Faith and focus

I have this overdue submission for a class. It's supposed to be funny. Now if you told me to write about my dead grandmother I could tell funny stories, make snide comments and genuinely be unable to be serious for long. Tell me to be funny and suddenly I am the incarnation of a third grade jokester or an overly serious nun.

I think about where I get my inspiration from in my writing. The style, the content, the voice. There are many sources, but the biggest (and strangest) always guides me through what I am saying. My greatest writing inspiration isn't Eugene O'Neill or Gloria Steinem, it's the Baptist preachers I listened to as a child.

Now, in the 'hood, church and Sunday school are very popular. It's nice to believe in something when the table's empty. That's true. And belief in God and faith carries people through. That's true too. But here's the harsh truth, folks: in the hood the church is some free babysitting. Period. There, I said it. Now I have officially reserved my place in hell.

I sat in the pews as my parents slept in and my cousins fell asleep, listening to the sermon and being absorbed by it. It was rather intoxicating. The preacher would take a current event and make it universally apply to everyone's life, bring it through the Bible and leave people with something to think about. Unfortunately, few were away by the end except for the old ladies fearing The End and me – a weird kid.

It took a lot of heart and thought to do what those preachers did every week and an ability to critically look at life's events and ask what greater lies in simple daily things. It's something I found really lacking in the Catholic church and something that always made me respect the aim and thought of the Baptist faith, even if that faith didn't work for me and the metal detectors at the door got my voodoo dolls confiscated every damn time.

I try to do what those preachers did, both for myself and to give my writing focus and meaning. Only difference is that I try to keep people awake for it. Oh, and that whole god thing.

Greatness

This weekend, in celebration of a famous local violinist, there was a music festival centered around the violin. Friday night I went to the philharmonic and stood in the back watching. Things like orchestras and plays excite me to no end. There's a beauty there that most art forms don't have. While there are the lead players in each production, there's a certain social equality and dependency that few people lack the courage to have these days. The best Willie Loman could walk on stage, but if the guys in light and sound aren't on their marks, that flaw is all people notice. A crash or a screeching violin means that dozens of people's perfection is ruined. You could ruin them. They could ruin you. And yet, people do it. People live for it.

That fear of failure could make people not play their best, not try and not care. I'm sure some do just that and glide through. The production is weaker for it, but people aren't necessarily sure why. It's the safe way out. It's the coward's way. I see a woman in the third row of violins nearly hidden. She could just be going through the motions, but she's loving every minute and playing her heart out. Her work is so much more stunning than the soloist's. She's not playing for me. She's playing for herself. She doesn't seek recognition for her work, she's just adding as much as she can to make music as beautifully as she can make it. People like her are rare. People want to be soloists and leaders. They want to be The Voice. The bravery and dedication and fortitude and love and loyalty of a good crew member is harder to find than a willing and able captain. I look at this woman and I do not see ego. I see belief. I see faith and love. I see that she is not gloating in her gift, but succumbing to it. Giving it as completely as possible.

Orchestras and plays have dozens of people and thousands of possibilities for the production to be chipped away at or destroyed by flaws. Few today write for those willing to risk it in those arts. They want to control the product, get to say "cut," have no one ruin it for them. They want the final word and they miss out. We do too. We miss the art. We miss the greatness and excitement that can only be produced by a dedicated team working in concert - leaning, depending, believing, risking.

We all want to lead our armies of one or to be The Great One, but some want to be a part of something greater, whatever part they can play. From these people, not from those pretend armies, greatness appears.

I haven't seen greatness outside of the theater in a long, long time.

Embracing the Dark Side

A youth of too many horror films and a bizarre imagination has, oddly, meant that I don't understand Halloween. It's so...cute. Once I reached an age where I had truly independent thoughts, I only wanted to be Dark Characters. Vampires. Jason. Crazy Person in a Straight Jacket. I thought Halloween was a time to explore and exaggerate our own darkness and sinister natures. Now it's about Hallmark and sexy nurses and... nice, cute things.

I have this strange but clear memory of looking for a costume at an early age and asking my mom if I could just have the money. "No" was clearly the answer. And then I tried to rationalize with her: I could use the money to buy more (and better) candy then I'd get out of trick-or-treating and save my evening. I believe this was the moment my mom knew I was Different.

My freshman year in college there was a Halloween door decorating contest. I'd just arrived at NYU and thought I was with the Smart and Literary and Different. I got my roommates to agree to giving me full authority over our door - I'd taken it anyway when I moved in and starting posting quotes and clippings and pictures on the door. It was already the most visited site in the dorm and they were interested in what I could do with it next. Armed with Imagination, old magazines, masking tape, police "Do Not Enter" tape and fake blood I set to work. I had a roommate lie in the doorway of our room, so her top half was in the hall. A body outline was drawn with masking tape. Using my King James Bible (a must for any serious Western Civ student) I found a quote on death and did it ransom note style using letters from magazines. That was hung above the door. The police lines were taped to the door, making it look like the door was blocked off, but keeping it open for use. Before I put the police tape on, however, I had to add my best part. Liberally putting fake blood on my hands, I dragged and slammed them into the door. Within minutes the door was covered with the paw prints of a struggle with death. I admired my creation. I laughed gleefully.

My roommates were stunned when they first saw it. Flabbergasted really. But after the initial shock they too appreciated the art and humor in it. They were quite amused. Rumor took hold and within hours every time we opened the door there was a group awestruck by "the scene." They'd just stand there. Openly gawking. The authorities were not so entertained, however. I was questioned about my mental stability and any suicidal tendencies I might have. I think laughing was the wrong answer. To make matters worse, we lost the contest to a door of smiling construction paper pumpkins and "Happy Halloween" spelled in orange and black and being followed by too many exclamation points, as if they were guarding the purity and cuteness of the words themselves.

Halloween reminds me of a high school classmate who liked to say she was "different" and "creative" but never was. I still can't hear "creative" without hearing it in her voice. Creativity is stifled by the social fascism of people who claim to be creative. (They're FuN!!!!) I knew that early on. No thanks.

Halloween isn't about embracing the Dark You. It's about pretending to be someone else. I think Pretenders need some serious mental help. They think I do. This is the story of my life.

not every day is deep

Sour gummies shouldn't come in lemon and lime. Those flavors are already sour. They should just make the pink and blue kinds. The point is tart and sweet, people. Tart and sweet. ...with people too.

And nylon stockings should be outlawed. Seriously when those finally go, we will have evolved. Scarlet may have never gone hungry again, but I'll never wear nylons again. God as my witness...

And every country needs a Boston Market. Some nights you just want some chicken and some gravy and some mashed potatoes and some green beans and... and you don't want to spend 4 hours making them.

And it's ice CREAM, not ice milky-stuff. It should be creamy. And have chunks of shit in it.

...Diet Vanilla Coke...mmmm....

A few Bulgarian tales

Today was a day where I was going to start afresh and really do something, get something done. Ah, Bulgaria. It was a funny little thought and dream. Instead I waited to apply for my litchna karta (ID). The woman at the local immigration office said it had to be seven days before the old one expired. Seven. That's today. I went in expecting to complete the process.

"We're waiting," my co-workers said.
"For..?"
"A copy of the contract that we need to give immigration"
"OK"

Sounded simple enough. After an hour or so I inquired again. Still waiting. Finally a co-worker explains to me "The contracts woman just got a divorce and she misses her man" (his words, not mine). I've been here a year and I am still unsure what this has to do with getting a photocopy. Hours pass. Eventually the whole day. I am not sure about missing the "deadline" for immigration renewal - something that I know isn't universal, since other friends in other areas were given no such rules. I'm sure the deadline is made-up, but those bureaucrats behind the tainted windows have such power to make your life hell. I guess I'll get to be a legal alien whenever the contracts woman gets over her divorce...and if the lady in the window lets me.
________________

I like my town here - it's my local home and I can be rather defensive about it for that reason. However, there is something kind of screwy here. We are the home to the oldest mosque in the Balkans. A few years ago the city built and paid for the world's largest Virgin Mary statue to be erected. Personally, I think this is a "our god is bigger than yours" move. I could be wrong.

There's new evidence to back up my theory though. The oldest mosque in the Balkans has had a construction project surrounding around it since I arrived. New buildings that way caught my eye today and I wandered over. They were doing construction alright. The mosque is now basically enclosed by....shops. Islam is being attacked by capitalism ...ummm... Anyone know why there's instability in the world?
_________________

I was helping a co-worker translate a document today so the head of our department could give a lecture on development. She needed the document translated from English to Bulgarian so she'd know what she was supposed to lecture on...though she supposedly already went through the process. We have a framed certificate that says so.

Anyway, at some point my co-worker comes to me and points to the phrase "developing world." He looks at me and says "what's this mean? Does it mean places like Africa?"
Yes.
He reads the rest of the sentence aloud "Here, like in other places in the developing world..."
He stops. "So are we in the developing world?"
Yes.
Pause.
"Americans see us like Africans?"
Ummm...

Lost indeed

I went out tonight after being cooped up in my apartment nursing myself back to full health (with the aid of a server full of "Lost" episodes). I emerged from my well heated apartment (by local standards...hell, who am I kidding? I keep it toasty) to find an absolutely gorgeous day...one that had just ended.

Those things, me taking care of myself and it meaning that I missed a really great day, made me think of my experience here. When I take care of myself I tend to miss things...and when I try to participate and branch out I seem to deplete myself. I have no balance here and I'm not sure how to get it. I feel like I've been trying to find it since I got here...but haven't. I don't know if it's an extreme disconnect with this place... or that I just haven't looked hard enough... or if I just don't want to find it here for some reason... or...

Balance. Drive. Enthusiasm. Stability... all things I don't have here. All things I'm used to having. All things I really could use right about now.

Broken lenses

I'm having a hard time recently - letting go and realizing what exactly I need to let go of. There's quite a lot, I think, I just need to pinpoint it. Primarily, my concern recently is on the relationships in my life - what I give, what I get...and how that all measures up. In short, I'm feeling drained - so drained that I think about skipping off to someplace random and parking it for a couple weeks to refuel and regroup. Someplace where I'm left alone.

I feel that I sign on for people's journeys - good and bad, great and small, I want to be there to share in the experiences of the people I'm close to and I want to share my experiences with them. However, what if what you buy something different than you thought you were in for? What if you are intentionally sold something false? What does one do then? I'm not the kind of person who walks away, but I'm feeling a little bait-and-switched with a few people. Feeling like the journey I agreed to isn't the one I'm in for. What do you do then? And how do you know? What's a needed detour and what's a blatant parting from course? ...When are you sure that the person is different than what you thought? How much evidence is needed?

Basically, it seems like the afterschool emotion of the season is giving up real, personal human struggles for a good time. There's a Garrison Keiller line that things are "good...enough"- something I don't live by and don't really hang around people who do (or at least I didn't think I did). That's where so many people are. It's good...enough. No point fighting or growing or questioning or contemplating - just enjoy. There's a carpe diem ideology in there someplace, something I know people should value. Seizing the day, however, usually gets translated into something like "just enjoy...what if it's the last day?" It's a philosophy that I've never taken to. I don't think people should live like it's the last day of their lives. Live like life is forever...eternal, non-disposable. Care. Invest. Own. It's harder and not as much "fun" (a word I've never cared for and am coming to hate) but in time you end up with so much more - so much that's richer and fuller and more real than anything you could build in a day.

I've come to wonder what I have in common with people and usually it's that they are builders - people looking at what they have (past and present) and wondering about what to do with it (the future). I'm not the fastest builder or the most efficient one, but the Lego blocks are always moving and I'm always thinking about where they should go. I'm just...I'm finding that this is rarely the case.

I've listened to a lot of people's dreams and fears and problems and just assumed that if people saw them so clearly that they must be willing to do something about them. They must be looking to change and to grow - that's the lens I saw them through. Perhaps it was unfair on my part to jump to those conclusions about their strength and courage...about their humanity. I look back at those old mental pictures and it's as if people had plastic surgery - I barely recognize them at all, but I still don't know what's real and what's not.

Cameras are a funny thing. I've always thought of them as having the ability to capture more than what's there. It's not just about the subject, but how the photographer sees the subject. People take pictures of me and some seem so flattering. Some friends only seem to capture me having a really great time. Others, those pictures seem to show me just as I am. And others still...well, some friends haven't bothered to capture me at all. I wonder how people see me and how accurate that is. And I wonder how clearly I see people - or if I just change the lens to fit my picture preference.

"If you don't know what you want, you end up with a lot you don't. "

A rewatching of "Fight Club" left me thinking about the alter ego Tyler Durden's we'd all like to muster. What would push us to the point we needed to reach? Would they be the opposite of us? A better version? What do we want to be? Why aren't we that person already? I once went to a brainiac summer fellowship where people took the liberty to try on different versions of themselves. People do it a lot. Through travel. Through acting. Through changing the people in their lives. Move on. Reinvent. There's always a later, better version of everything. Upgrade.

I find the trying on of other selves a bit strange. If I really wanted to be someone else, then I think I'd just be that person. I never really felt like I chose this version anyway. It just kind of evolved and felt right and I went with it. I've thought that I could do what I do better and be a bigger person in some ways, but I don't think about reinvention. I don't remember thinking "I am someone I do not want to be". Of course I've done things I wish I didn't do or said things I wish I'd remained silent about, but scraping the whole thing doesn't cross my mind.

There's a definition of insanity that's something like "repeating the same behavior and expecting different results" I know a lot of those people. The details change, the people perhaps, but the set up and situation remain the same - each time leaving the person to think "it'll be different this time." Do they want it to be different, really? Or do they like the game and the results of it? To go with Chuck Palahniuk again:

People don't want their lives fixed. Nobody wants their problems solved. Their dramas. Their distractions. Their stories resolved. Their messes cleaned up. Because what would they have left? Just the big scary unknown.

I'd add to that "big scary responsibility for themselves," which is the great unknown. Doing what you are comfortable with, even if the results are less than satisfactory, is satisfying. That safety becomes it's own reward. It's an addiction of sorts (addiction and recovery being my newest obsession) . Addictions feed us while keeping us in some predetermined, invisible box we are convinced we don't deserve to get out of...and often don't want to. Completely filling a box too small is much less ego-trying than finding oneself in a box with no idea how to fill it. We all have addictions - that's my fascination. We all keep ourselves from the better version we could be. The version we already are, but mute.

If your ideal is your opposite, are you strangled by who you are? How so? Even real Tyler kills the idealized alter ego one - it's just too much. It pushed him in the right way, but needing it as a version of himself dissolved at some point. The addictions and delusions and need for emergency exits left...leaving only one full, real Tyler. Where is that point and who's strong enough to get there? Who's brave enough to even try?

I'm the worst

I write everyday for a week and then... radio silence. I know. I'm the worst. In my own defense, I was on the road and then came home sick. For those who don't know, I am the worst sick person in the world. I should get a medal or something, only it'd probably irritate my skin and make me cranky.

In any case, when I don't feel like shooting off my own head to put myself out of my misery, then I shall resume...I'm building the quality, length and frequency here, folks - it takes time.

I also committed to this writing thing a little more and joined a real, live writing class (humor writing) so assuming my writings don't suck, I'll post those for your reading pleasure as well.

Patience. It's called patience. I know, I know - I'm the last person who should talk about patience. Still...

My toy brain

The last three days were centered around food. I wasn't gorging myself (God knows the food here isn't that good), but I was shopping for it, preparing it, or eating it for the bulk of the last three days. I've mentioned before how this experience keeps you on the bottom of the hierarchy of needs, but that little fact keeps kicking me in the gut. A friend was here this weekend and after having coffee (slow to boil on my pretend stove), going to lunch (waiting on the pretend staff and then waiting again while someone very, very slowly prepared the pretend food), going to get vegetables at the farmer's market and stopping by the pretend store we sat down for a soda. At that point I realized the time. 4:30 pm.

Like many my age, I'm still a little shocked by the idea that I am a real, live grown-up. It just doesn't seem possible. Responsibility and commitment scare the living crap out of most people in my generation, self included, but there's something about this experience that makes me feel like I am pretending to be a grown-up - as if I am playing house or office or having the dolls for tea. Pretending to be an adult is much more annoying than really being one. Being one, at least for me in the States, involved a lot of ...multi-tasking (a word I always hated, but one that I currently long to live again). I could have friends over for tea. As it was boiling we'd talk, perhaps while I was folding laundry. I'd talk on the phone while doing dishes, pay my bills online over lunch, check my voicemail while walking to work. Juggling wasn't as bad as I thought it was. In fact, it was a lot more fun than playing.

The playing part revolves around this: I don't worry about rent or keeping my job or a performance review or not returning a really important call. There is nothing like that in my day. I go to work and play office like everyone else - as if it's always coffee break time and social hour. There's a certain mindlessness to the filing and other office tasks that says "I don't know what this is for, but I've seen it done." Pretending.

I admit to being a bit of a workaholic. OK. I am one. (Hi, Jen.) I've worked since I was young - babysitting my weekends and summers away, then having 1-3 jobs, then working while going to college...I like being productive. I came here in part to walk away from that, but also in part to be more honest and open to myself...to stop pretending. The Real Me in the Real World wouldn't stay in this job or, if I had to, would have side work or a second job. I like building and accomplishing things. I like to live a full day. I even like to have a life slightly bigger than I can control. Here, I try to feed myself and only end up starving. It's OK. I can pretend.

Paths less traveled and good fences...

After an overdue mass email to friends and family, I've been catching up with certain friends. Two in particular. My email conversations with them are deep and personal - sharing both our private selves and our concern for greater things. Both of these friends have made life choices that don't parallel mine at all, at least factually. One would never put our generic profiles into a database and consider it an easy match. And yet, it is. Always has been.

This and other developments have me thinking a lot about the people in my life. Who's there. Why. For how long. For what. Both of the above friendships could have me on a plane tomorrow if something went astray. I'd never think twice. Our paths are different, though they met once, but somehow they always remain together... as if our journey is the same though our means are quite different. I think about my closest friends and I think that's true for the lot. We share both heart and mind, self and world, laughter and tears. These are the relations that keep me sane and together. They help me grow, yet be comfortable where I am. They help me be a greater me. They make it so easy to give. And they easily give.

Not sure what will happen in a year and what my life choices will be, I've been thinking about my relations here. Am I parallel enough in journeys with people to keep contact with them, to grow with them and to share with them when this shared point is over? I've found myself staring into space many times over the past few weeks pondering that question. Wondering what I want and need from people. What I get. What I don't get. What I give and don't.

In the past I surrounded myself with thinkers and feelers, doers and delegaters, takers and givers, creators and consumers, movers and shakers.... not separately, but together. All in the same person. I doubted my discriminating tastes for awhile - wondered if I asked too much. But I've found those people before, and one of the things I love the most about them is they don't settle. So far my lack of settling has kept me in very good company. I have no reason to think that won't continue to be true and I need to be more comfortable letting go of people with whom it is not true. Or at least limiting my relations with them.

One of my goals here was to "challenge and establish personal truths." This is one: There is no luck in friendship. People get what they give. I give greatly and expect great things from great people in return. That's totally fair...and it works.

I call myself the human trampoline

Today I:

• handed over a small grant I won ($300) to a Turkish mother of 10 to help buy her children their needed supplies and clothes for the school year. She was bashful, but appreciative.
• invited the two Bulgarians who have most stood by me and welcomed me into their circle to lunch at my apartment Monday. It'll be the first time they visit my apartment and their first taste of "real American food." They were nearly jumping for joy.
• caught up with a friend who had been on vacation, emailed many others who've written me recently, sparred with a worthy opponent ...and had various other digital contacts.
• was greeted warmly by the woman from whom I buy rotisserie chicken and my vegetable guy. I am often introduced to their friends as "my American."
• had two students in my building say hi to me as I passed them on the way in (which never happens).

...and yet the only real feeling I had today was the end of "The Bourne Supremacy." Clips of New York. Seeing it and thinking about that energy took my breath away.

I miss working at my capacity...and meeting friends at dive bars with great jukeboxes.

Luddite tendencies

I've recently separated from my chatterbox programs. Not a complete divorce, but a trial separation. It just seemed like we were growing apart. I was feeling stifled. My past is like this - I've drifted apart from many other partners. I was one of the first to have a nationwide cell phone, roughly the size of a Big Gulp and with a monthly plan that was too much to even think about. However, one day I found myself in the produce aisle answering the question "what are you doing?" to someone far away and I realized I didn't really want to answer that. I happened to like my solo journeys through the leafy greens, and so I returned to them. Another time, I found my constant computer staring at work was capped by going home and turning on the computer there. It was ok until an electrical storm blew my modem and, well, I never fixed it. Those last couple of years were actually nice, everyone quickly adjusted and knew if they wanted to reach me after office hours to call. If I was home, I'd answer. If not, well, I'd call them back.

I've done the same with caller ID, call waiting, voice mail (currently without) and just about every means people have to get in contact with me. I've been known to not even open snail mail for days. I like being independent. I like doing my own thing and I like people not knowing where I am or how to reach me every second of every day. I like having my own life. Unfortunately, there's a PC rule that they should be able to find you whenever the need arises, the computers and connections at work are so bad that I really have to have them at home if I want to use them at all and the landlines aren't reliable (and you can't text on them), so that adds a cell. I could be in a room of a hundred people and it wouldn't make me feel as stifled as a cell phone ringing at the same time there was a ding from an incoming IM. It's strange, I know. I just don't want people to be here, unless they really are here.

In addition, perhaps I am greedy, I want people's full attention. If you can't give it to me now, fine. There will be other times we can talk and I really don't take it personally. BUT, an IM conversation with multi-minute delays, scattered haphazard responses and a feeling that the other party is only partially paying attention...well, that I take personally. I hate it. It's not so scattered that I can do something else, but not so together that it takes all my time. I'm not ADD like so many others in my generation (and after it). I do one thing, I focus, I finish it, I move on. I don't even have music or the TV on right now. The sound of my hands hitting my keyboard and the traffic outside is all the noise I have. When I listen to music, I tend to close my eyes and, um, listen. It's not background, it's an art form. It's supposed to be appreciated...it's a solo act.

I used to keep myself logged into my chatterbox programs, often with an away message, but it came to be that old feeling of being tracked down. There's reassurance in people knowing they can contact you if they need you, but there's also the temptation to reach out whenever boredom strikes and, well, boredom strikes a lot here. It's also nice to be able to contact people when I need them or just want to chat. But...here's the thing I think people miss: when you contact people it should be about them. Not about you. You should want to talk to them - not because you are bored or angry or need someone to talk to, but because you need or want that person. To quote my best friend: "people need to learn how to self-soothe rather than looking to others to fill in their gaps." Amen.

Given that I don't have a home line, cell calls are too expensive and I don't want to be kept on chat all the time, but don't typically mind being seen as available, what should I do? I want to have an agreement pop up that people click on before a chat session with me:

"By engaging in this chat you agree that the chat is conducted out of earnest interest in the other party, agree to give serious attention to the conversation at hand and agree to end it when either of the afore mentioned conditions alter."

I wonder if I could set that up.

I still haven't figured out what to do with the stupid phone though. I leave it in random places a lot, keep it in the other room or in a bag. I don't check it for text messages except for about once a day. Still, I don't like it. The Man can call me on it whenever he wants. And I thought sudden company in the veggie aisle was bad.

To sleep, perchance to dream

Some days I miss America. OK, most days I do. But today is a total I-Miss-America Day. Some days it's about access to finer things like art and film. Some days it's about access to finer things to put in my mouth (er...that didn't come out right). Today is an odd reason: it's about having the freedom to be politically apathetic.

Now, for those in the know, you are aware that political apathy is not something I am typically accused of. I've been involved in political causes since I was quite young (once a friend and I went to an animal rights meeting and since we were too young to drive her mom took us - wearing a fur coat) and think that one of our greatest assets is the freedom to speak your mind and not fear repercussions.

I still believe that, but today I realized the value of living in a place where you don't need to be political. I work with a guy (actually, just one) who is a shy, new father and is seriously concerned about raising his daughter in Bulgaria. He's thinking of immigrating to England, if possible. He used to work at a mill but he speaks 3 languages so he got hired at the municipality to better utilize his talents, though he has university training in food and tourism. Whatever. The guy likes to work, but isn't being used at all. He's not really paid a wage that can raise a family. He sits all day in an office and doesn't do anything but think about what he can't do to make his life and his family's life better because he's underpaid to sit in an office and it's the best job he can find.

While this all just seems to point to a bad economy, in our discussion he talked a lot of wanting to find better work, but hating the system. It's been my experience with Bulgarians that if you want to fully know what the hell people are talking about you have to question and question some more, so I did. And he said that he hates political parties and he doesn't want to be aligned with them because they change leaders and focus too much, but that finding a job (even in the private sector) depends very heavily on your political party and the connections you have through that. As he gave examples and described it more and more, I realized that the country is functioning under the same party nepotism that it was under communism, only now it's a roulette of which one you should choose. It's no wonder people think back to the good ole days here.

In the States, there are millions of people who have no idea what is happening in the political world. It's often disheartening to recognize that and easy to assume it's the sign of a weak or failing democracy, but ...as golly gee as it may sound... it's a sign that we have something that's stable and responsible enough to leave us to our own devices. It's when government encroaches so much that the average person feels they have to get involved that's a problem. Or, here, when politics rules so much that you sign saying you are political, but keep your opinions to yourself - both wishing that you could be open about your true beliefs and wishing you didn't need to think about these things to have a healthy, stable life.

I saw a production of Hamlet tonight. Hamlet is a tale of many things including personal greed and conniving politics and their impact on a deeply feeling, thinking man. Bulgarians, I am told, have a special fondness for Hamlet. I wish it was because of the writing.

What's your motivation?

A strange wind is blowing through town. As all the people in my group enter the anniversary of starting work at our sites, we also endure the pain of going to a conference to talk about what we've done so far. Even worse: share it with new volunteers. The measuring sticks are out and Peace Corps has invited certain people to present, and not invited others, labeled some a success and ...just not labeled others. Even those invited to speak aren't quite sure how much wisdom they have to share. Who are they to say, after all? And what have they really done?

Peace Corps has a very large share of overacheivers. People who had high GPAs and good jobs and all the right "things," but those people jumped ship, came here and tried to start anew. As a lover of dramatic lit, I am always interested in people's motivations. In the framework of running overacheivers, did people come here to break free? To prove that they could do it in an even more complicated setting? To be overwhelmed and prove once and for all that they really just aren't that good? One thing I think we've all be a little shocked to see is just how driven we are to obtain external validation. It's easy to seem internally motivated when you are in an environment that values and utilizes you. But when that goes away who's left?

In addition to being overacheivers, Peace Corps volunteers suffer from a disease to please. People pleasers run amok in the PC and people get run down, distraught and overwhelmed because of it. Peace Corps wants one thing, the organization you are assigned to wants something else, you want something entirely different. Which comes first? Probably not the last. In a conversation with a friend the other day we were talking about how projects and funding are used as a measurement of success here and how misguided and misleading that is. If I came here and taught people nothing, but got them 200,000 Euros in grants, I'd be quite the star. Money is easy to see and kudos are given promptly for it (and from every direction). But... what if you did teach? And work with people and just encourage them to do things differently? It's harder, it's a less obvious success, the appreciation is quiet (at best) and it might even fail. What's the reward there? What's the motivation?

There's no coincidence that I had three volunteers write me today about fearing disappointing someone by what they were doing or not doing or would like to do (like just leave). If just purely motivated by having others validate us, we'd find the money, stick it out and follow orders like a good soldier. But many don't. They question it and torment themselves - not because they stopped needing the approval, but because it's still there, though they know there's something greater. They just aren't sure what It is and where to find It. They just aren't sure how to shake that need to care what others think. When you spend your whole life getting As, it's not done quietly - it's presented at assemblies, put up in hallways and on certificates. It really starts to define you. So, at grading time, the list without your name on it seems terribly impossible. Someone must have made a mistake. There's been some horrible error...

A friend told me today that I was really good at following the spirit of the law, as opposed to the letter of the law and that it was something of a defining characteristic of mine. It's certainly something I've tried to do - to get at the higher point of what rules and guidelines were aiming for, not the laws themselves. I debated with my professors, wrote papers that I knew wouldn't be popular and took the harder classes even when it meant a guaranteed lower GPA because I wanted an education, not just a degree. Here, I want similar things. I want to help without enabling; educate, but not demean; and create without destruction. Unfortunately, despite its hippy past, a government bureaucracy isn't the best place for such lofty goals. And yet, I stay...

Me hungry. Me want cookie...and some Richter.

This whole experience was supposed to make my life simpler. I think it's failed. See, while I live without certain things I haven't really gotten over their absence. Like...um...culture. Yeah. Once upon a time I shopped at independent bookstores. I went to art house movie theaters. I called in sick to see art exhibits. I saw as many plays as I could afford. I rented movies from a video store that catalogued by country and director's name then openly criticized you for not knowing where to find a movie. I ate at restaurants where "on the side" was assumed so much that I often felt like I was making my own meal. Now...now I do none of those things.

In addition to eliminating the actual events above, the anticipation of doing them is also eliminated. Will they have the obscure film I want at the store? Is the exhibit overhyped? What can I assume about the movie by the people buying the tickets? Will I have a random find at the bookstore? There's a multi-act play in all of these delights. The set-up and longing then the confusion and conflict (Was a whole room of the artist's early drawing necessary? Is there room for dessert?) and then the resolution (this, as all snobs know, is the verdict and judgment).

While I know I was sent here to hang with "the people" and to not see them as the salt of the earth, I do think that freshly ground sea salt is so much better than table salt...but, really, if properly spiced, salt isn't always needed... Basically, I miss being a snob. No, this experience hasn't knocked it out of me. No, I do not feel ashamed of my discriminating tastes. No, I do not intend to teach you.

In addition to doing these things, snobs also do something wacky. They discuss and debate. Is Fellini overrated? Is opera a living art? What's missing in modern art? Is it ever ok to serve beer at a dinner party? When was the last time a book changed your life? People really think about these things. I think about these things. I miss people who also think about these things and want to hear what others think. I miss people who want to process. People who delve. I miss those bastard thinkers. I miss my people.

I've met some smart people here, even some fellow snobs. But we really aren't working with much. Want to see a mainstream film? No, but I will. What do you think about it? It sucked. Yeah, that conversation gets old quickly. It's the mixed reactions or the overwhelming awe one has for things that make it worth discussing. Here's the key to bitching that I've learned: it's only fun when you have good things to balance it, otherwise it's flesh-eating.

I find myself feeling empty a lot here, often in ways I can't describe. I remember similar but muted feelings back home. Those are the days I always rented a good film or went to see one, saw an exhibit, bought tickets to a play, had a meal that was an event, or...just filled up my soul. And then I'd meet with my people to fill up my brain and I was ok. I haven't found that here.

Dear friends, the food is bland. The culture and people too. Send help. ...No, seriously.

Psst. Pass this note...

My agent frowns upon me replying to people directly here, but he's about to be fired, so that's ok. For the fan(s) who like to post anonymous comments about getting in contact with me: my email address is in my profile. Feel free to use it. When you post anonymous comments, I don't have any means of contacting you. Unless that's the point and you are just trying to make me go mad. If you've been reading this blog regularly you must have noticed I needn't any help going crazy, so thanks, but no thanks on the assistance...but thanks for the support.

This killing time is killing me... (-Clint Black)

There often seems to be a bit of a time warp here. The days drag, but time also seems to wiz by. I both can't believe I've already been here for a year and think that this day will never end. After a couple of what I'd call near anxiety attacks, reestablishing my habit of sanity walks and a lot of thinking, I've determined the bizarro time isn't so bizarro at all. See, there's this habit that's easy to get into when you live in a culture that sits in cafes for hours with a shot of espresso and a pack of cigarettes. That habit is killing time. There's no rush for anything. Nothing is waiting and if it is, it's in no rush either. There's no rush for anything. It'll happen when it happens. Unless it doesn't, and that's ok too.

As Americans we are very disciplined, or at least we think we are. We are used to coming into work at a certain time (sometimes running errands or going to the gym before even arriving) and having to-do lists and checking things off and going to meetings with agendas and...just having goals and a point to the actions of the day. What happens when that goes away? What does one do then? What happens is we find all kinds of ways to occupy ourselves, typically to amuse ourselves. Movies and card games and web surfing and online chatting and cleaning and wandering and staring into space and...oh, you get the idea. Luckily, it means we are assimilating into the culture. Unluckily (and non-grammatically), it means we are also going a weeeee batty in the process. Self included.

Much like being unemployed, the thought of free days is liberating and fun at first. Eventually though, when left to our own devices we don't...well...we don't really do much. It's sad, but true. I look back at the last year and I realize that I've convinced myself that it's flown by because I have so little to show for it. I would have done everything I've done in the last year in no more than 2 months in New York...and I would have even watched more movies there!

This weekend was, on paper, an R&R weekend. I really did need time alone and I do have a fondness for vegging and reconnecting with my homebody roots. However, what the weekend really served as was time for me to get some shit straightened out and my ass in gear to actually, I don't know, DO SOMETHING. Granted, I am not sure what exactly that is, but an inbox with less than 100 unreplyed-to messages, a not-so-outdated blog, a cleaner apartment, long walks and some good viewing were part of it.

Daily I am still not sure what I am supposed to be doing at work (though I think I do just as much as other people...if you count my worrying, I do double), but even if I can't solve that I don't intend to just kill time anymore. Well, ok, at least not so much.

Why celebrities save us

Long ago I got out of the habit of talking about work. It just seemed like I should have better things to talk about (and I did) and that defining myself based on my work was a bad idea (and it is). I just tend to talk about other things. Here, unfortunately, there are a only handful of topics to discuss: work, daily activities, self, what you read/see, other volunteers... There are only so many times one can tell stories of chores and how the language or cultural barrier complicated them before they become stale; you tend to see and read what most others here have (and what people back home did months ago); talking about other volunteers is...messy. More or less, one is left with work and self as primary discussion topics.

In the last two weeks I've had quite a number of successes with my NGO, often attached to good stories. While I've had some experience with smaller successes, I must admit I haven't had significant experiences with larger ones here. I've had ideas implemented, helped write projects that received funding and made people think about things differently, but only now are the benefits of those changes becoming apparent and shaping even more changes. This might actually be working.

In having these successes I've found something odd here in the dynamics of PCVland: happiness can be very isolating. You can have a mental breakdown, be depressed for months at a time, fail at any number of things or majorly screw up nearly anything and people will stand by and support you. However, this is the Ego China Shop and success is a raging bull that threatens to smash everything in sight. The questions start arising: if one person can do it why can't I? What explains that success and the lack of one with me? Do I measure up? In a kind of false bravado, people construct all kinds of reasons why something happened in one place but not with them, almost always depending on the Luck Defense. In fact, all towns and people we work with are different, but people still make of them what they can (or want to) and having that work packaged into a luck-based explanation (or simply undercut in some not-so-indirect way) is disheartening. It's best to just keep these things to yourself.

This and some other observations have led me to recently withdrawing from group functions and from most other volunteers. In addition to not wanting to drown in my own unhappiness, I also have become increasingly discomforted by the apparent social order people have either grown accustomed to or seek. It seems as though many aren't looking for friends who are equals (with successes and failures that don't necessarily coincide), but rather friends who can bask in the glory of their light. My successes or failures have on multiple occasions supported or threatened an unstated social order. I didn't come here to be Barbie to a sea of Skippers, and I sure as hell didn't come here to be Skipper.

With the lines between professional and personal lives being non-existent among volunteers it's difficult to determine when to be supportive/cooperative and when to be competitive. I struggled with that myself, especially in the beginning when my slow-starting nature seemed like it wouldn't get me anywhere at all. The success of others really was difficult to not place on some mental score card where I seemed to be the perpetual underdog. What I've done at this point doesn't add up to a year of "American" work and might not even compare to the accomplishments of others, but... I'm not here for that anymore. Somewhere along the way I lost my self-confidence and self-assured nature. Fortunately (for me), I found it again. I look in the mirror and know what I've done and haven't done. I try and then succeed or fail - either way I get something out of it and remain in tact. Unfortunately, this growth hasn't been universally welcomed.

Despite my "I'm beyond this" tone, I admit to still having struggles. Lots of them. I'm still figuring out things about myself, still growing and changing,still figuring out how to be a better person, still finding Achilles' heels at the most inappropriate times and places. I'm still here to do so much work with myself and with others - journeys best shared with people looking to grow and heal, others comfortable with exposing themselves. However, in a constructed world semi-based on rank and order and filled with fragile egos, who's willing to do that?

Now that work and self are out of the conversation topic list, it doesn't leave much. Got any gossip? Heard the new Death Cab?