Breaking Up Really IS Hard to Do

December 20, 2005. That's when I left Bulgaria. Not a day goes by that I'm not reminded of my experiences there. This is partially due to the fact that I speak to at least one person I 'served' with everyday. I walked away with some truly great friends, no doubt there. But, it's really more than that. I left early. I 'quit,' as they like to say. I remember it being a very clear decision. One that seemed so logical. It was... and it wasn't.

Professionally, for the first time ever, I really felt like a failure. Sure I transferred some skills and did some good in my town, but the markers of success seemed to keep moving and I felt like I consistently missed them. I felt like I'd done a week's worth of work in about a year and a half. Even if it wasn't true, it's what it felt like. I didn't have the resources (support, interest... you name it) to do what so clearly needed to be done. It was so fucking exhausting.

Adding to that, I had spent a lot of my time dealing with some demons. Maybe even too much time. I had developed a huge, and obvious, crush on a guy - a crush following my tendency to find comfort in unrequited... er, infatuation. In concert with other life events, it ended this pattern, but that didn't make it feel any better in the moment. There was a lot of self-doubt and confusion and discomfort - not great additions to living abroad. I had good friends who were kind and understanding enough to know when to push and when to let things go, but I'm sure the thrashing of the demons made me look - and act - like a giant ass to a fair amount of people. Sorry.

The demons weren't just about men (dear god, I'm not that fucking lame). They were really connected with everything. Limiting myself. Not pursuing what I really wanted. Anger. Bitterness. Sadness. Loss. Emptiness. Not knowing whether I was over- or underwhelmed in my life. ...Shit, basically. I'd just start crying for no reason at all. You know what? It was so fucking liberating. I wish I cried more now.

All the weight aside, I didn't leave Peace Corps for it. It was as factor, sure, but I clearly remember leaving for quite the opposite reason. I felt like I was getting better - stronger, more focused, less... weighted, but that I felt like I couldn't really BE those things where I was. Too much stagnation in my town. Too many friends with substance and reality issues. Too many people flaking out on me when I felt better just distancing myself from them all together. I needed space and time - room to grow. I'd used up all I had there.

Then I came back. The American Hamster Wheel. Three months of loneliness and feeling more lost then ever. Months of walking into other people's crutches and self-inflicted burdens. I'd left because I felt like I was finally ready to leave the abyss and I thought I had a good idea where the surface was, but then I arrived back in the grand ole US of A only to realize it was the same, only with rent and bills. Adding to all of this, it was only last week that I finally found a job - nearly 2 yrs later. All of those things I'd worked so hard to shed came back twofold. I was no longer strong and focused - I was sad and aimless. Exhausted once more.

Now, employed, I get to finally try to reclaim the gains I made abroad. Not all those gains were lost, but I feel I still have some repairing to do. I drifted from certain people - some of the drifting was very intentional, but other drifting was not. The loss of two friendships in particular has kept me up many more nights than I wish to admit. Two people who I once communicated with sometimes several times a day and considered very good friends. Two friendships lost, at least in part, due to my waywardness. Two faces that randomly appear in my dreams, as if to remind me of the sorrow, in case I had forgotten.

So here I am, 21 months later, still thinking about the Peace Corps. What I did and did not do. Wish I had done, and wish I had not. Things I am glad to never do again, and things my heart aches for. Both mistakes and advances made. A heart mended and broken several times over.

I don't miss the girl I was in Bulgaria, or even the girl I've been since I returned. The girl I miss is the one in those 2 weeks or so between deciding to leave and leaving. I miss the girl on the plane with nothing but potential ahead of her. She's been broken and reassembled many times in this lifetime, only to be better each time. Here's hoping this time is no different.

Now, damn it. I really need to stop writing in this blog and go somewhere else.

Post 116

This is it. The bittersweet end. I just created my new blog, First Drafts and will begin the process of stepping away from here - my first online home and the renewal of my writing after far too many silent years. I still have some feelings and insights to the whole Peace Corps experience, but as I move on I'd rather not dedicate the time to doing it just yet. Time, Young Jedi... time.

I've made a few friends with this thing and, I'm sure, turned many people off by it. I don't see the point of personal journals - the process of documenting your secrets so then you have the added stress of worrying about people finding the documentation. Instead, I've gone with the 'here it is if you want to read it approach' and some have, many haven't. If it's possible to both put all your cards on the table while also keeping them close to your chest, I think I've done just that. My heart, mind and experiences have been released, even if readers don't fully know the specifics. I think there's something to writing that makes it general enough that people relate to it, even if they don't relate to the details themselves. As humans, we share basic responses to life's events and it's so easy to get lost in particulars and highlight the differences. We've been programmed in many ways to see in the us-vs-them paradigm and 'them' only seems to get larger and larger.

I'd like to take a brief moment to thank the many people who've remained loyal readers and served as feedback givers. You've made this so easy to do, and so rewarding. I hope you continue to follow my random life events in the new blog. As my life starts to feel more and more like my own again, the need to write grows as well. Hopefully you think this is a good thing.

For any PCV or future PCV that finds this: feel free to contact me if you have questions. I'm not the biggest PC advocate, but I wouldn't take back the experience. I'd happily give you my honest assessment, which might contrast with all the "oh my god! it was so amazing!" reactions people seem to have. I think it was amazing... but, it is my experience and my opinion that with great joy comes great sorrow and with good thoughts comes great responsibility. I witnessed a lot of sorrow and not so much responsibility. But... I think that's not much different than most places I've been, so take it with a grain of salt.

On to my Chicago life...

Mortgages and margaritas, coffee and confusion

Fourth of July, a day when most Americans feel more American and more connected to their fellow countrymen. A Wal-Mart co-opted definition of pride and freedom fills the yards and streets, each person creative in their conformity. Beyond doing it to obey my rule of avoiding idiots with sticks of fire, I stay in on the Fourth because it's just another reminder that I'm not one.

Wedding season and summer vacations mean the city is overrun with tourists and brides... and wanna-be brides. In my generation, at least way back in the day, the worst you could do was to be a wanna-be or, god forbid, a poser. But here we are. Country girls in their discount dresses and nude hose and strappy sandals gawking at the buildings, carrying shopping bags of things available in most strip malls across the land. Suburban dads in their wife-purchased outfits, kids in tow, smiling at me in an overly intimate way. Everyone contemplating life on the other side, trial runs, free samples. A belief that the better life, meaning almost always the more 'fun' one or the easier one, is just a decision away. A one-step solution.

The fascination with this magical, all-solving step and it's belief to be the almighty one makes it seem all the more dangerous - alluring to ponder, but daunting to really consider. Like men who describe women as exotic, it's a flirtation around the idea of something being attractive because it isn't understood. When it becomes understood it's... flawed, not attractive.

Alters and thresholds provide the same myths and legends. Happily ever after, riding off into the sunset. One decision into another, better - and in this case - safer life. Find someone to provide. Be provided for. Marriage isn't trite or necessarily flawed, but most people seem to plan to be brides and grooms more than husbands and wives. Perfect linens and flowers and ribbons, music and processional, standard toasts and poses. A perfect day for the perfect beginning. Thousands of dollars for the proper send off into Perfectville.

I've been to a few parties recently where new 30-somethings (meaning 30 year olds) stand around with their wedding bands or wedding plans taking about their condos, drinking from plastic cups and telling band camp stories. It's the Quarter Life Purgatory between starting the career and starting the family - jumping from one well traveled track to the next. These gatherings are like college parties, those thrown in the time of your life when you feel you are biding time until the Next Big Thing happens to you.

Outside of these Purgatory Parties, the rest of us huddle over small coffeehouse tables, in hushed but impassioned conversations about meanings and journeys and confusion. Those of us unwilling to jump on the same train, running on the same old track, duck into the dank and dirty train station cafe and question not just the destination, but the best mode to get wherever we want 'there' to be.

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.

I prefer to think of myself as short and interesting

I spend many of my waking hours online these days. Unlike my Bulgarian days, it's not to converse with friends or explore my interests - it's solely to find a job. My list of unreplyed to emails grows longer and longer. Part of that is due to the complete lack of separation from my work and home (having neither, they blend seamlessly). Part is due to the fact that explaining you are in between phases and parts of your life is tiring. Not sure where I am or where I'm going, I don't wish to blow the dust of my confusion and internal conflicts in order to present them to someone else. If it's not broke, don't fix it. But what about when it's broken, then what? I search for a job with the triad of good pay, interesting and... there's a new addition: some place where having a personality isn't a liability. It's striking how well people convey the exact type of person they want in an ad. When we posted in my last 'real' job we did it too - adding words like 'quirky' and 'sassy' to attract people who'd fit in. Reading job ads requires more savvy than the NYC real estate ads. Too much use of "must" means there's a predefined way to do the job and you'll be judged by that mold. "Preferred" qualifications mean they'll only hire people who have them, though they don't intend to pay the appropriate salary for that level of work. If a job description is so long and boring you want to skim it, it doesn't bode well for the actual position. There's a right way to say everything - it's all corporate-speak, carefully phrased to appease the HR director, lawyers and hiring manager. I've never been a fan of governing by committee. In the end it all seems like a long pointless paragraph describing a job that reflects its description. And I'm left to wonder: why am I doing this? What do I want from it? What would something better look like? Where would I fit in?

Out-of-the-Boxed In

I was asked in an interview not long ago how I spent my days. I said that I felt that looking for employment was a full-time job and I was doing just that. Luckily, the interviewer didn't press the issue too much. While I do indeed spend my days and some evenings looking for work, it not as fruitful as you might think for a city the size of Chicago. Instead of finding tons of listings to apply to, I find that most are nothing I would want to do, even for the short term. Jobs seem to have become very nuts-and-bolts somewhere along the way. Manage collections, data, IT, HR, marketing. The job descriptions are long and detailed, having long since been defined to fit a niche in the organization (yet few having anything to do with the actual product the company sells). It's clear from these descriptions and the requirements attached to them (MBA, 10 years experience doing the exact same thing in the exact same field, further certifications in that field just in case there's any doubt left) that they want someone to peacefully come in and fill the slot so that it can be included on the next quarterly report as a handled issue and then everyone can go about business as usual.

The exception to this is work in the non-profit world where they actually go as far as to state "must be familiar with local leadership" - meaning you must have connections. They too often want advanced degrees and multiple years experience all so you can earn $25k/year. Those without local connections seem to be relegated to the more junior positions, none of which come with opportunities to actually make those connections and are instead operations and office work... desk jobs.

Being on the tail-end of the Gen Xers, I was raised to think that one reason to go to school and work hard was so that you could do something you loved. Spending the bulk of your conscious hours at work means, on some level, you are what you do and you wanted that person (and thus that job) to be a great as possible. The more passive Gen Y generation, barely remembering the 80s at all, were raised with college educations and white collar jobs being more of the norm and something you just accepted would happen. You play by the rules, you meet the success markers and you are rewarded for it. Who you are and what you do can be outside of that. They were a generation raised to think of Nirvana as cool, though a wee retro and on mainstream radio. There's something we Gen Xers got from the 80s duality of the Alex P. Keatons and the Joey Ramones that they seem to be missing. There's something we got out of having non-Gap flannel. Something goes awry when 'alternative' and 'indie' lose their edge and become mass marketed for the part-timers stopping in after the office. What's left, in the Colbert-coined term, is truthiness.

The interesting thing about the masses being able to afford college (on some level, a great myth), is that we've taken the Me Generation, American Psycho love for labels and embraced it in education. It's not that you went to school, but where that matters. A top-tier school in the East Coast gets you into the club, but in the Midwest, where local schools and Greek memberships still carry weight, it just means you aren't a PLU ('people like us,' an actual term used). To carry that further, there are advanced degrees and certifications that 'earn' you a place at the table. I know a guy who went from doing all non-profit work to being a consultant to executives as a result of getting his MBA. This is not to say the guy isn't bright (he is) or can't do the work (he can), but I don't really know that the MBA is what made him able to do that work. I've spoken to other friends with MBAs and while they say that they learned the 'proper' vernacular to use when talking about things, they didn't really alter their strengths - that people go in with a zeal for ideas and innovation or they don't. Given my, er, lack of subtlety I asked if they thought an MBA was a $100,000 finishing school. A pregnant pause later... "that's exactly what it is". The problem is that it's the MBAs that are doing hiring and if they paid to be in the club, why shouldn't you?

In the pursuit of work, I've been networking with people near and far who can offer advice and/or assistance. In one of my discussions I asked someone the honest question: companies complain about not having 'out-of-the-box' thinkers, yet they actively recruit people with straight and narrow experiences - how do they expect to get those thinkers with that strategy? I immediately withdrew the question, apologizing for its confrontational nature. But... I really don't understand it. I don't understand how people are expected to be innovative when they spend years being forcefed ideas and systems. I don't understand how people are surprised by the sheep mentality we have when everything is set up to encourage just that.

My resume has been making its rounds in Chicago for about two months now and the results are pretty consistent - great resume, we just don't know what to do with it. It seems like I just don't fit into a lot of pre-set expectations. On some level, I'm glad for that... but it doesn't solve the unemployment issue any faster. I'm a Gen Xer - I'll leave my orange Pumas at home to go to the office, but... on the inside, the mentality I have and the skills that I offer are those of a girl with orange Pumas. It's the mentality of a girl who, years ago, wrote on her Chucks "ask why". I suppose I still am.

The good new days

I've never much minded aging, unlike most of my contemporaries. Sure, my relationship with Gravity becomes strained as he stubbornly pushes things down and out, but my body does nothing less than show the growing pains and battle scars of a life I learned a lot from. I see myself, not less than I used to be, but more than (thanks for that, Gravity and Pastries). I grew up with parents who had me at a young age and 'missed out' on the late teen and 20s experience, leaving them to always ponder what could have been and to wax nostalgic about the glory days. All of this could have inspired me to really relish the years they missed, but instead I saw it with some sadness - the sadness that comes from thinking the best days and years are behind you. I vowed at a young age to never be guilty of that, and to see my life - and my best days - as always being ahead of me.

I turned 30 a week ago - without much fanfare, something I wanted to skip. I didn't feel the horrible weight on me that I'm now old or past my prime. Instead I felt some relief. See, while many people remember their twenties as being a grand time and full of parties and chaos and general hedonism, I viewed my twenties as sheer torture. In addition to not having the 'typical' experience, I just found it to be a lot of pretending and fakeness. I found it to be trite. The twenties were, in my opinion, the least earnest decade - though, of course, I haven't had that many to choose from. The experience was all about acting like you knew who you were and what you wanted while you were always looking over your shoulder to see if it was working. The twenties were about proving you could be the first, the best, the biggest, the something. Somewhere though, in the late twenties you finally realize your train jumped the status and preprogrammed track and you, rather hectically, must actually choose the track that fits. Something in my mind, always said that 30 was the age when you knew (or at least better knew) what parts of 'having it all' were for you, and which parts you viewed as not at all appealing... and, more importantly, you were comfortable with your acceptances and rejections.

When asked the question "don't you wish we were [insert a younger age] and could do it over again?" my answer is a resounding not just 'no,' but 'hell no.' I can't think of any lessons I'd want to relearn or relive, even if it meant not making the mistakes that lead to my twisted path. There was an episode of Star Trek (um, I don't really watch that show - honest to god) where Spock wished that he knew what he knew now in the beginning, and in some sci-fi suspension-of-some-serious-disbelief way that happened. The end result? He turned out to be half the man he was, with the moral being: we need to make mistakes, possibly even great ones, to become all that we can be. My life and choices haven't been perfect, but I don't look in the mirror and wish that I'd turned out differently. So, even when I think of the wretched parts of my life that I'd have rather not had, I do not look back with regret - only with wonder at just how much it shaped me.

The turning point of 30 has made me listen differently and think differently. Think about how this decade will be greater and better than the last, what I want from it and what regrets I don't want to have. The difference in listening... well, I realize just how many people gather round to tell band camp stories or other stories of the past. I realize how often, if at all, people talk about the future... and if they link it to present situations. I turned 30 with good laughs and good friends - not with tales of the good old days, which weren't so good and are so very old.

Avoidance

When I neared the end of my New York tenure, I envisioned a life of politics and policy, a DC apartment and jogging along with all the others. Something about all the navy and beige suits, standard haircuts and general homogeneity - not to mention the workaholic I-am-what-I-do mentality - filtered into signing up for Peace Corps and bypassing the need to decide right away. When all else fails, just avoid.

Yesterday I stopped avoiding and after nearly three hours of phone interviews, I was whisked off to DC to wow the office in person. The treatment was first class - great hotel room, free air fare and meals, cars to and from the airports. Even the people were kind and lovely. I wow'ed as best as I could and kept the energy level as high as I could muster, but something wasn't fitting. From the moment I stepped off the plane I was just reminded how... plastic it all is. Inhabited primarily by people passing through as leisurely tourists on vacation or professional tourists building a career, the streets and buildings lack any real character or charm. A gritless city. Places that come close to being interesting or unique give off the distinct feeling that they are a product of a focus group or a copy of a copy of a great idea. Day or night, the District appeared to be populated with people in suits and ties or their slackerdly cousin, the polo and khakis ensemble - something that seemed so glaring coming from a town where people can be seen going to work in ballcaps and flipflops.

Coming from a city where everyone seems to take themselves with a grain of salt, where serving on a community board or volunteering is quite common and where every apartment seems to be in a neighborhood that's within walking distance of something great, the seriousness of people's self-interest in 'serving' national causes from their suburban dwellings was not particularly alluring, bordering on non-human.

While the specifics are interesting (including a wardrobe malfunction leaving my breasts exposed all over Constitution Ave), you know I tend to get something more general from experiences and this is no exception. There are two major things connecting people who join Peace Corps - the interest in becoming a part of something greater and the interest in leaving something. The rhetoric that is spewed emphasizes the former but not the latter. On a personal level, remembering the latter is all too important.

When we return it's all too easy to walk back into old places, to see old faces and to pick up where we left off with only a momentary lapse - like a needle on a record that skips but keeps playing the same recognizable song. We left in many ways to let ourselves grow and expand and to step back far enough to realize why what we had wasn't enough. I assume there are a few who find that is was enough and just learn to gain appreciation for it - but I think those cases are few and far between. It's important to keep this goal in mind - the goal of a fresh start - because returning is its own bewildering journey and it's so easy to just find comfort in the old haunts, the old habits... the old rut. Without taking the time to figure out what one wants, where and all the other assorted details its so easy to pick up the default choices and return to a non-jarring, non-growing, non-threatening life. In the period of one's life where they most want and need safety, the challenge is, well, to avoid it.

Toward a life owned

Several inquires have arrived in the last month or so - people interested in what I'm doing and how I am, if and when there will be a new blog. I am, for the record, fine. Searching for work that is meaningful and fulfilling without, I hope, completely emptying my bank account in the pursuit. I am loving Chicago and feeling more connected to it each day. Cities, like people, have a tempo and vibe - they feed off certain things and offer others. Certain cities, I think, feel like home and others - regardless of how much time you spend there - will always seem foreign. Chicago, for me, is like that near-rib-cracking hug that you get when an old and dear friend sees you after a long separation - like you'd be more excited if you didn't feel so damn peaceful. Some of my blog sabbatical has involved such distractions as reentering the world of theater-going, long and cleansing walks along the lake and just meeting that mix that Chicago offers - the hearty down-to-earthness mixed with curiosity and a genuine sense of community. After living in a world where people desired to work at city hall forever, it's damn near breathtaking to meet "my" people... people like architects who play the banjo in bluegrass bands... people who want to endlessly learn and grow and become richer and fuller in a sense that goes beyond consumption and stale definitions of success.

Part of my distraction from this site, or the next, is that I'm figuring out what I want from my life and what I'm doing with it. In the job hunt it's all too easy to lose focus on the fact that you are both the seller and the buyer - that you are there as much to see if the fit is for you and you are to convince the interviewer that you are a fit for them. It's easy to forget what it is you're looking for when the first step is being wanted. It's easy to just devolve into wanting to be wanted... something that describes a great many of the life searches I know. After a few months of mental and emotional rest - or something resembling that - I entered the job market and have been in it for about a month. Things are moving forward - frankly, for the time I've been at it, it's going quite nicely. Serious interviews and interests are starting to role in, I'm even expecting an offer from a place that is not 'the one' - or even close to it. I've faced a lot of self-doubt and large questions about whether I should, assuming the offer comes, take it. Advice from friends has been split, often based on their own bias and way of living - it's hard to endorse risk-taking when your own life is security-seeking. What do I want from my life? What do I have, and want, to offer? Where do I want to be in 20 years and how - oh how - will I get there? If I turn down a very good salary and a 'stable' job will I regret it? Would I regret taking it more?

In the process of making all these major, life-changing decisions it falls into place that it would be appropriate to question the relationships and people in one's life as well. And so, I have. Major events in my life have left me to question how people lead their lives and how those choices affect my own. I've been in many friendships where people are hell-bent on destroying themselves. People in that mentality will gladly take the whole team with them. Before it tears you up inside though, you get to live a dichotomous life of choosing to be the silent indirect condoner or the nagging battleaxe. One thing I've learned about myself, and life in general, this last year or so is that you have the relationships you want - or at least those you allow to happen. It is your choice. You can care about people and want great things for them, but if they don't want it for themselves then... well, you just enable them in some way. I don't have to agree with every person's every decision, but I do think I need to feel confident in some way that they are making decisions that are, for them, wise and healthy - ones where they are continuing to grow and learn and not just learn the same damn lessons over and over. Don't just keep broken things around the house under the illusion that you'll fix them - be prepared to make it a project or move on. I'm happy to share my journey with others and to take part in theirs as well, but I'm not prepared to be the only one struggling to move forward. Returning has made me realize what amazing people I have in my life, new and old. Time, like all resources, is limited and if the choice is blood, sweat and tears with those owning their lives and fighting the real fight or having a good time with one of the 'fun' people, well... I think we all know my choice.

And that, dear readers, is what has taken my time away from here: making lots of choices. And so, I'll choose to be better at this.

I am keeping this blog until I feel like I've moved on from Peace Corps. I'd certainly like that to be sooner rather than later, but... well, as I continue to question what the 'new' life will be and what all of this has taught me it seems appropriate to keep the discussion - or what I can muster - here.

Prepare to qualify

The date's been set. As of Saturday I'll be in Illinois on my way to Chicago. Though the road trip could be done in a day, nine hours of driving is a bit much. Plus, sadly, I'm looking forward to my night alone in a roadside hotel. I just want some time to be alone for a bit and just enjoy the progress I've made.

I'll arrive in Chicago on Sunday, exactly three months after leaving my sentence with the Peace Corps. I miss friends, but... not the experience. It's hard to believe it's been three months. It's hard to believe I've lived with my mom that long and haven't been committed. I've gone through quite a bit since leaving. Most of it has been mental and emotional processing. Like with all moves, you need to spend the time sorting what comes along and what gets ditched. I've inherited a new father, or learned that my 'real' one is not who I thought; become an aunt for the fourth time; learned that I'll be one for the fifth time in the fall; waded through the mounds of paperwork that American life produces (still having more to do); caught up with a few friends... It's hard to think that it took three months. My family has a knack for making emergencies, or at least urgencies. It seems like I've been in one since I arrived. Everything must be done right away, although at the end of the day I'm never sure what's been done. My family is the Black Hole of Time.

I'm leaving here soon, as much because it's just time to move on as because I need to once again break from the cycle of victimization that people here live in and because... I'm restless. I need a new challenges and new people and new explorations and room to grow. Things that aren't here. I'm feeling both calm and frayed by my choice of moves. I know Chicago is the right lifestyle city for me, but I keep coming up with blanks about jobs... I feel like a career is still out of reach. I keep getting signs large and small that DC would be a more 'rational' choice. Connections... schooling... experience. I just can't picture a life there among the cube dwellers longing for a U-shaped desk and a door. Among the people who think they were destined to rule with theories and Blackberries from a distance. Among people who think they are RIGHT. When I see DC in my head, I see all the is wrong with America. Perhaps I just have a problem with authority.

One thing I wanted to do before I left KC, both to close this blog and to give closure to my experience with Peace Corps, was to write a final commentary on it all. I still have yet to do that, and I need to. There's so much there - so much that I think and feel about the whole experience. The writer and humanist in me has tons to say, but the consultant/policy wonk in me has just as much. It's all tangled. I have pages of notes that I need some peace to sort through. Perhaps it'll be my Holiday Inn fun. Perhaps I should stay more than one night. I could use it. Just to be calm and alone. Is it lame to vacation in a rural interstate hotel? Maybe I could move in and manage it... probably not qualified though.

Safety first!

I resubmitted my resume to the online job banks today, lowering some numbers a bit and changing some wording. Oddly, I'm now getting responses that refer to me as an 'executive' when before I seemed to be destined to sell insurance. The whole thing makes me laugh a bit - how driven by efficiency we Americans are that we actually tend to bypass quality. The responses are clearly based on searches for a phrase that I magically managed to include. Now recruiters, having found my resume in one database, want me to add my name to theirs. But... haven't they already found my resume? Entering my information into databases could take months if I let it, but I just won't. Doesn't anyone actually look at things any more? Actually read them? I'm beginning to think not.

I took a day off from being unemployed (much less glam than it sounds and largely involving, um, databases) and went to a bookstore, for Mediterranean food and for coffee at my favorite coffeehouse anywhere (it was such an escape when I was a wee grrrl and always takes me back there). In any case, in my browsing I went to the business section and, again, was amazed by the lack of actual reality people produce. The books were largely based on marketing or managing... either a product or yourself as a product. It was dumbfounding. It may be possible that I am no longer fit for Western society. I want to start asking people what they do, but pressuring them until I get a real answer. I'm assuming this is not the best way to make friends and isn't included in the networking strategy books.

A family member was let go from her job - the only one she's ever had, and one that someone else got for her to boot. She's paranoid about it and what losses it might mean - primarily a loss of security. Perhaps I'm just so used to being knocked off track that it doesn't phase me any longer. I just remember entering each unexpected turn with fear in my eye, but coming out of it with a deep sigh of relief. It's frustrating to embrace change in a world constantly asking what effect my decisions (staying unemployed for a couple months, leaving Peace Corps, etc) will have in the long term. It just seems like they were decisions that needed to be made without knowing the absolute outcome... without controlling it and playing it safe. Safe enough to bore one to tears.

I remember first getting to Bulgaria and thinking about all the lack of rails and safety precautions - it was rather horrifying. Now, I look at all the American attempts to keep fear and danger and the unexpected at bay and am horrified. People protecting their children from any harm or real life experience whatsoever. 'My child won't struggle.' 'I don't want to have to worry about what will happen if I do/don't..." It seems like we are a nation paralyzed with fear. We distribute and market and criticize and drive ourselves mad with the pursuit of perfection, but miss the overall quality factor every time. Ever the eavesdropper, I heard two women having a fierce debate about the perfect... mascara. There are times I am glad a ballbat isn't nearby. I'd soon be writing this about prison life. But, well, at least that'd be better than selling insurance.

Certifiably Certificationless

My general perception of the Peace Corps is that it was an experience of make-believe. To deal with the local pressures, lack of comfort, homesickness, wanderlust, confusion, anger, sadness, and generally just not knowing if you are over- or underwhelmed, you create a reality that you can deal with and live there for awhile. Some people are better at doing this than others. Actually, I almost think that people who do it too well should be taken directly off the plane and institutionalized. They've got some serious issues with reality. Still they tell you to stay and reinforce the idea of your 'commitment'. Good/successful/smart worthy people did it... you can too.

I left my New York life, which could have gone anywhere I wanted it to go, because I felt there was too much pretending. In New York, you can be as mental as you want to be as long as it's in some trendy, narcissistic, neurotic way... and you should preferably be really cute when you do it. You have brunch with people who can discuss world politics, art, literature; just don't mention any personal crisis or non-medicated emotion. It's bigger, better, faster, more... as Ani D says, the suits now own New York. Everyone claimed to be such an individual and open-minded - all the while wearing labels (Prada, Marxist) that gave them rank and file. Subscribe and belong. Judge and be judged. Good/successful/smart/worthy people do it... who are you to not?

Labels make me laugh. I wear Sears with Ann Taylor, Tiffany's with street jewelry. I'm a feminist who disagrees with a lot of what both feminists and women in general do, I'm a free-marketer who thinks that the biggest test to the theory is poverty... and that the theory doesn't always do so well. I'm the kind of joiner that inside people don't much care for. I'll embrace the parts of the status quo that work, but the rest... well, they need to go - or I do. I'll stretch an organization as much as it allows me to stretch it, but if administration and maintenance is what you are looking for, well, I am not your girl.

Anti-label, pro-individual, pro-mess, pro-growth, anti-stagnation. With these I look to join... I need a job. It took me some time to get out my resume and submit myself to the employment dating game. I need to follow the rules and to impress people I don't know and don't necessarily care about what they think of me. Good/successful/smart/worthy people do it... who am I to not?

I read job descriptions and am amazed by the requirements. People - ah, those MBAs! - have created measurement tools to try to assure people that they know what they are getting. The minimal requirements are several years in one particular and very tiny area (how far does this go? one ad looking for a barista required 'at least one year of microfoam experience'). Quantity... ah, those MBAs. I wonder though... if someone's only worked in one sector for all that time, how much creativity or flexibility can they have? How much ability to 'see the big picture' to make changes to actually create? Others require significant certifications. Acquire the signals that one is 'trained' and 'follows' a line of thought. Good/successful/smart/worthy people do it... monkeys do it too.

When I was a student, I never ran into problems with the material - regardless of the subject. My problem was generally that I'd get to the point where I knew what I wanted or was supposed to know... and then I just didn't feel the need to prove it to someone who proved it to someone who proved it to someone else. Disestablishmentarianism. I suppose it's something I've never quite gotten over - it's like a terminal professional illness.

Life is like high school in many ways - there's always another person playing teacher asking you to raise your hand, sit in the front, accept what it taught and get the proverbial 'A'. There's also the chance to sit in the back, raise your eyebrow and question authority and their 'truth'. I've done a bit of both and I can tell you I found a lot of successful people in the front. But the good, smart and worthy folks... well, I've met far more of them in the back. Plus, it's a lot more fun back there. Doesn't really solve the employment problem though, eh?

Hobbling forward

Reentering American society is a long, quiet and private war. I'm often asked what I do with my days and I'm routinely unsure how to answer. Some days I reach epiphanies that clearly steer my decisions, other days I do a lot of thinking with absolutely no conclusions drawn. I've been unemployed for nearly two months now. People keep asking if I've submitted my resume or found any good job listings... if I'm moving in the direction of honoring the Protestant Work Ethic like all 'good' people do. I confess, I think there is goodness in a hard day's work and I hope to return to it soon. It's just that... returning is exactly what I'm avoiding.

There's a trap we returnees are faced with: return to the comfort of what you knew or suck up more of the unknown, and possibly hardship, and do something different. The first of these options is easy to do. In addition to the experiences of the past, we have now served as 'good' people in a 'good' cause and, gosh darn people want to like us for it... and what's so wrong with being liked? The problem is that people don't flee a rewarding life to live in poverty for two years, no matter how open-hearted they are. Something's missing or, perhaps, too much is there and so departure - however temporary - seems like a good solution. Of course, this is until it's time to return when you know you've done little more than fight strange diseases in the name of procrastination.

As I tiptoe into my 30s with intense moisturizer in hand, I look around and see a lot of desperate romances. Of course these include actual intimate relationships, but it also includes attachments people have to other crutches in their lives... 'solutions.' There's a yearning to have The Answer and to look to someone or something else to give it. (I've had a draft of a long entry on addictions for some time... I need to finish it, because it really fits here.) Again, it's about ease - about being able to blame outside of oneself when things go awry, and they will. We all need to live our own truths - we can't depend upon others to provide those, or distract from their omnipresence.

I mention these desperate romances because, I don't want to fall into that trap. The trap of being something I'm not just because it's easy or because people like me for it. I didn't leave hoping for someone else to provide solutions for me and I do not return (I hope) wanting them either. I read my resume, on it's 274th draft, and think that I can and have done all those things. Then I think "do I want to?" ...and the resume sits there. I'm not sure that I do and not sure what to do next to provide for myself while I build something more real and closer to my personal truth. Love. Truth. Courage... hard to live up to.

I've been looking through employment listings like a desperate single woman with the Sunday Styles section (it's wedding listings, for those not in love with NYT.... and that's New York Times). I read about a prestigious consultancy firm with a large Chicago office that does a lot of international work. Like a lot of woman (and, dear lord, far too many gay men), I started to plan the future and to become seduced by the strongest venom of all: potential (as opposed to, oh, reality). I could picture a financially secure life where I went to work with talented and smart people, I traveled for work and for play and I live comfortably ever after. Comfort... not something I realistically ever really like. When thinking more about the position and attempting to deconstruct the fantasy I'd quickly created, I thought of my 10 year high school reunion. I missed part of the reunion and asked a friend about a former classmate of ours that I'd missed. She described the classmate as controlled and clipped... too polished to be real. Do I want to become that?

If asked how I see myself, I'd first attempt to wiggle out of a straight answer and then submit to the following: an observer and analyzer of human nature and interactions. That, unfortunately, is still all too vague. Should I "lead and coordinate cross-functional teams" until I realize what that specifically means to me... or bank on skills related to my drive and see where it goes? I struggle with wondering how to start what I love without nestling into the comforts of old patterns... how to lean on those old talents for support without reintroducing the crutch of yesteryear's answers into my life.