Getting off script

Once you are a Peace Corps volunteer you begin to understand that as soon as you get comfortable and start to cruise along, an identity/emotional crisis is just around the next bend. It's spring. We are all happy to have sunshine and warm weather. We're traveling more. Opening the windows and letting the dirt and debris freely drift in. Ah! Perhaps that's why so many of us are now revisiting why we are here and asking "what the fuck am I supposed to be doing?" See, those of you watching at home think this is...damn strange. It's spring! Enjoy! Frolic! (OK, no one I know would say frolic, or encourage me to do so with a straight face, but you catch my drift.) Those of us not yet voted off the island see such spender as a time to pull out the berets and black turtlenecks and ask "Why? Why me?" It's our own special cult ritual.

There are reasons to stay, for sure. The country is really beautiful and there are lots of outdoorsy explorations to be had. We've all made great friendships here, and I count myself among the luckiest in both quantity and quality in that sphere. We really see things that need to be change and want to help change them. We still believe, in our heart of hearts, that the world can and should be a better place and we want to do our part for that. We still want to buy the world a Coke. Sigh. Again, the viewing audience and the players are seeing two different things. You see greatness, nobility, fortitude, perseverance. We see...handcuffs. We have NO idea how to make this happen. It's not like we just walk into an office and say "ok, your change agent is here!" and everyone breathes a sigh of relief and breaks into applause (see, that was our secret dream - no seriously, it kinda was). People don't care and those that do care don't believe something can actually be done about it. People are not so happy with their lives, but they are OK with them...and they don't wish to risk something that's ok for some crazy idealistic American, thank you.

Embedded in the issue is the phrase "walk into an office". See, again, you at home might think an office is a comfortable work environment. You might even use *gulp* "natural". Or *flinch* "thoughtful". We are going to politely but insistently disagree. See, we left our offices (some recent college graduates (RCGs) left before they even got one), because we wanted to do more, think bigger, get our hands dirty, think about problems outside of reports and spreadsheets. We packed up and moved across the ocean to be given 9-5 working hours and have a poorly designed desk. It's slow, but deliberate torture. We make less, use a worse computer, sit at a more uncomfortable desk, do less challenging work and live away from our family and friends. This would almost - ALMOST - be ok if we felt as if we were really accomplishing something. But are we? Doesn't really seem like it. We're free spirits - the kind that make you jump into a developing country where you don't know anyone - the kind that flees monotony, basic daily life and a job you don't truly love.

I've written this entry outside of my usual first person form, not because I've suddenly decided to become the Royal We (though it would be funny to just switch to that and make no mention of it), but because I keep having these conversations with person after person. The conversations we have with people outside this experience are often different that those we have with others in it. We show personal struggles that we could be having anywhere (she said then he did...), tell about whatever work we are involved in (or hope to be involved in) and share culture tidbits. Telling you why we stay is so much more complicated. Most of us aren't really sure, and sometimes the answers aren't so pure - we often just stay because we don't know what else we'd do (in fact, that's the usual reason). We're really still searching for answers (even finding new questions from time to time), and that search isn't something that's so easy to share. Some days it feels like you have less than you started the experience with and you fear, as a friend phrased it, that you are wasting good muscle. It makes you feel that you are worse for the wear. That you have shrunk in some way. That horrible feeling is our dysfuntional, semi-abusive relationship with the experience. We stay because we came to become better - bigger in some way - and we think next week/month/season will be different. And we are different, even bigger and better in some way, but the struggles and the frustrations continue. Sometimes the berets and turtlenecks resurface out of depression, other times frustration, other times annoyance, other times a complete lack of self-worth. They are barely taken off long enough to be stretched out by the unnecessarily rough washer and dried crunchy in the sun.

Like all beret and turtleneck wearers, we generally keep to ourselves - it's a style that just isn't accepted outside the circle. In fact, like all socially imposed uniforms and philosophizing circles, it's a little ridiculous and self-indulgent. We know that. But we came here to be a little of that. Or a lot. Whatever. In the end, I guess the message is this: from the comfort of your homes this may look a little more noble, a little cleaner, a little simpler than it is. On set, it's just fucking emotional chaos.