Action), and they had added an extra room in the time I'd been gone. I walked down to the Centre Street Cafe and got an application to work there. I think I may be waitressing for a while until I find a job. I've always loved waitressing. I love the people, and serving them and giving them a good meal and a good experience. I think going out to eat is one of the great pleasures in life and I love to enable other people to have that, too.
After that, I walked back to the car, and a woman outside the real estate office asked if I wanted a Deval Patrick lawn sign (he's running for Governor of Massachusetts and the primary elections are Tuesday). I told her no, thanks, but that I was voting for Patrick...she smiled and waved and said "Thanks!" It felt good, the simplicity and the basic-ness of the interaction.
I miss speaking Spanish. I'm acutely aware of it every day and even more aware that I'm losing more and more each day that passes and that I'm not doing anything about it. My schedule has been so up in the air that I haven't bothered to connect with my mother's three Spanish-speaking friends. I've unpacked, so I know where my Spanish books are and I could be using them right now instead of writing this with "Cliffhanger" with Sylvester Stallone On-Demand in the background. But I'm not. What's that about? Is it hopelessness? That I won't be able to learn as much as I did there? That I will never be totally fluent? Or am I avoiding it for another reason? I have no idea yet. One of the jobs I'm currently intervieiwing for would allow me to use Spanish, which would give me a kick in the ass...
I sat in the backyard today, of my home. The one I lived in for a year before I left for Paraguay and the one in which I live now, again. I swung on the swing and read an Entertainment Weekly. I listened to the squirrels eating and throwing the acorns down with a rapidness that surprised me. I talked with my roommate and together we tried to get a splinter out of her finger. Then I cooked shrimp with zuchini and onions over penne pasta and sat at the table in the backyard and ate it slowly. And now, I write this from the livingroom couch, on my roommate's laptopthat she bought while I was gone on the wireless internet that she finally cracked and had installed in the apartment. I'm incredibly priveleged. I have everything I need and if I didn't, I know someone from whom I could borrow it. I need to spend more time reflecting on that.
This fall has a lot to offer, if I open my eyes, listen to the messages and let the universe interfere. I hope I have enough courage to do that. People think I'm brave. First for going and then for coming home. I'm not. I'm practical. And self-serving. And family-oriented. Sure, I travel alone, and I take risks like other people change their clothes, but I don't think that makes me brave. A little crazy, maybe...but brave I'd argue with.
It's 11 p.m., Cliffhanger is almost over and I'm tired. I'll be back, though.
Friday, September 08, 2006
Seis dias en mi pais ahora...
Six days in my country now...
I've just returned home from the grocery store, where I bought eggs and bacon and milk and english muffins and orange juice because my sister and her husband are coming for the weekend and we have nothing in the house to feed them. (Oh my god, my sister and her HUSBAND. I haven't seen them since the wedding weekend... how weird!) On the way to the grocery store, I was thinking about how strange it is, and how normal it is to be here, at home, in the United States.
Leaving Asuncion wasn't easy. Some friends from G21 had come to the city from their sites to say goodbye. We had a fun last night, drinking beers and eating fries covered in cheese and onions and garlic at the Brit Pub. Poor Kimberly had had a medical appointment that day to help stop her bloody noses, so she was tired and went home early. Jim and Orlando, Brad and Maggie and I stayed out for a while longer and then headed back to the hotel to get some sleep.
I hadn't thought a lot about how our departure would affect the other people in our Muni group. It had crossed my mind, but only for a moment in the flurry of ETing. There were only 7 of us, and now there would be only 5. We were meant to be each others' support, each others' family for 2 whole years. Kimberly, Jim and Orlando shared that they were sad and upset about it. Kimberly bravely shared that she was angry. She had invested time and energy into a relationship with me (I was closest to her during training) and now I was leaving her. I appreciated her ability to share that feeling that night. Jim and Orlando felt differently. Sad, homesick, and the difficulty of settling into site was compounded by our decisions. The next morning, saying goodbye, there were tears. Orlando had sent me a text earlier in the week saying "You'll always be part of G21, Boss." I hadn't really thought about that, about losing the group, until then.
Taking off from Asuncion, almost seven days ago now, looking down at the city from the air for the first time (we had arrived at night), I was listening to my iPod and Mary Chapin Carpenter came on, singing "Almost Home." The beginning, and the refrain goes like this:
...holding on for such dear life,
Here's where I let go.
I'm not running,
I'm not hiding,
I'm not reaching,
I'm just resting in the arms of the great wide open,
Gonna pull my soul in,
And I'm almost home.
I cried a couple of tears in the moment, thinking a bit of what could have been. What would have been? I didn't know then, and I don't know now. But I know I'm here, and I'm fine, and I still feel good about my decision, almost two weeks after I made it.
I would never have survived in Paraguay. Soy el opuesto de tranquilo (I am the opposite of tranquilo). It's frightening how much. I arrived home on a flight on Sunday, September 3 at 10:30 a.m. By Monday at 11, I was already looking at cars for sale on Craigslist. Not just reading the ads, but actually driving to the next towns over to test drive two. My mom, thank god, understands me enough to know that I needed to do this to feel in control of my life, and came with me. By Tuesday night, I owned a new car and by Wednesday afternoon, it was registered. My biggest accomplishment since leaving Paraguay? Driving a stick shift for the first time in my life. With confidence. Through downtown Boston!
Now that I own a car again, I've chilled out a little. I'm spending time online, looking at job ads and trying to figure out what I'm going to do next. I applied to three restaurants for full-time server work while I do a job search. I was offered one job today and am going to follow up on the one I want tomorrow and then make a decision. Both would be okay money to tide me over. Yesterday, I hung out for a while on the ABC website doing electronic Lost puzzles, had dinner with my roommate and today I went to a farm with my best friend and her two kids. This Sunday, I'm going back to NYC with my sister and her husband for three days. I've definitely chilled a little.
My roommate and very good friend, god-love-her-and-fate, was not able to rent my room during the three months I was gone. She had 4 people make appointments and never show up and two more weirdos look at it. This month was the month she was going to freak out if she didn't find someone. Well, she did. I move back in on September 16. Today, I was thinking about that for the first time, really, and all of a sudden realized how estatically happy I am that I don't have look for a place to live or live with strangers or live with my parents. I can move right back into my room and my friendship and my wonderful home with her. What a gift.
I've received dozens of emails from people since I decided to come home. All, en serio, ALL, have been supportive and wonderful, and some even made me cry a little more. (I am seriously sick of crying.) Friends who I love dearly, but never expected poetry from, created messages worthy of publishing. Friends I hadn't heard from in a long time took a moment to write me a note. People I wasn't even sure were friends wrote messages that touched my heart, at its core.
And even more people are helping me with requests during this work transition. People I haven't talked to in years are emailing and asking if I need help connecting with jobs or help with my resume. This experience really has reminded me that I am surrounded by people who care. People are willing to take a moment from the busy-ness of their lives to help me. And I'm finding myself willing to ask for help, which is unusual for me. In this instance though, in this moment in my life, it is necessary. So I have given myself over to the universe a little and am hoping for the best. I think it will come. If it doesn't, at least I know I have the guts to make a decision, push through, and take charge of it myself. People who know me best would probably say I didn't need any reminding about this, but I doubt myself more than people know, and often need reminding...
My mom, standing in the kitchen at 6 a.m. one morning this week, said, "I seriously need to go on a diet. I've been eating like crazy because I was so worried about you coming home." I asked why, saying I thought she was happy about it. She said she was, but thought I'd have a hard tranisition and would be all upset and would need lots of support. I said, "Huh. But I'm fine." She said, "Yeah, you are. It's weird." It is weird. She's right. I've been thinking about that ever since we had that conversation. I'm wondering actually, if I'll have a delayed reaction. Will I be "fine" for 5 weeks, like I was in the beginning in Paraguay and then it will hit me? That I've given up being a PCV, given up fluency in Spanish, given up what I'll never know I've given up? Don't know, but that moment with Mom in the kitchen was funny.
2006 will be a year of winters for me. This calendar year, I will have 3. Tres inviernos. The first winter was spent applying to the Peace Corps. It was spent explaning to family and friends why I wanted to leave the U.S. again. Why I thought the Peace Corps was perfect for me. The second winter, my South American winter, was spent learning to be a Peace Corps trainee. It was spent speaking Spanish, riding in buses with holes in the floor, eating sugar and fried foods, and learning a new culture and then deciding to leave all that. And now, the third winter. I don't know yet what it will bring, but if you stay with me, we'll find out together. Three Winters. Tres Inviernos. What's next? Vamos a ver. We'll see.
Nos vemos. See you later.
I've just returned home from the grocery store, where I bought eggs and bacon and milk and english muffins and orange juice because my sister and her husband are coming for the weekend and we have nothing in the house to feed them. (Oh my god, my sister and her HUSBAND. I haven't seen them since the wedding weekend... how weird!) On the way to the grocery store, I was thinking about how strange it is, and how normal it is to be here, at home, in the United States.
Leaving Asuncion wasn't easy. Some friends from G21 had come to the city from their sites to say goodbye. We had a fun last night, drinking beers and eating fries covered in cheese and onions and garlic at the Brit Pub. Poor Kimberly had had a medical appointment that day to help stop her bloody noses, so she was tired and went home early. Jim and Orlando, Brad and Maggie and I stayed out for a while longer and then headed back to the hotel to get some sleep.
I hadn't thought a lot about how our departure would affect the other people in our Muni group. It had crossed my mind, but only for a moment in the flurry of ETing. There were only 7 of us, and now there would be only 5. We were meant to be each others' support, each others' family for 2 whole years. Kimberly, Jim and Orlando shared that they were sad and upset about it. Kimberly bravely shared that she was angry. She had invested time and energy into a relationship with me (I was closest to her during training) and now I was leaving her. I appreciated her ability to share that feeling that night. Jim and Orlando felt differently. Sad, homesick, and the difficulty of settling into site was compounded by our decisions. The next morning, saying goodbye, there were tears. Orlando had sent me a text earlier in the week saying "You'll always be part of G21, Boss." I hadn't really thought about that, about losing the group, until then.
Taking off from Asuncion, almost seven days ago now, looking down at the city from the air for the first time (we had arrived at night), I was listening to my iPod and Mary Chapin Carpenter came on, singing "Almost Home." The beginning, and the refrain goes like this:
...holding on for such dear life,
Here's where I let go.
I'm not running,
I'm not hiding,
I'm not reaching,
I'm just resting in the arms of the great wide open,
Gonna pull my soul in,
And I'm almost home.
I cried a couple of tears in the moment, thinking a bit of what could have been. What would have been? I didn't know then, and I don't know now. But I know I'm here, and I'm fine, and I still feel good about my decision, almost two weeks after I made it.
I would never have survived in Paraguay. Soy el opuesto de tranquilo (I am the opposite of tranquilo). It's frightening how much. I arrived home on a flight on Sunday, September 3 at 10:30 a.m. By Monday at 11, I was already looking at cars for sale on Craigslist. Not just reading the ads, but actually driving to the next towns over to test drive two. My mom, thank god, understands me enough to know that I needed to do this to feel in control of my life, and came with me. By Tuesday night, I owned a new car and by Wednesday afternoon, it was registered. My biggest accomplishment since leaving Paraguay? Driving a stick shift for the first time in my life. With confidence. Through downtown Boston!
Now that I own a car again, I've chilled out a little. I'm spending time online, looking at job ads and trying to figure out what I'm going to do next. I applied to three restaurants for full-time server work while I do a job search. I was offered one job today and am going to follow up on the one I want tomorrow and then make a decision. Both would be okay money to tide me over. Yesterday, I hung out for a while on the ABC website doing electronic Lost puzzles, had dinner with my roommate and today I went to a farm with my best friend and her two kids. This Sunday, I'm going back to NYC with my sister and her husband for three days. I've definitely chilled a little.
My roommate and very good friend, god-love-her-and-fate, was not able to rent my room during the three months I was gone. She had 4 people make appointments and never show up and two more weirdos look at it. This month was the month she was going to freak out if she didn't find someone. Well, she did. I move back in on September 16. Today, I was thinking about that for the first time, really, and all of a sudden realized how estatically happy I am that I don't have look for a place to live or live with strangers or live with my parents. I can move right back into my room and my friendship and my wonderful home with her. What a gift.
I've received dozens of emails from people since I decided to come home. All, en serio, ALL, have been supportive and wonderful, and some even made me cry a little more. (I am seriously sick of crying.) Friends who I love dearly, but never expected poetry from, created messages worthy of publishing. Friends I hadn't heard from in a long time took a moment to write me a note. People I wasn't even sure were friends wrote messages that touched my heart, at its core.
And even more people are helping me with requests during this work transition. People I haven't talked to in years are emailing and asking if I need help connecting with jobs or help with my resume. This experience really has reminded me that I am surrounded by people who care. People are willing to take a moment from the busy-ness of their lives to help me. And I'm finding myself willing to ask for help, which is unusual for me. In this instance though, in this moment in my life, it is necessary. So I have given myself over to the universe a little and am hoping for the best. I think it will come. If it doesn't, at least I know I have the guts to make a decision, push through, and take charge of it myself. People who know me best would probably say I didn't need any reminding about this, but I doubt myself more than people know, and often need reminding...
My mom, standing in the kitchen at 6 a.m. one morning this week, said, "I seriously need to go on a diet. I've been eating like crazy because I was so worried about you coming home." I asked why, saying I thought she was happy about it. She said she was, but thought I'd have a hard tranisition and would be all upset and would need lots of support. I said, "Huh. But I'm fine." She said, "Yeah, you are. It's weird." It is weird. She's right. I've been thinking about that ever since we had that conversation. I'm wondering actually, if I'll have a delayed reaction. Will I be "fine" for 5 weeks, like I was in the beginning in Paraguay and then it will hit me? That I've given up being a PCV, given up fluency in Spanish, given up what I'll never know I've given up? Don't know, but that moment with Mom in the kitchen was funny.
2006 will be a year of winters for me. This calendar year, I will have 3. Tres inviernos. The first winter was spent applying to the Peace Corps. It was spent explaning to family and friends why I wanted to leave the U.S. again. Why I thought the Peace Corps was perfect for me. The second winter, my South American winter, was spent learning to be a Peace Corps trainee. It was spent speaking Spanish, riding in buses with holes in the floor, eating sugar and fried foods, and learning a new culture and then deciding to leave all that. And now, the third winter. I don't know yet what it will bring, but if you stay with me, we'll find out together. Three Winters. Tres Inviernos. What's next? Vamos a ver. We'll see.
Nos vemos. See you later.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
