That was then...

Looking for another document, I stumbled upon this one. After blowing the proverbial dust off it, it gave me some food for thought about why I entered, what I'm taking and what I'm leaving. I'll leave it in it's pure form for your own thoughts, given what you know about me.

Peace Corps Aspiration Statement (written about 1.5 yrs ago)

Expectations
In order to be consistent with my answer to "Strategies for Adapting to a New Culture," I have to admit I don’t know what to expect. And I am perfectly fine with that. As far as my assignment goes, however, I do have a general preference: As I mentioned to both my recruiter and placement officer, I do not want teaching to be my primary assignment. Instead, I’d like something that will utilize my skills (advising, organizing, problem-solving), add as much as possible to my professional growth, and maximize my potential contribution to the program.

Strategies for Adapting to a New Culture
Both my elementary and secondary educations were at urban public schools. Being a target for philanthropists and "do-gooders," urban schools attract a wide range of givers. Watching the wealthy and worldly come and go, each person thinking of his/her contribution as unique, taught me a lot about the best ways to add to, take from and ultimately embrace a new culture. I gradually came to notice that those who make the most significant, lasting contributions in any arena are themselves equally shaped and changed by the act of giving – they were the people who entered thinking they had at least as much to gain from an experience as they had to give to it. Drawing from these observations and encounters, I always enter a new environment with my antenna up and ready to receive signals – both signals of what is expected of me and signals of what I can expect – before I assume what I am there to get or give. In any new culture there will be great differences to face, but I have always been able to manage potential conflicts and misunderstandings by building a foundation on similarities. I attach my identity to who I am and the experiences I’ve had rather than my current circumstances or environment, allowing me to draw from others’ experiences, proudly share my own, and never get lost in the shuffle.

Personal and Professional Goals
With a long standing interest in the transformation and development of Eastern Europe, I am pleased to use an opportunity like the Peace Corps to learn from the area, not just about it. My past work experience involves politics, public policy and business and my interests center around how these three factors intersect. While I welcome a municipal or business development assignment, I would be most excited about a position centered on private/public interactions.

I worked my way through both high school and college and thus have been consistently confronted with the task of applying classroom lessons to the real world and intellectually exploring professional problems. With this background as my foundation, I am compelled by the convergence of, and frequent disharmony between, theory and implementation. I have also always been interested in development – initially local development and then international development and how private and public sectors help/hinder the process. My attraction to all of these factors leads to a fascination with public policy. Guided by the questions "How does this work?" "How should this work?" and "How could this work?" I would ultimately like to combine my interests in theory and practice by working in a hybrid of international business and international development.

Hermitage

In the past week or so I've conversed with several smart and interesting people. We've talked about the following: movies, distilled vs. bottled vs. tap water, holiday decorations, holiday plans, the weather. These are not my usual topics of conversation - though who among us can claim anything to be 'usual' anymore? Here we are, interesting, interested, engaging and engaged people having conversations as if we've nothing in our lives to look forward to. As if our lives revolve around showing up at work, working for something we don't particularly love and then returning to the couch. Unfortunately, our lives do revolve around those very acts. And it shows.

I've come to find leaving my house something of a hassle. In-town jaunts are fine, but I literally dread leaving my town these days. Cold, unreliable buses, bad connections, hunting for food in a foreign town, attempting to entertain myself. What was once a series of adventures is now just a series of hassles. Cutting back on travel means I've become accustomed to being alone - perhaps too much so. I'm overly self-reliant to the point where I think it's unhealthy. We're social beings, right?

When I'd given up the dream of finding a normal, stable roommate in New York I searched for an affordable place to live alone. In my search, I found a small house in a suburban cul-de-sac within my price range. My excitement was soon dampered by the insight of a friend who noted that if I moved there he'd never see me again. It was true. I'd easily slide into my own universe and then wonder how I got so far from everyone.

I've done this now, here. I talk to people and then think "I have nothing to talk about." It's not that I want to distance myself from people or that I don't care to speak to them. It's just that we don't really have a lot to say to one another. I don't like to talk about work much. I'm tired of complaining all the time - of filling my life with that energy. I watch movies and read, but we all share the same copies so it's not like we can really get a book club going. We know the basics of each other, but the deeper details and stories don't really connect to anything right now - we share as necessary or appropriate and, oddly, weather discussions don't prompt significant childhood recollections.

We all walked away, at some point, from the life of half-hearted work, tv watching and the mundane only to arrive right back in it. I don't know anyone who wants to be at this point - to live with it and just accept it. It's like we all became stuck at the same time. We've faced a lot and have more to face but we're tired and want to breathe for a bit. Unfortunately, that pause is taking so much out of us and making us feel all the more lost and alone. We don't talk about ourselves much because, partially, we are tired of dealing with it and can't imagine others want to either. As Leonard Cohen would say: forsaken, almost human; we sink beneath the wisdom like a stone. Work. Parties. Alcohol. Zoning out. We've become the zombies we despise.

My former chatterbox addiction has turned into me hiding out more - turning it off, staying 'invisible' or just 'away'. I do it to get more done. I do it to not have a ton of "how was your day?" conversations. I do it because those conversations should be "what's going on in your head right now?" - only I don't want to initiate them all the time. And right now, I'm not so sure I want them initiated.

Sigh. Get any snow?

When did that happen?

A conversation with a friend today came to a point where she laughed and then playfully asked "when did you become so cheap?" I've had a number of negative adjectives attached to my personality at any given point, but I assure you cheap has never been one of them. People are more likely to ask things like "you spent how much?" or "do you really need that?" than to point out my miserly ways. No more it seems. Cheapness now gets added to the stack of bad habits and traits I've mistakenly acquired in Bulgaria.

I make it through every month within my living allowance (well, except for the travel-intensive summers) but somehow it's started to make me nervous. A case of realizing I head home in less than a year perhaps. My new obsession with having a theater and modern art filled birthday in London perhaps. My ever dwindling home savings perhaps. Perhaps.

So much of me has left or changed, for better and for worse. I've recently started being more vocal and ballsy at my work places and just being honest about my opinions and views. My professional history is all over the map, but what it basically has meant is that I go into organizations, give them the benefit of the doubt for some time and then get frustrated and rip them apart. It seems I've reached that point. The return of Candid Me has surely raised some eyebrows and made people think "who's she to say?" but that always happens. I'm blunt but critical and take my professionalism and the work attached to my name seriously - something people don't always realize. I might have been quiet for a few months, but never because I wasn't thinking and observing.

How does this all relate? Quality. Some say I'm obsessed with it. There are worse addictions, I say. I've become cheap partially because if it's great I don't mind paying for it, but if it's poor or mediocre I'd just rather not. I've become increasingly comfortable with my own company and unless I'm traveling or spending money to see good friends or do something great then I'd rather just stay home and do my own thing. My first year I was ok with shuffling about more and spending more freely, just as an escape and an outlet from daily frustrations. Those daily things don't bother me anymore - I no longer seek to escape them with such fervor, so my quality conditions have resurfaced. Same with work. I spent a good deal of last year not rocking any boats and just trying to feel comfortable, but as I kept playing the 'good American volunteer' role and not asking pointed questions or feeling ok saying 'no' I drifted further from being present and gathered resentment to the whole experience for it. I'm sure it was felt by others. I don't want my name on projects that are half-ass or to be a part of half-baked ideas. Do it or don't. You may not value my time and energy, but I do and I intend to let you know it.

I've made reference here to the idea that people, self included, have spent a lot of time playing and being easy-going and 'fun.' I suppose I'm just officially tired of it. I like to change things and push people and make things happen. It's what I do. It's what I'm good at. I like a life filled with good things - with quality - I'm not afraid to pay for it or work for it, but if it's not up to standard I'll most likely not even bother. It's bitchy, I know, but that's a negative adjective I've come to embrace. I'm still just not sure about 'cheap.'

And so it begins

In the States, Thanksgiving kicks off the holiday season of shopping and fretting and families being too close or too far and decorating and various festivities that keep you from sinking into a winter slump, which you find eventually anyway. Here in Bulgaria there is no Thanksgiving and thus no official "kickoff" of Christ-Kwanz-Hannak-mas. The holiday season slowly trickles in without much enthusiasm or hurry or excitement. More than anything in Bulgaria, the first cold week just ushers in sick season, which last until March and then slowly morphs into vacation season. Christmas is in there some place.

Christmas is the only holiday I really cherish. I blame it on my parents, but (for once) in a good way. My memory of my childhood was that we rarely received presents outside of Christmas and our birthdays, but the abundance of everything at those times always made up for the delays. Christmas was always, regardless of our financial situation, filled with food and gifts and warmth. The house was decorated from floor to ceiling in mistletoe and mini villages and a tree that held a piece of our family history in every ornament. Friends and family popped in and out of the house - bringing treats, taking treats; sharing laughs and stories and kindness. I remember my parents' house being an active, crazy, loving, non-stop holiday fest.

Every family has their holiday traditions. Most of mine are gone. My parents have separated and remarried, my sister has her own family and I am here in a semi-developed nation that's figured out high speed internet, but not a safe and reliable water supply. Forget Bailey's-spiked hot chocolate. Thanksgiving this year was spent with friends and friends of friends - fun and loving people that I know with varying degrees of closeness. Fun was had, food was eaten, drinks were surely drank, but something was missing. This was not a tradition and it wasn't even the start of one - we'll most likely never do this with each other again. It was a party to cover up the lack of a holiday that covers up pending seasonal doom. The Band-Aid's Band-Aid.

This weekend reminded me of how much I miss. I miss letting my mom be the matriarch and plan everything. I miss being in a sea of people that know me deeply and personally. I miss jumping all day and into the night from personal conversation to personal conversation. I miss making snotty side comments to my sister. I miss pulling my mom aside to figure out what someone's deal is. I miss the rhythm people have with one another - the one that comes only from years of closeness and countless trials and tribulations. I miss longevity and traditions - knowing what to expect and depending on it.

I think this is the time in my life where I'm supposed to make my own family in the traditional 2.5 kids sense or in a more alternative sense. I've always thought of close friends as my chosen family, but we don't live in a stationary world or all share the same 'families' which provides some obstacles. All this means that just as the cold season approaches with its sickness and mental weight, one learns that looming problems are not so looming. Ah, winter.

This is where we go forward. We've changed and moved and grown. We wanted to. We needed to. We know we can never truly go home again. It's our relief and burden. We're learning to live with it... slowly. So slowly. In the meantime, we seek and enjoy laughter and love ...and hope the season passes quickly.

Blogs are a funny thing

I keep my blog as a type of online journal. One that keeps me writing and isn't some secret journal that I think no one reads. Fine, here it is. Read it if you wish. Or don't. Whichever. Not hiding it means I don't' have to worry about someone finding it. Also, I just like to write and express myself and share myself through the written word. I've always been drawn to it.

Blogs aren't really writing though, most of the time. They are often rants or unsupported arguments or tales of a day-in-the-life. I've seen some that talk about the most mundane details of a person's day. I wonder who reads that and why people write it. I wonder why the writer is trying to say - if anything.

Blogging is interesting because it's easy, global publishing. Most people can do it and like things that most people can do, it produces a lot of crap. Democratic means are a beautiful and grotesque thing. I keep up with about a dozen blogs and randomly follow links to many others. It's an odd world when you keep up with friends and even some strangers via their journals - never making contact, just checking in and seeing what's new. Or not new.

As a writer, blogging provides interesting challenges. Write regularly without a deadline. Make essays that say something about you and the day, but in the end piece together to collectively show a well-rounded self-portrait. Make first drafts that are releasable. Know you'll put some stinkers out there, but just let them be. It's a great exercise in finding your voice and exploring styles and topics. It's interesting to see what people relate to and what they don't.

I saw a blog today of someone I know and I thought "people just have no shame anymore. " Blogging and the net have made us all celebrities in our own mind, invading our own privacy for ratings. People feed this. I started my blog thinking my family would read it, but now I think it's mainly people I barely know, if I know them at all. Voyeurism or perhaps genuine interest brings people here. Perhaps they stay, perhaps they don't. People I barely know knowing my innermost thoughts. Interesting and frightening. Thought provoking. Amusing.

In my inner circle, few of my friends and family read this, making it something of a private place. It's the journal no one reads because they can. It may not work for people who don't know me, but it works for others. Reverse psychology is fun.

Buck/party stops here

I've never had a problem making friends, nor do I usually have a problem keeping them. It's been that way since I was in elementary school. I remember friends literally fighting over who carried the label of my "best friend." A lifetime of friendships has meant many years of closeness, sharing and confiding. My closest friends have been around for almost a decade - some much longer. We share and lean and laugh and cry and fight and... all the things you do with someone you are close and honest with. I tend to befriend interesting and intelligent but complex and even difficult people. Birds of a feather.

In my life I've gotten more than my fair share of 3am phone calls about everything from drugs to breakups to scares to just basic nightmares. I'm that friend. I don't even think twice about being that person. The unfortunate side effect of being someone people can lean on is that you tend to fill that role and get locked in it. Something bad happen? Go to Jen. My lack of shyness in dealing with messes means that sometimes it's all I get. If something shitty happens, go to Jen. Otherwise... have more fun elsewhere.

I admit I'm not the biggest party girl. I think a good party involves good wine and gourmet food, not drinking and yelling and acting like a frat party incarnate. I even enjoy not drinking. A dive bar has its place as does cocktails and margarita nights, but I'm most often guilty of doing nothing more than speaking louder than necessary (ok, sometimes much) and laughing so loudly that it fills the room. However, get me excited about a topic and I tend to do those things anyway. I don't believe in escaping who I am - I don't feel trapped by it. And I don't believe in pretending - I'm a little old for that. I prefer honest, open conversations with or without sauce to happy times convos about the good old days or endless "this one time..." tales.

One of my closest friends found me to be this way. I never realized it until a mutual friend of ours moved into my apartment. Despite the fact that the close friend had lived blocks from me for 2 years, I'd seen her in my apartment more in the first few months I had a roommate than the previous years combined... and it was always when they were on their way out. I was the multi-hour phone conversation friend and the "what do I do?" friend and the "I need some help" friend, but I was never the art opening friend or the Friday night friend or the vacation-taking friend. My role was the pillar and the leaning post. I wish it was a one time event that I could blow off, but I've been typecast for years.

Eventually I walk from these friendships. One should be invited to the good and the bad, the pleasure and the pain. Without those things, they drain and take more from me than they ever give - there is no balance in them, though the connection there is true. It is this connection that's nearly impossible to walk away from, however dysfunctional. I assume I have to own at least part of this trend. I must do something to inspire or encourage such thinking and behavior. Not sure what it is.

I think back to so many of those conversations I've had with past friends who fit this description and those discussions we had - the sharing - were so candid and ernest. It was an all-cards-on-the-table arrangement. Sometimes I think that people just don't want that. They don't want to look in the eyes of someone who knows the negative things. They don't believe someone can see those things and still think of them as amazing, lovable people. Personally, I need someone to know my faults and demons before I believe they want to be there. I won't play up to some image they have in their head of who they want me to me. I'd prefer they just knew and decided to stay or go based on as much evidence as possible. Affection isn't affection isn't affection. Realness matters.

My life has been recently populated by restless nights, odd eating, mild depression and the beginnings of emotional extremes. In my world this is my body's way of saying "psst, break's over - stop ignoring it." My body's kind of cryptic though and never says what problem/issue I'm supposed to stop ignoring. I just get to be tortured until I figure it out. I can't ignore these signs. I never can. They don't go away until I wrestle with them, sometimes tearing my life open and apart in the process. This is how I live - moving ever closer to being a full, real, honest me even if it means lots of fighting and tears and sleepless nights in the process. Who wouldn't find that fun?!

Temporary Insanity. Inanity too.

Here we are. Kids in La La Land. Pretending to go to work. To cook. To pay bills. To be adults. Some of us really work, some don't. Either way, we still pretend. The results don't matter. They don't determine our fate, our careers or any potential raises. There is no need for fear there. Just comfort, however we prefer to take it. We cook on post-teen EasyBake ovens, we pay luxury bills (internet, cable, etc). We drink and travel and avoid and confront at will. We aren't adults, we're spoiled rotten children.

There's so much lacking that people just start creating. Like a bored toddler we just pick up something and see what we can do with it. Sometimes what we can do is ingenious. Other times, most times, it's lame or random or even destructive. We are living the life of our inner child. Rather than being freed by this we are crushed by it. There's a reason why that kid is kept quiet and doesn't run things: she's an idiot.

I think I've been an idiot in some form or another since I got here. Actually, I think it's how I got here. Whatever. Point is that I do things here that I'd - the old, real me - never do or think about doing. What I do. What I stand for. Where I draw the line. "This isn't me," I constantly say to myself. Others tell me the same about themselves. We're living in a parallel life from the one we had and the people we were. We don't know these people at all. When we close the door at night, we face The Stranger.

In addition to the rather obvious personal strive and identity crises we face, there's the other obvious one: who ARE these people? We're stuck here, on a deserted island of sorts, with people we didn't know before we came. In some ways we are extraordinarily close, in other ways we are not. I don't know the me that is here. Likewise, I can't expect to fully know the "them" that is not here. Who and what do I really know about my friends and confidants? The amount of chaos and havoc and absolute wreckage caused by me is only matched by the amount caused by others I know here. I know this person - this destroyer that I can be - isn't me, but when and how do I know if it isn't others? What's a serious character flaw and what's a lapse of judgment? What's grounds for confrontation and what's grounds for simply walking away? I don't claim to know.

Forgiveness and release of anger has been on my mind a lot recently - both needing to give it and receive it. Primarily from local devastations. Escalating battles of who-cares-less and verbal knife fights haven't left anyone better for the wear. We're broken - as much by what we've taken as by what we've given. We've let the inner child out to roam free. Unattended, she's wrecked everything in sight. Now we clean the mess.

A few days ago some kids passed me. One of them, a local kid, likes to shout "what time is it?" to me in English. He's bashful but learning. It's a game we've played for months. Anyway, he was with friends a few days ago and they decided to practice their knowledge of English too, a knowledge that centered around the phrase "fuck you." Pissed and angry I wanted to give them a proper Jen-verbal-smackdown and then I stopped myself. I took a moment and called on my inner adult. I needed to see what she thought. She laughed, said "stupid kids" and walked away. For the first time in a long time, I listened to her. It's what the old me - the real one - would have done. It felt right.

I'm spending a bit more time with my inner adult these days. We've got a lot of cleaning to do. Stupid kids.

Bippity Boppity Boo

I recently received an email from my ex-trainer. He's now training a top-10 world heavyweight contender. I used to see him at least once a week and near the end it was nearly every other day. Pushed, exhausted and sore as hell I'd retreat to my cozy home and well-outfitted bed to rest my weary bones. Generally, I made a point to not be a big whiner when I went to train. At $75 a session, I needed to just accept that I wanted to be there... on some level. It took time and dedication to repeatedly return. Actually, I liked my trainer so much that I often went out of duty and loyalty to him. I'm like that - easier to keep my promises to others than the ones I make to myself.

While the sessions were always fun (I had a hearty laugh at myself every damn time), they could be really frustrating. Still, I went. My last sessions were back-to-back as I recall. One a day. There was something I needed to see before I departed, I was told. Everyday I went in and worked for a solid hour with a large ex-Marine standing over me. Though I was supposed to be seeing something, I had no idea what it was. Finally, at my last session, I asked just what the hell I was supposed to have seen. An hour of abs, then upper body, then lower body. There seemed to be no obvious epiphany there. Laughing, my trainer went to get the sheet monitoring my workouts. Still laughing he hands it to me and tells me to read what I could do my first session. Let's just say the things I could do when I started coming were numbered in repetitions, not hours, and you could count those on your hands. Similar story for weight.

I struggled a lot with those sessions, but they rank among the things I miss the most from my former life. Going forward, making progress, building something. Baby steps. Good pain. The knowledge that you were doing something tough, but for good reason and with good payoff. I've never slept better than those nights I trained. I've never eaten healthier. I've never thought more clearly. I've never had more energy than when I was getting my ass kicked on a routine basis.

I think of those sessions as I've been having trouble eating and sleeping and thinking. I'm tired so much that I run solely on caffeine at this point. I'm running, in every way, on E. What I put in my body and life is certainly a culprit, but - for me - what I've given so greatly influences what I take. I've developed a budding interest in Taoism and, from what I can tell it's partially based around the idea of a state developing from doing the opposite: strength from weakness, control from chaos, seeing the world by staying in and seeing yourself. There is wisdom in that and it functions on my favorite concept: the paradox. They are truisms that a friend lightly refers to as "Eastern hocus pocus."

I've recently explained to one of my organizations that the best way to solve financial problems is to solve all the other problems. The finances will basically fix themselves. Non-profit Taoism. I know from my past that my own answers lie in the same approach: solve by solving the rest. Solving by not solving. Everything feeds everything. Everything is connected. There are consequences, accept them. Easier said than done.

The key to progress, it seems, is finding nourishment and not seeking its rewards - just enjoying it. The training sessions were such a release and victory in themselves that I didn't concentrate on moving forward. My progress was not even much of a thought. It was achieved because I barely considered it - it couldn't overwhelm me because I didn't depend on it. Now, progress and rewards and measurements of success seem to be on my mind a lot. Yet they are not there. Same with personal growth. And fulfillment. Funny how that all works.

One but not united

A Sunday walk through town. Back home I took pleasure in waking early on a Sunday, getting my coffee, bagel and NYT and listening to the sounds of a city coming to life. Enjoying the peace and stillness and then the enthusiasm and drive that push local life forward. This afternoon I ventured out to take a stroll and was met with a ghost town. The town that thinks of itself as a city seemed abandoned. Few cars were on the street, no one walked the sidewalks. The stores were closed, and those open were empty.

I'd always considered Sunday the day that told what people would do if left to their own devices. What was once strictly considered a day of rest is now the time when you do what you needn't coercion to do. In a metropolis it means jogging and brunches and leisurely reads in cafes and farmers' markets and museums and home repairs. People enjoying their interests, living their lives.

Bulgaria, as I'm living it and seeing it, doesn't have a lot of outlets for people's interests. You can meet your friends and have coffee or drinks but other than that it's quite lacking. I've a time or two tried to move my reading into local cafes, just to be out and to do what I might be doing at home. The looks and whispers, however, made it clear that it was a social venue and that I was violating local norms. I became so distracted that I stopped enjoying any part of the experience and returned to my private sanctuary of Brit Pop and tea with milk.

Americans are a nation of joiners. We belong to clubs and subscribe to things. We even have silent memberships with the people who hold our interests and do what we do - people we routinely see at the gym or the guy behind you who orders the unusual thing you were thinking of ordering. Memberships are paradoxically bound as much by what we have in common with other members as they are by what distinguishes us from non-members. Membership, in some ways, is about being an outsider. It follows then that a country still valuing homogeneity and people not rocking the boat doesn't join much. Here there are few clubs and activities to make you join together because there's little interest in standing apart.

My Sunday walk left me feeling alone and longing for Sundays where I joined my interests with others, or at least had multiple options to pursue them on my own. A year later and I have nothing outside my apartment that feeds my love of art or theater or live music or great food or books or independent film or... anything.

At 3 p.m. the town still seemed to sleep. A people isolated by their own similarities.

A fear of the fist

Confusion. Exhaustion. Sleepless nights. Bizarre dreams. Life changes. Restlessness. Vacancy. It seems to be all around right now. We tend to go through things together and in cycles. It's strange to speak of your mental and emotional state only to find that others are in the exact same space. Comforting and discomforting. Nice to have others to share and understand, but a distant yet knowing eye would be an incredible gift. Unsure of what to do and where we are going we just waste time or occupy ourselves with being busy. Merriam-Webster says that words related to "busy" are: absorbed, tireless, alive, vigorous. I beg to differ.

A year into the program and we all begin talking about how we are starting to understand, but only starting. It's making more sense what to do and not do, but still not completely clear how. We're a sad bunch - finally understanding but with little energy to do much about it. Like a boxer who, too many punches to the head later, finally understands how to move. Impaired vision and a fear of the fist means we are not much good in the ring any longer. We stay both fearing this will be the hit that ends it all, and fearing that it won't be. We train and focus but our bodies and minds are weak and malnourished, doing little more than trapping us inside. Like all boxers we need skill and heart, but our spirit is elsewhere. Fighters need breaks - preferably long ones to let the body recover. To regain strength. To find a center. Our breaks are short and few, and even then not mental ones. When there's noise, you try to block it out and when there's silence the mind produces noise. We live inside the ropes and find ourselves leaning on them with increasing frequency and need. I believe the term is "washed up."

Like fighters though we insist on hanging on until the bitter end of our careers. Personal limits and professional realities are hard to bear. People find outlets, usually ones that reaffirm where you are already headed. Destructive and short-minded behavior seem to be something of the norm. Instant gratification - get it while you can. Get out of your head and go anywhere that will take you - anywhere that doesn't see a crumbling fighter.

The search, what little people have left in them, is for glory and redemption. Answers. What have we done? What have we lost? Is it worth it? There's a struggle to make this worth the sacrifices and to not be that person... the one people thought would be great but didn't get far. There's a fight still in us. One that makes us want to prove, and need to believe, that this was for a greater cause. That we didn't put ourselves on the line for local entertainment. The fist we most fear is the lack of that proof.

So simple

I've begun to have a problem feeding myself. Seems my tummy doesn't like many carbs any more (well, it still likes sweets, but for whatever reason bread and potatoes are not so good). My palate can't take too many of the local meat options. Veggies are... ugh... such a pain sometimes. Find good ones, buy them, clean them, cook them, jazz them up somehow. It's a process. I'm not into processes. This leaves... not much.

I don't really care to eat. I do it because I have to. There is no joy in my consumption. This, as a bona fide foodie, saddens me greatly. I want a pill that can give me all the nutrients I need and make me feel full. It's not a dieting issue. It's a total lack of interest issue. I simply do. not. care.

What I really want is to walk out of my car, shut the door, walk across the parking lot and order a cheeseburger with fries. And a Cherry Coke, lots of ice. I want, not a boutique restaurant, but a truck stop. Roll up the sleeves. Dig in at the counter.

I am now officially one of those blogs that talks about what I eat. Super. Yesterday's entry used the word "organizational" four times. What a page-turner.

Will someone just shoot me? Seriously...

Losing battles

I have two jobs. Both frustrating for different reasons.

The municipality makes me feel uncomfortable every time I'm there. I hate going. I'm ignored or talked around (ignored) or made to feel guilty about not being there or doing something. Today a woman I don't remember gives me a warm greeting and says that she doesn't see me around much. Um... I have nothing to do here and fighting with a computer that barely works or staring at the ceiling makes me want to go postal. No one liked when I read at work. It was anti-social. I'm supposed to find money or just sit there but I won't do either. I think this might officially make me a "bad volunteer." I don't think money solves anything (in fact, the promise of it creates its own weird demons) and I'm not just going to find money to dump here. Give me a reason and a focus and I'll run with it. They have neither and so I tend not to go for long. And when I'm there I feel like shit. Quite the incentive, eh?

The NGO I work for was all excited about applying for a grant through the embassy. They've wanted to before only it was out of their league. Still is. They are hellbent on applying for what might be the most competitive grant competition in the country. I explain that it's a large program. I explain that they need a proven history doing whatever it is they want to get funded for. I explain the competition. I explain that you can't just throw this together. I explain and explain and explain and explain. They want to do a project for women. Apparently a woman on the committee really likes those. I'd imagine she really likes solid proposals too, but they aren't after that. It's a women's project and we'll write it... in under a month. This translates into: Jen writes it. They think of educating people about anti-discrimination laws. How? Why? Who? How does one get such a message across effectively? Why are we qualified to do this? Why does one need money to do this? These questions are not answered. They cannot explain. This went on for over an hour. They're thinking on it. I explain to them that they are at the stage in organizational development where they need to have ideas that the community and the organization need and have them prepared for when a call for proposals presents itself. They need to stop concocting projects when they see grant offers. They understand that better organizations do this, but they are caught in the hand-to-mouth poverty loop. No planning. No foresight. Just going after what you need right now.

I feel like I am stuck in both places. I can't seem to make them understand larger things. Strategy. Planning. Organization. Critical thinking. I'm struggling to know where to go with this. Some days I could see myself doing a third year. Some days I want on a plane immediately.

Today is a plane day.

Seeking a non-tard nation

I've generally kept up with American politics since I've been here, but the news is typically about one windbag throwing cheap shots at another. I've begun to doubt my political interests (never in running for office mind you, just in the process and outcome and policies) . American politics seems so trite. Trite I cannot deal with. Then today, Yahoo gives me some little nuggets of news when I log into my email account. One of them is this "Texas voters add gay marriage ban to constitution." Um...what?!

There are so very many stupid aspects to this whole thing. 1) It's Texas. Texas should not exist. 2) They already had a dumb law about same-sex marriages. 3) They wanted to curb any, um COURT issues about the law, like...I dunno...taking away basic human rights. 4) Something like 75% of the voters voted for the thing. I come from a sad and insane nation.

Let me start with this: if I see "homosexual" in print any longer I will scream. Perhaps it's technically the right word, but it's sterile and formal. It's a word used by people not comfortable with the topic or associated issues. It is the 21st century version of "negro." Please, just STOP using it. Gay, lesbian, queer, LGBT community... whatever. There are so many better ways to talk about the issue.

The typical social liberal rant is something like "don't legislate what people do with other consenting adults." True and very valid. It's the heart of the issue really. I'll add two things to that 1) society should be encouraging committed relationships, not discouraging them and 2) queer unions, recognized or not, have had (and will continue to have) a profound impact on straight ones.

Depending on the source, the generally argument is that 40-50% of marriages end in divorce. Texas is among the highest. Many others fail to get married and many of those spend a lifetime bouncing from one short-term "commitment" to another. The union of two people, for richer and poorer, in sickness and in health till death do them part is becoming more rare. We're a mobile society - we move residences and jobs and relationships with ease. Rarely looking back at what we left behind. One jogger told me a neighbor asked him "what are you running to? Or are you running from something?" Our lives are something like this. People sticking around and making something work - taking the good with the bad, showing their full selves - is becoming more and more rare. It's a decline in the *gulp* morals of our society. Unions and community and working for something other than yourself should be valued and respected more. The fact that these threads may come in queer shades does not make them less valuable to the fabric of society. Historically, the diversity of the threads has even made us stronger.

Even though women have gotten more degrees and become more independent, by and large people still don't know what do to with that - this means men and women alike. Women have locked themselves into a public display of insisting that we are still feminine, even with a paycheck. Heels, makeup, cleavage, flirting when things get too serious, giggling at the right moments, tossing the hair. These are all back. They mean to say this: don't be threatened, I was just playing. Taking equality seriously has taken a backseat to playing the game and being "caught." I believe the term is backlash. Men bulk up, women slim down. Gender's become a caricature of the real thing. Balanced power and equality, especially in relationships, is hard work. It's better to be a leader or a follower and just work the role. Only those roles aren't very fulfilling and they're based on not fully knowing the other person - just accepting them as less or greater than you. While queer stereotypes lead people to think that there's a butch and a fem in every relationship, it's not always so. In fact, I know of no queer relationship where that's true. Long-term successful gay and lesbian relationships seem to be more based on seeking and finding an equal...sticking with the person and making the union work. A roleless connection. Imagine...

There are a few human rights issues in our time. This is one of them. By birth or by choice, it doesn't matter. A society needs all the goodness, commitment and compassion it can get. And then there's that whole "life, liberty and pursuit of happiness" thing, whatever that's about.

Small Town Infidelity

I'm cheating on men. A few of them. And some women too. I'm not cheating on them sexually, I'm cheating on them commercially. Those in a small town don't understand. See, when you live in a small town (by Bulgarian standards this is large, but I assure you it's NOT) you buy things from people - the SAME people - everyday. The fruits and veggies at the end of my block are manned from dawn to dusk by the same old couple. The dooner stand (dooner being a Turkish sandwich, like a gyro...only not) is always the same guy. Even the grocery store has the same counter people and cashiers. Everyone is the same no matter when I go.

Being a sad creature of habit and also sticking out like a sore thumb means I attract attention and people know me and recognize me. Part of it is that I'm an American. Part is that I speak Bulgarian like crap. Part is that I use the words for "please," "thank you," and "excuse me." Whatever it is, people know me. Some refer to me by name or as "the American" or even "my American." Others notice me in line and just automatically make what I normally order. It's a relationship, of sorts, with each of the people. An acknowledgement and a shared respect. A fondness even.

And then...I ruin it. I get bored, I start looking elsewhere, I think "hey, there are other dooners in the sea" and I try something new. Sometimes it's just as great and sometimes it's even better. And then...I'm totally torn. Do I break it off with the old guy? How do I tell him? I can't just walk by the veggie stand with VEGGIES in my hand. God forbid. Or stroll past my old favorite dooner stand with another man's dooner in my mouth. What would people say?

Forget sex, drugs and rock n' roll. I'm just looking for a good tomato.

Just admit it. You don't know.

I've learned a number of things here in ole Bulgaria. I am the best, and only real, measurer of my success. Character is everything. Stupid is as stupid does. Taoism has some real merits. Blah, Blah, blah. There're also beliefs that I had before that are now just stone-cold facts in my head. One of my new facts is this: there are no experts and people who claim to be experts are ignorant assholes.

There are moments of serious discussion and reflection with my Bulgarian friends and co-workers. They tend to come from left field and leave me thinking "well, yeah, but where in the hell did that come from?" Today, for example, in discussing a potential trafficking project with my NGO counterpart she basically begins talking about benchmarking (aka looking for best practices). OK. Yeah, totally. But, um, where'd THAT come from? Talking, talking... and she says "I don't want to be one of those organizations in Bulgaria that think they know everything and just make brochures and seminars on topics they don't even understand." Uhhh... I'm so elated I'm speechless. She points to stacks of books "too abstract - too much theory." She points to brochures "they don't go to the problem - corruption, desperation, communities that help this happen." Uhhh... I have no reaction that doesn't involve cursing and jumping and clapping so I just say "exactly."

I work with and meet tons of "experts." On what? Good question. They are just experts. Their title says so, don't question it. They know and have certificates that say so. This country is certificate crazy. The certificate means this "I've read some brochures or binders of info and went to a seminar...all produced by people with certificates in something else." The country is talking, no one just has any clue what people are saying and what the hell it has to do with anything real.

I'm writing a project that would make training tangible to local leaders - take the theory and the rhetoric and apply it to your organization. Let's talk about what happens. People don't do it here. It's all models of project planning and management and analysis tools. No connecting, no thinking. Just models... and then doing. A country spinning its wheels.

This isn't a Bulgarian problem. It's a global one. In the States people are hired because their resumes have the right schools on them or the right degrees. Yale, MBA, Stanford, PhD. These are our own stamps and certificates. People have a piece of paper - they went to school, read some books and sat through some lectures by people who... spend a lifetime in lectures and books. These people go out into the world and run things. Skills, natural talents and character be damned. Without the right credentials merit means nothing. Credentials are your merit. Just ask anyone with them.

My own life is torn between work that's practical and work that's analytical. I want both. One without the other is empty to me. But... where and what is that work? Development largely seems to be a big word for "liberals in nice offices with nice theories." There's money for capacity building and integration and education... throw it into the problem. Maybe it will work. The thinkers have clean hands and ponder waste management while the workers are up to their eyes in shit.

The gap between thinking and doing. Perhaps there should be a seminar.

Like a junkie

I found myself this evening darting to and fro in my apartment. I felt out of control in the situation. I just kept looking in cabinets and drawers and moving things. What isn't here? What??

An old saying says that home is where you hang your hat. Never one to wear hats, it's never quite fit for me. One day, many years and apartments ago, I was living in a situation that I was tempted to get out of. I'd been in the apartment almost a year and if I was going my lease said it was time to do so. Confused about how I felt and what I wanted, I looked over at a wall lined with boxes. They contained all my books. My entire personal library. Nearly a year later and they, both my children in some sense and my mentors in another, were still without a place. I looked at those boxes and I knew, for me, home is where I put my books. Having never felt comfortable enough to unpack them, my decision to leave was immediate. It was simple, really.

An international move meant that I couldn't possibly take my library with me. I thought about it, trust me. Much like that point where I decided to stay or to go in the old apartment, I look at the books I have here - books that were among the first (if not the first) thing I gave a home here - and I want more of them. I want at least part of my library with me. This, however briefly, is my home.

This sounds a bit compulsive and rash, I'm sure. Like I have a strange attachment to just being near books. I do. I love it. Every room usually has books stashed someplace (except the bathroom...um...I don't really need them there, thanks). Part is that I just love books. Part is that I love having a huge selection on hand so that whenever I finish a book I can walk into my library and pick whatever suits me at the time. I haven't read half of the books I own, and it will probably always that way, allowing me to shop in my own library whenever I choose. I buy books in bulk. I walk into a good bookstore and I come out with an armful - as content as I could possibly be. Some women like to buy clothes or jewelry, I like to buy books (and homewares and skin care products...I digress).

I'm due, in my own mental health timeline, for another vacation. Most likely a solo one. I'm tempted to go someplace (namely, London) with great bookstores and tea/coffee shops that I can sit and read in. Great art, great history, great theater. It all works. Well, except for that whole expense thing. London would take all that I have, still, I am oh-so tempted. I'd damn near fly back to New York just for the treat of browsing stores I already knew and loved. I could see thousands of dollars flying out the window and into bookstore registers. It'd be so easy and fun to do.

I miss the books themselves. I miss the access to knowledge and other points of view. I miss being able to say "I really want some feminist theory" or "Hmm...Eastern religion..." and just diving in. I miss a room lined from ceiling to floor with books - books stacked and crammed into every free space and even then, spilling into other areas. I miss making my home really look and feel like me.

Dysfunction Junction

Looking at my lifespan I've had a number of dysfunctional relationships of varying types and degrees. This does not make me special. My current most dysfunctional and co-dependent relationship is... with this laptop. It's become my life and my blood and the vast majority of my friends are now, literally, two-dimensional. I no longer see people or hear them, but if I'm in the other room and IM messages are arriving, I can tell by the pattern of the beeps who the messages are from. Sad. Sick and sad.

My connection with my town leaves something to be desired and I am quickly learning, with the help of a sitemate who's had no problem being welcomed here, that the problem might just be with me. Initially I'm rather shy and I'm still bashful with the language (even after a year - what's my problem?!). I have extrovert tendencies, but only after I warm up to people, and... well... I've been attached to this computer a little too much to warm up to most people. I've not really explored doing things here, often due to just feeling weird and nervous about doing things solo. No one in the States would have ever accused me of lacking initiative and self-confidence, but somehow it's a part of me that I've lost or forgotten about. Peace Corps does that sometimes. A little too often, in fact.

It becomes very comfortable and satisfying to come home to a host of people online wanting to chat. People you know quite well and are connecting with more and more each day. And there are friends and family back home that I miss and keep in contact with. With the exception of a handful of people, everyone I know and care about I connect with via internet. This... this THING has become my portal to companionship and understanding. I've really not given people much of a chance here and I'm sorely regretting it. Not only because I'm missing out on actually living here but because I've just become not so present in my life. I chat a lot, but... well, I don't have a lot to chat about. Once upon a time in a far away land, I chatted with people a lot less and had a lot more to tell them when I did. Coincidence? Probably not.

I need to do more things and get out of the apartment more and stay in town more (add that to the list from yesterday - oiy!). I feel like I've missed a lot of what I came here for. A lot of life. And a lot of me too.

9:30, ugh

Suddenly it's 9:30 p.m and I don't know where the day went. I haven't sat down for a meal all day. Breakfast was while I was dealing with the internet guys who were here to fix the cable that the roofers cut yesterday (smooth move, guys). Lunch was in between jobs. Working. Emailing. Researching. Tutoring. Coffee date. 9:30.

This seems to be how my days go here and where I am and what I do in the day seem beyond my control. I plan to do so many things with the day and then...9:30. I want to read more and write more and study more and cook more and exercise more and keep in touch more. Where I find the time and how I do this... I have no idea.

I've always been one of those people who irrationally spend something ten times over. If you tell me you'll give me $100 (and please do) then, in my mind, I can somehow justify spending it several times. Your $100 will end up costing me $300. It occurs to me that this might be happening with my days. I've always thought that if I got 30 hrs for everyone else's 24 then I'd be ok. I just need to learn to hate sleep. To not need it. I just, you know, need to be superhuman. Then I'll be able to keep up with myself. Ugh.

So...I sit here with a hunger headache, a looming to-do list and an online group chat I'm supposed attend starting at...oh...3 a.m. Guess I can start that no sleeping thing now. Usually I'd just procrastinate.