The gulf within

When you graduate high school there's the excitement - one stemming from everyone going to the next phase in their own way. All, or most , are going to college, but one that fits them somehow. Plans are made to get together over winter break to reconnect and swap stories.

College graduation is a little different. People finish at different times, find jobs at different rates, go off to even more schooling. There's an immediate definition of success - those who land the quickest and the safest. Investment bankers. Law school students. People merging effortlessly into the well paved paths of security. Those left behind or taking risks with something less traditional can't quite keep up with the parties and other lifestyle choices. It becomes clear that their roads are diverging from their more focused friends. And then there's a gulf - one left for both parties to attempt to overcome.

It is when these roads separate, rather than when they are together, that proves the meaning and value of the friendships. A shared experience does not a friendship make. Differing experiences and a commitment to be a part of both shows that it's more than padding or a diversion. Constantly reeling in, and being reeled in. Not allowing distance or careers or significant others or money or rate of progress to dictate what is or is not there.

When I think of my friendships and what holds them together I get two things: laughter and respect. That includes being able to laugh at oneself and having self-respect. Some of those things are in jeopardy. Others, sadly, I think have faded. Sometimes I feel too present in my life, as if my heart is in thousands of pieces and being housed outside of myself. When attachments become loses, that piece of me goes too.

Investing though completely spent

There were lots of discussions. When I was in Peace Corps and spent countless hours online chatting with friends there were points, even months, where we earnestly asked ourselves and each other why we stayed. No one was quite sure. After many drinks one night at our Midservice Training I vaguely remember a friend and I working in concert to explain to a trainee why we were still there. I remember it being eloquent and insightful... but the liquor was talking for us so I don't remember much of the details. It was basically about the few people we touched and who touched us back, and our dedication to those connections. Generally though, without the social lubricant of alcohol the answer could be much more stark. The answer most often given was "what do we go back to?" The interesting aspect of it all was that people left with a good deal of bravery were likely to stay out of cowardice.

One day, after a few intense days of internal battles discussed with close friends, I rather abruptly decided that the answers for staying were not good enough and I, with eyes wide closed, pressed 'send' on my resignation email - thus leaping into the great unknown. I knew it was the right decision for me and I still hold that same opinion, though as lovely as spring is along the lake, I have found myself thinking of tying red and white bracelets to flowering trees to celebrate spring, of the discussions I had with my host family and my counterparts, of my weekend hikes into the mountains, of my walk to work and of various other wondrous little details - details that, occasionally, will take my breath away with their absence.

I feel like I've lived a few lifetimes since sending that resignation email. Friendships have forever changed. My family has grown to one that is damn near functional, if only because the disfunction ate itself. I've moved and moved again... and moved again. I'm currently living on the 3rd floor of a house I'm housesitting. It's enormous - so enormous it's a little daunting. Even the bathtub is strangely gigantic. As the owners sell the house I'm living here for free - attending the gardens, battling the dust bunnies. The thing that puts a smile on my face is that it's my life in Velingrad, only this time in the North Shore. Still adapting to the culture. Still balancing trying to be invisible and yet open and receptive. Still wondering what comes next. Still wondering what the hell I'm doing.

A PCV's blog said that there's a confidence people have when they are a PCV - that they can adapt to anything and go anywhere. It's so true, even here at home. It's amazing how nervous and shaken people can get over small things. Part of that confidence is having been through much more - and worse. Part though, I think, is having taken the time to, if not find your center, then to get much closer to it. Just being away from media and TV and social pressures means that you have to take the time to figure out more of what you want and like without all the external influences. Finding something you like there makes you all the more confident.

I'm spending my days looking for a job - a landing pad for the next phase of my life. I'm being careful not to take whatever I get. Not to fall into old dead-end patterns. Once you've found that person - that center - and you like it, it's hard but terribly important to keep it. Even if the safe landing is poorly chosen, at least there's the safety net of knowing I was real throughout. Of knowing I was true to myself and knowing I did not compromise me. Unfortunately, not compromising is terribly draining, making the days of government stipends and capitol city jaunts seem rosy. It's times like this when I understand why people settle and focus their energies on what the perfect coffee table might look like or what to wear. At least then you have something to show for your time.