Less Than Three Months ( I'm still turning 27 after 2 years)

Here I sit with my 2nd sunburn of the warm season feeling more refreshed and lighthearted than I have in months. Winter has a way of creeping into your bones and this winter was one of the harshest the Armenians have claimed to see in a while. Yesterday my site mate Lauren came over to help me do some spring cleaning. We moved one of the soviet hammocks out to the 'patio' which in reality is the roof of the wood shed and we then hung an actual hammock on the upper bars of this contraption.

A week or so after writing my last post, I was very seriously considering ETing (Early Termination to end Peace Corps service prematurely). For a full week I started to make my plans, make up my mind. It was yet another low point, yet another bought of the blues. The reality which I will return to had finally hit me, knocking me right off my feet, gasping for air. I've always had the safety net of at least two or three girlfriends still living with their parents in our hometown of Babylon, NY. Knowing that I had dear friends to spend time with during my transition period at home was always a huge comfort and relief. I could ease the embarrassment I felt at having to return home and the anxiety at sharing a roof (and rules) with my parents. It made me feel like I wasn't alone in my place, my path.

Yet, since having struck out for Armenia very much has changed in life back home. Sure, people are mostly the same but that moment of youth has passed entirely. In Babylon there is a small tendency to hold on to that moment, to linger in its sunlit caresses. Growing up near a beach and spending summers working around or near the beach or pool on the bay, a person unwittingly becomes attached to that feeling. A feeling nearly indescribable but for those who were there alongside me, they know. Perhaps it is akin to omnipotence or immortality. Ironically, here I am feeling more sentimental about my teenage years than I have in years (because let's be real I am not THAT old) and yet it has been more so during my time in the Peace Corps that I've become fully aware of my youth, the fact that I am young and I have so much ahead of me.

I left America two years ago, certain that upon my return I would have everrrrything figured out. I would have a man, a job and a vision for my life. I don't really have any of those things fully, perhaps pieces of them. I recall preparing to leave and writing a post about this age-anxiety, focusing on the fact that I would be 27 when I returned- 27!!!! My Aunt Jeanie commented on the post saying, "No matter what, you'll be 27 in two years", and she was absolutely right. Time is going on out ahead of us in a whirlpool motion and struggling against the current, against the natural flow is a fools waste of energy.

Things are going to be different when I return home and I suppose that was always going to be true. My brothers and my girlfriends were all going to move into the next phase of their young adulthoods. My fervent desire to return home early a few weeks ago was an attempt to not feel as though I had missed this passing moment, the change in seasons, the turning of the page. As a romantic I yearn for these moments of culmination. As I told my friend's mother recently, I rather enjoy feeling my feelings and respect ceremonious events when it is the time to sit and reflect - to feel all the moments come up to that one and then go on like all the rest. My realization that this moment had come and gone without me for so many of my friends and would soon happen with my brother, my childhood companion and best friend, was like a slap in the face. I wanted to run home and be there in that moment in an effort to prevent it from happening at all. As if watching him cross the stage at his law school graduation was going to make it suck any less when he moves to California a week later. As if we hadn't already both grown up and began to walk separate paths.

Ok, I'm rambling here and losing the thread in a bout of sentimentality. What I am trying to get around to saying is that I can acutely feel this page turning, I just didn't realize it previously. Being so far away from everyone after so long is only just hitting me. When I first arrived in May 2012 I felt so homesick and was very aware that I wasn't at home.  After 23 months in Armenia I don't think about it so much; I found a way to cope and I've been riding the wave, aware in a very objective way how very far away I am, how disconnected. Now as the time comes for me to return home I am again aware of the distance and the disconnect. It's a little scary and unsettling, I had thought ripping the band aid off early would abate the pain but I know now it's more important that I feel my feelings over here, just like I have been for the last two years. I still have the mountains, the long marshutni rides, the summer dusk and the love of friends that aren't so new anymore. Friends that are going to be the only ones who know what I'm talking about when I reminisce in the future.


So...I have been here for two full years... when did that happen?


Songs In My Head: Philip Philips- Gone, Gone, Gone
Mumford & Sons - Hopeless Wanderer

Hard Times Come, Hard Times Go

At this point in time, I have about 8 months left in my service. It occurred to me when I was posting Facebook pictures of the Areni Wine Festival two weekends ago that it was the last time I would be there. It's highly unlikely that I will ever attend another Areni Wine Festival. At the very least, I won't be gathering in the Field of Dreams with several other volunteers as the high sun moves west. And so,  I feel compelled to make the best out of what’s left before the time gets away from me. Yet, the following post is not going to be about the things that I know I will come to miss. I want to give a voice to my experience of hardships as a Peace Corps Armenia volunteer. I do it because it is the thing least spoken about publicly. I do it because I think shedding light on the difficult parts of volunteering is just as important as shining light on the positive ones.

I remember during my application process looking at an acquaintance’s pictures of the beginning of his service in Kazakhstan. While Armenia and Kazakhstan are not direct neighbors, they are in the same part of the post-soviet world. I recall seeing pictures of a television, cabinets, couches and rugs and I thought, “Are you kidding me? That’s not Peace Corps!” I was under the impression that hardship meant living in a hut under an oppressively hot sun. I thought Peace Corps was bare feet and eating with your hands. I thought it was reading by candlelight and going weeks without speaking to family or friends. That was what I wanted, that was what I felt I needed. I saw service as something cleansing, a sacrifice of values and luxury to get to the heart of life's meaning.

I definitely didn’t think that Peace Corps was electricity, Internet, a cell phone, or pizza and beers. I never imagined that I would become more self-conscious about the state of my clothes and the possibility of being seen without make-up in the Peace Corps than I had been in America. I wasn’t expecting to become obsessed with having as much privacy as possible, as opposed to spending time with people in my community or host family. I thought my heart was going to open, not close.

The reality that your expectations, your hopes and desires are probably not going to be met is hugely disappointing, even devastating. When does this realization come, if at all? I can’t speak for others but my moment of realization happened about ten months into my service. I had been feeling down and out for quite some time. I had been feeling confused and lost. I was angry a lot of the time. I felt isolated and misunderstood by anyone who wasn’t a fellow volunteer. There was so much I didn’t bother telling friends or family at home. They read my blog, they heard some stories but they could not imagine what it felt like. When I spoke to people back home it was to hear their voices, to smile at my niece and hear her high pitched giggle. It was to have a sense of normality, if only fleetingly. It was to not be gripped by the anger or anxiety I felt the rest of the time.

The moment this storm cloud, so to speak, moved on came while I was walking the Border2Border route in the month of June. Maybe it came from the strength I felt in my heart and bones, lungs and legs. Maybe it came from the beauty I was surrounded by and experiencing all day long. Because even though I was still being stared at and I was still not being understood fully, I inexplicably felt free. I remembered what freedom felt like in my heart and my head. I had been in a prison of my own fears and disappointments. I had been holding on to the idyll I had so badly wanted before arriving in Armenia. Over the course of that walk I was able to feel present and centered again.

As soon as I was done with the walk, I called my father asking him to fly me home at the end of the summer. I knew that if I was going to get through Year 2 in one whole, happy piece I was going to need to spend some time at the beach, and at my favorite place on earth - Lake George. At first, I felt somewhat ashamed of my decision. I felt weak for needing to go home FOR A SECOND TIME. Yet, as soon as I landed and was with friends the shame was gone. When I returned to Armenia, I knew I'd made the right decision for me. Sometimes as volunteers we get so caught up in this reality that in many ways we lose touch with actual reality. We tolerate treatment and behaviors that we would never stand for at home, in the name of respecting the culture and being a good volunteer. Sometimes this is healthy and appropriate but sometimes it's not, and it is SO difficult to know the difference between the two. 

What's my point here? I don't really know. It's not to complain and it's not to gain sympathy. It's to shed some light on the parts of being a volunteer that aren't so easy to articulate. It's so that if someone where to come across this blog while they're in their service, they know it's normal to feel unhappy. It's normal to be utterly frustrated and overwhelmed with the cultural differences. It doesn't make you a bad person, it doesn't make you a bad volunteer. It makes you a human being living in a place that you're not from, a place where you are constantly feeling the need to explain your self and answer for your country. It isn't easy and there are days I want to quit. But I won't, because the whole point in coming was to learn to live with discomfort in a healthy way. It was to see what I was made out of, and what I could endure.

And well shiiiiit, am I getting a lesson.

...and then sometimes you take the marshutnit home from Yerevan after a long night and the beauty of the country takes all of it away. You smile, because you know there's still room to grow and to love. 

Song Of The Week: Gin Wigmore- Happily Ever After

Busy Bee

This past week has been one of the more productive since the end of Border2Border. I am almost certain that the National Poetry Contest grant completion report is finished. I am keeping my fingers crossed though, as there's something new required every time I turn around. Meanwhile, I have gathered together a team of volunteers to start work on the 2014 Contest. I am so excited to take this project to the next level. As the chairperson (or Boss, as I like to refer to myself) I have the great pleasure of 'nay-ing' and 'yay-ing' ideas. I am going to give a big shout out to a fellow TEFL volunteer Erica Vendetti right now, as her professionalism and enthusiasm thus far has already greatly exceeded my expectations.  You should just see the meeting minutes she sent me yesterday...

Big Daddy Ararat in the background.

Over the next couple of weeks, things are going to start gearing up significantly. This year I am hoping to have the Poetry Context grant live by Thanksgiving. If you are thinking 'have the grant live - what does that mean?', let me explain. As a Peace Corps Volunteer I am not allowed to directly receive funds for projects. To get around this, there is a special grant opportunity (though the word 'grant' is misleading) which allows a volunteer to fund-raise officially through Peace Corps. Essentially, I write an almost identical grant application as the one which is not a fundraiser and it gets sent to both staff here in Armenia and in Washington, D.C. It is then either approved or not; when it is approved Headquarters will put it 'live' on their official website (where some of you may have visited for last year's project). From there, the volunteer is fully responsible for insuring that the money is raised. Friends, family and interested organizations can visit this temporary website to donate to the project. Only once the total amount of money is raised do the funds get handed over to the volunteer. Are we on the same page now? So like I was saying, I want that puppy live by Thanksgiving so that come Contest day there are no money problems.

Phi Baby Jan

The day before the A21 Swearing In Ceremony  I went on a day trip to Lake Sevan. I wasn't exactly prepared for swimming, so I had to suffer through this great yearning for a couple of hours while tanning on the shore line. On the way back to the city, there was a beautiful sunset hitting Mount Ararat. Unfortunately, I didn't have my good camera with me so please forgive the picture quality. I also got an opportunity to spend some time with my beloved friend, Phi. 

Cameron and I at a cafe in Yerevan.

Here in my region of Vayots Dzor, we officially have three new volunteers. There is both an older woman and young man in the nearby town of Vayk,  and another young woman in Yeghegnadzor with the existing volunteers. On Wednesday, they took the Peace Corps Oath and graduated from trainees to volunteers. As tradition, we all gathered at a cafe for drinks as a large group. Here is a picture of my new site-

mate and I... as you can tell we will get along fabulously.  

There is a lot of decision making to be had before my friend Ari arrives in country so that I can give her my complete undivided attention. She lands in Yerevan on Monday the 19th, only 10/11 days away! I am seriously looking forward to showing her around. GAH!

In other news, my dear friend Kaitlin was able to send out a letter, a very belated birthday card and a second beaded necklace that I will wear as a bracelet. I realized that of all the people very close to me, she is the only one I wasn't able to see when I was home back in December. In light of this fact, receiving mail from her means more to me. (Brittany, the same goes for you). I was happy to know that she's been reading the book I sent to her, 'Untethered Soul' - which my brother Andrew sent to me back in November. Coming home from the capital to find some love waiting for me was exactly what I needed.

We are always together in spirit!

How Can I Explain?

I have been meaning to write a blog post for close to two weeks now. So many new, great amazing things have been happening. Yet, the only thing I can think about recently is Boston and the idea of 'home' that is far broader than the house my parents live in. And while I was thinking about it, I couldn't necessarily articulate any of those thoughts, beyond: "Holy f*ing shit".

Two years ago, I was living in Boston. Two years ago, the streets whose images are being broadcasted across the world are streets I felt safe on, streets I walked. I admit, my little hiatus from Facebook took a hiatus as this ordeal continued to unfold. For a little over a year, Boston was my home away from home. It is still a place that I consider returning to once my service is done. So, as I began my morning routine of putting the tea kettle on, turning on my computer, plugging in the flash drive that operates as my internet, then going outside to relieve myself and re-entering the kitchen again, I quickly glanced at nytimes.com and thought, "Huh?" I was sleepy, foggy, so I turned my back and made the coffee. When I sat down in front of my computer again, the shock didn't truly set in for several minutes. I read the headlines over and over again, then I watched the video.

At first, I was extremely confused. Then I was nervous, scanning my brain to think of any friends or contacts that might have been there at that time. Then I realized it was getting late and if I was going to go for a run, I needed to leave. As I climbed the hills of Malishka that morning, I can't say I was thinking about the tragedy. I was thinking about my time in Boston. The times I went downtown to the Public Library because it was just so awesome. And the ever reoccurring thought returned, "How the hell did I get HERE?!" When I got back to the house I immediately sat down in front of my computer and logged onto Facebook. I checked all the pages of friends, and people I've lost contact with who live in or are from the area. I read moving posts from peers I went to school with who I didn't even realize were from Boston and from friends that are runners. Surreal is the closest word that comes to describing how it felt to read the updates every morning there after.

Today, one week later, I am understanding that while unimaginable physically removed from Boston, I was still very much affected by the events that went on. It left me feeling wildly homesick. I wanted to be there, or with people I knew during my time there... or just SOMETHING. I wanted to be out celebrating in the bars when the 2nd brother was caught and the lock-down ended. I wanted to be surrounded by people who KNOW Boston, who LOVE Boston. Instead, it rained and was cold everyday. Instead, I laid in the dark listening to yet another midnight shower. I had vivid, odd dreams about people from that place and time in my life.

There was only one Armenia who asked me about the events. I find this odd, because a good chunk of Armenian news is taken directly from American news outlets. For instance, last fall there was air time given to the Texas high school cheerleaders who made banners with Bible verses displayed. And yet, no one seems to know about the bombings, nor do they really care all that much. When the man at the vegetable market asked me if I knew what had happened I said, "Yes, I do. But how can I explain?". He took me literally, and began explaining - in Armenian- that two bombs had gone off.  What I really wanted to say was, "NO! How can I explain the decisions of another human? How do I make sense of someone doing this? Why is the world at a place and time, when news of a bombing gets a mild reaction, almost like hearing that it rained yesterday?" Unfortunately, I don't have the language to say these things. It is times like these, that I feel truly isolated in my community.

There is a part of me (for once) that wants everyone here to know there's something going on and ask me how I'm doing. I wanted the children to know that I don't have the energy to deal with them lately because a place I once lived in is in a state of chaos. Then, I began to think of the Peace Corps Volunteers that sat on the other side of the world while the towers burned in New York in 2011. I wonder, how many of them went home? Were they allowed to? Did they stay together until they were able to go home? How many of them called New York home?

Another thought I had last week was the overwhelming irony in my being in Armenia during both the Boston Bombing and Hurricane Sandy. Before coming, whenever asked where I was headed, 90% of the time the reaction was, "Sorry, I have no idea where that is!" I would then explain that it bordered Iran and Turkey. The look of horror was almost always imminent after imparting this information. "Aren't you scared, to be so...close..to there?" My answer was the polite nod of, "Yes, I understand your concern, but no I'm not scared." Nowadays, the idea seems laughable. Scared? What would have been scary was being in the last two places I lived during the horrific events that have occurred in them this last year.

I guess you could say that the honeymoon phase of having my own place is complete. I promise to post again in the next few days with pictures and more things about new secret admirers from across the street. (Though, it's not a secret because they come one to two times everyday asking if I can come out and play).

Sentiments Before Departing

It's my last real morning at home in Babylon. The weather has been beautiful the last couple of days, but currently, it's foggy and overcast. I've left home so many times, for college each year, for AmeriCorps in Boston, and now for Peace Corps in Armenia. This time though, is truly the last. All of my things are packed so that when I do return to the states I can easily ship out. And this time, I can feel it in my bones that it is the end of a certain chapter in my life.

Last week I met my brother Andrew out in the eastern north fork of Long Island, wine country. I have and will always cherish our friendship. There is a Bob Dylan lyric (get used to this readers, because I will probably use his lyrics to process what happens over in Armenia as well) that pretty much sums up the backbone of our relationship, "We always did feel the same, we just saw it from a different point of view". We spent the afternoon tasting delicious wines and soul-talking (as I like to call it). The conversation began at a cute bistro in Cutchogue for lunch, where we started with the future. What was my flight itinerary? 2014, eh? Have plans for you return before you do Carolyn, promise me. Eventually, we got to the past. We spoke of ugly and pretty moments we've shared, things we're not proud of and those that we are.

On the ride home, this wave of emotion hit me and I started to cry. Not because I was upset over the thought that we most likely won't see one another for two years and not because I am scared or sad to leave. It was a feeling that's somewhat new to me, but it's something which I am getting used to. It's gratitude and acceptance of where I've been and where I'm headed. On those back country roads with the sun beginning to set, I knew with not a single doubt that I'd made it. I got through the tough stuff, I climbed out of the quick sand and it is the most amazing feeling.

And now, I get to leave, like I've always wanted. I get to go out with my head held high, with my friends and family behind me. It is the most beautiful thing I've experienced thus far.

"So, why are you doing this?"

Last night I had my birthday/going away party at my parents home on Long Island. It was so wonderful to be surrounded my family members and close friends for an evening. It's been a wild year and last night was chalk full of surreal moments. It's been two years since I first applied to the Peace Corps and I want it more now than I did at first. Initially, my greatest motivation was escape. Now, I feel so determined to fully achieve this accomplishment. Getting nominated and later invited were feats within themselves, but to set out and get through the commitment is a whole different ball game.

Some of my parent's friends stopped by to say hello and have a drink. One of the ladies, whom has always been mildly blunt, walks straight over to me and says, "So, why are you doing this?" With little hesitation I responded, "It's an experience that I want." There you have it folks. I don't think I'm going to save the world, or that I'm some really awesome altruistic individual that sacrifices self to help others. I don't see myself that way at all. I am a human being with flaws, who is searching for meaningful connections. I have some already but, why not branch out in a completely unique and individual way?

I have this image in my head of what the Peace Corps experience will be for me. As my branches extend their reach, my roots will deepen and strengthen. In my growth, I will become more grounded. This is what I seek. I have some idea of what this will mean in fine print, but can't know truly until I arrive and start the journey. I remember being 21, directionless, and the Peace Corps crossing my mind as a possibility. I can't believe it's becoming an actuality with each nearing day. It doesn't matter that it took me this long, or that I'll be 27 by the time I get home. I am on my own timeline that doesn't line up with a lot of my peers, and that is ok. Where ever you are on your timeline is ok, too. Don't listen to anyone who ever told you you 'should' or 'need' to do, think, speak, or live in a certain way; because really, they just mean their way.  Chances are, their way won't work best for your growth.


It's funny, I got so many goodbye hugs and kisses and yet it STILL doesn't feel real.  Hopefully though, when I start to freak out (because I don't know when, but I know at some point it will happen) I'll think of all my proud friends and family back home cheering me on, smiling, singing, tears of love streaming down their faces. I'll remember all the moments of love and beauty from last night with a smile on my face and keep truckin'.

Counting Down The Days Until May 22nd

It's surprisingly not hard to believe that my departure is finally close at hand. When I first received my invitation back in October, I made a conscious decision to set aside all of my reading material until it was closer to May 22nd. When I was first nominated I had been told that, typically, an invitation comes 6-8 weeks (max) before your actual departure. So, I told myself I would become focused solely on Peace Corps / Armenia when the 8 week mark rolled around.

At the moment, it's about 5 weeks until my departure (eek!). I just returned from a lovely week long trip driving through the Irish country side with my mother. We went, we saw, we conquered. Two days before arriving home I received a PST (Pre-Service Training) related email. It contained a brief overview of the first couple days in Armenia. Once arriving in Yerevan, we are being put up in a hotel for three days before training begins. (It's funny - all of these small details were far from my consciousness beforehand and now they are fun pieces being added to the puzzle). There was also a sample schedule of a day in training. The days will be long and full, with hour long lunches with our host family. It will be a summer like none I've ever experienced. I'm wildly grateful for the last few summer weather days here on Long Island and have been enjoying them beach side.

 If you've been following along since I began blogging, it comes as no surprise that my mind has been elsewhere. Yet now, with the recent influx of information and waning days, there is little else I think about. Since being prompted to and then joining the Peace Corps Armenia Facebook group, I have spent a good amount of free time looking through the page. It's essentially an open forum where the A-20's (this is what my group of invitees has been dubbed, as we are the 20th PCV group) can ask current Armenian volunteers questions that our reading material has not answered. It's also given me the opportunity to stalk all of my future fellow volunteers- if you're reading this, yes I mean you. I couldn't believe it when I read that there will (most likely, if everyone shows up) be 46 invitees in the A-20 group. It's a lot more than I expected, but not all of those individuals are TEFL.

There are few words to describe how I feel about leaving. It's hard to believe almost two years ago, in June of 2010 with hours before the application deadline, I clicked the send button. Then, after my own procrastination and stubbornness, finally receiving medical clearance in July of 2011. When my invitation arrived in October of that year, I was so disappointed. I wanted to have left 3 months earlier. I wanted to be by the sea. Yet, I wasn't willing to let these *small* differences change my commitment and dedication to making this happen for myself.

Now, with spring in full bloom and my 25th birthday looming right before departure, I know that ultimately everything is as it was always going to be.  The journey before the adventure was as necessary as the adventure itself.

Purging

For the last couple of months I have been living back home with my parents in Babylon, NY. This week the roof was being entirely re-done, so last week we had to get the attic prepared for the 'demolition' (as the contractor and my mother were so very fond of saying). Most people accumulate a lot of objects that over time pile up in their attics. I often feel like we have a excessive amount of 'things'. I love her dearly and mean no harm when I say this, but my mother has trouble getting rid of objects with sentimental value and she could give a penny sentimental value. A good amount of the boxes were from my brother's and my childhood. I took the opportunity to go through all the keepsakes that have been collecting dust and purge a great majority of them.

It took some time getting through everything I had, because (and I hate to admit this) I too, have some trouble letting go of things. This is partly because I fascinate myself. I have written in journals for as long as I could put sentences together and hate to part with them. When I was packing for college, I brought with me journals from the last couple years. I say some pretty profound shit, if you hadn't realized that yet. I will often read old entries and can find humor in my omniscient attitude or downright absurd notions about life. Journal writing is such a constant, that I have at least one notebook and several pens on my person at all times. 

Saying that I am introspective is an understatement, obsessive is probably closer to the truth. I have been reflective my entire life, examining my feelings and trying to understand or 'figure out' those I'm surrounded by. This annoys most, especially if I hit the nail on the head. Over the weekend a close friend of mine, that is friends with not only myself but my brothers as well (and has been dating one of my very good friends for the last 8 or 9 years),  told me that I did this to him once. I (apparently) pointed out that he was depressed, or unsatisfied, with his current day to day. I don't recall this particular conversation, but it was significant enough to him that it's become a sort of emotional landmark. When recalling it, he explained that at the time it had seriously pissed him off. Who was I to make such a judgment? Now, he views it as the verbal wake up slap that was the beginning of a purposeful change. As you might imagine, I was ego-tripping on this piece of information for a solid 24 hrs. 

It is so easy to unconsciously slip into a routine that is seemingly not, but still unsatisfying. Even though depression is no longer the taboo that it once was, it's still not entirely acceptable or understood. Sometimes, you need to be told you are depressed before you consider it a possibility. Men in particular have trouble admitting or owning depression, as it's seen as being weak willed. Also, many people think being depressed means staying in bed all day, not spending time with friends, moping around twenty four seven and in general being a Debbie Downer. This is not always the case. My friend wasn't having this expected experience of depression. He was still spending time with friends, his girlfriend, doing the same old. Yet, he wasn't being challenged intellectually, and as an intelligent man, it was a necessary part of the equation. There was something missing and it kept him from feeling like his most complete self. His experience was not that everything seemed dull or that life wasn't worth living, but that there was a vacancy. This is often how I see or experience depression, which is probably why I recognized it in him.  

Case in point, the last year of my life. So much happened and changed in the course of one week last April, that the very overwhelming nature of it caused parts of myself to hibernate. My introspective self, the knowing voice that makes good decisions and is most authentic, was so deeply hurt that I simply ignored it. I went on auto-pilot, I wasn't sad, I didn't cry, I laughed with friends and went about my life. But I had nightmares, gained weight that I'd dutifully kept off for several years and developed pain in my body. It wasn't until I came home that there was no escaping the truth of how I was affected. At first, all that meant was stepping on the scale and looking in the mirror. The first step was seeing and then admitting it. I become so absorbed by the discomfort within my body, the pain was getting worse and I wasn't working out regularly. I had stomach pains for a month straight until I decided it was time to address these issues. It is only in the last two months that I've had the courage and strength to feel anything besides physical pain.

I started therapy again, started seeing a chiropractor with a holistic approach and getting acupuncture. Five weeks later and I am feeling so much lighter, seeing more clearly and crying like a baby regularly. 

But hey, how else am I supposed to purge? 

Back to the attic for a moment: While going through my boxes I found a notebook from 5th or 6th grade. As part of an exploration unit, we were asked to name people we thought would make good explorers and a reason why. Of course, I put myself on that list because, "No matter how far away from home, I will never be homesick". Oh Peace Corps, my love, my destiny! I await you eagerly!! 

Cold Feet

Yep, it's already happening, I might as well confront it. There has always been a part of me unsure if going into the Peace Corps is what's best for me. Eventually though, the voice that got me to apply in the first place gets back on the loud speaker. It says, "Are you for real? You're going to pass up this opportunity for a world you are already familiar and bored with? It's time. Go."

The very first time the icy tendrils crept up my toes was after I got nominated. I was with my family in Lake George for Labor Day weekend. My brother, cousin, their ladies and I were all camping on an island for the night. My conflicting feelings of joy and sorrow kept running through my head, so I decided to stay behind while the rest of the group went fishing. It was my duty to get a fire started before the sun went down and the chill set in. Something so simple as building a fire can be a needed ego gratifying experience. "I can provide this very important need for myself and others. I am skilled." But my somber mood persisted. I was beginning to realize what it would mean in reality to make the commitment. It left me feeling despondent in a way. I wouldn't get to watch my niece, Soleil, continually develop into a little girl. I would be alone and removed from things that are dear and precious to me, whether they be one noun or another. (Though, there a only a few 'things' that are dear and precious to me).

We had taken a radio with us and at some point the frequency had changed or cut out, leaving an oppressive silence. It was completely dark at this point; the fire and stillness of the lake had put me in a sort of trance. Then out of nowhere, the radio picked up a station again. Clear as a bell, Bob Dylan's whiny voice pierced the silence. It just so happened to be at the beginning of the last verse of "It's All Over Now, Baby Blue". The lyrics hit me with such force, it felt like he was speaking to me directly. I was unfamiliar with the tune before then, but now it has become a personal mantra. The lyrics of the last verse are:

Leave your stepping stones behind now, something it calls for you

Forget the dead you've left, they will not follow you

The vagabond who's rapping at your door

 Is standing in the clothes that you once wore

Strike another match, go start anew

And it's all over now, baby blue

 I have no idea what my life will be like in Armenia. The things I know of here,  are all I can truly have feelings about. In a perfect world, while in the Peace Corps, I could go visit friends and family whenever my heart desired, spend a weekend in Lake George, call a friend, or go to happy hour. But, the convenience and luxury of these things will need to be sacrificed for the experience. There are moments when wonder if I'm making the right choice. Thinking that maybe I should go the average route; start a career oriented job, settle into a place of my own. Finally get that kitten and puppy duo I've been dreaming of, and call it a day. I don't know, maybe I should. Yet, if I don't even try, there will always be the 'what if's' and regrets. I definitely do not want to live a life of regrets.

Things I Will Take With Me

A lot of people have been asking me what I plan to bring with me to Armenia. They ask, "Is there a list?" And I chuckle, saying, "Well, if there is I haven't really gotten around to checking items off". I'm pretty sure there is a suggested list. I should start looking into that...

In my opinion (and they are ever so prevalent) what is most important to bring with me to Armenia is myself. If I forget my underwear, which is a possibility -I have done this- at first I may be upset. But I will find some new small clothes and life will go on. But if I forget to bring me, and all my brain tools, then I'm in trouble.

BRAIN TOOLS?! That's right. The tools in my brain, that have supported me throughout trials and tribulations, are my most important item. And luckily they won't take up room in my luggage. Yay! Yoga and meditation are my greatest brain tools. For those of you sitting there thinking, uh Carolyn- yoga is not in your brain, well I beg to differ. Yoga has been one of the most important healing tools in my life. Anyone that has experienced true yoga is a practitioner and believer for life, whether they are devout or not. I'm sure there are those reading this who think I'm out of my fucking mind at the moment. Poo-poo I say to you. Knock not what you have yet to experience, young blood.

There is something sacred and spiritual that happens during personal yoga practice that is often hard to achieve inside a studio class, and even more specifically inside of a general gym yoga class. Then you come across those teachers that have the innate ability to quite your mind, if only for an hour or so. And if you're really special, you will be fortunate enough to find a mentor. (One dear friend of mine is of this fortune and I had the opportunity to practice with them both, it was splendid). The wild thing about the practice and the teacher who succeeds in getting their students past themselves, is that you only realize it after. The ancient healing practice is meant to open, stretch, heal and warm not only our bodies but our minds as well.

So, this I plan to take with me. And essential oils lavender and eucalyptus, because they bring me to a state of comfort and euphoria within a few minutes of deep inhalations. One thing I will say though, not having a bathtub in my life, and the privacy/time to lounge in one, will be a lack of luxury that I know will sting.

Another brain tool is my optimism and faith in people. Some may see this as a weakness, that another more shrewd individual will take advantage of this naivete. This is not entirely untrue. Some folks must always search for a way to have the upper hand, so that they feel powerful, important, etc. Unfortunately for them, the majority of their life meaning lies within digital numbers on a computer screen or unnecessary material objects. I am making an informed decision to approach life otherwise. Living a life of fear is not one at all. Fear takes on a lot of shapes and colors. And there are certainly things I fear, but getting hurt or duped is not one of them. It turns out that when you open yourself to others, they sense this intuitively and will often do the same. Sadly, once this has happened there is a labyrinth of emotional sensitivity to navigate afterwards. Things can, and will, get messy and uncomfortable when you engage with others; thus is life.

I would so much rather have truly known a person, even in their ugliness, than to not understand their life experience for fear of getting hurt.

These things I will take with me to Armenia.

Plan B

Happy Super Bowl! Yay for the great American past-time, eating and drinking in excess!! But, really Nicki Minaj and M.I.A.? Performing with Madonna for the halftime show? Oh and yes, go New York!


To be clear, I am an officially registered JETS fan - but I'll always root for my home state.


Anywho, Plan B. If you've been following my musings since the get-go, or if you have the great pleasure and privilege of my intimate friendship, you would know I had some not-so-realistic hopes for life after Peace Corps. But before opening that can of worms let's back up some. I may have mentioned my self-proclaimed romanticism before, I'm not too sure, but I'll state it again. I am a proud romantic. I care not if you think I am foolish, I think you're boring. I recently discovered the scientific term 'right-brained' to further explain my tendencies. Here is a sweet depiction. Needless to say, I am in love with the idea of love. Not the 'find someone manageable, make babies and graduate into a new tax bracket' type of deal. I mean that silly shit you see in the movies. I know, I know. I should be a Big Girl now and get over it. Yea... I'll have to get back to you on that.


What was Plan A, you ask? It went something like this "I'll go into the Peace Corps in 2011, meet Mr. Right because I'm SO over Mr. Right Now (kill me for using that terminology). He will hopefully be a down-to-earth, good natured, trust fund baby (ha!) that falls truly, madly, deeply in love with me and I with him. Upon our return we will move in with one another and by then, my 26 year old ring finger will be ripe for some financial commitment. Graduate school, wedding, career, and babies to follow in that exact order." Now for my male audience let this be a warning. There are always exceptions to the rule, but after 25, most straight women are on a baby mission. Whether that means having a baby soon or securing the inevitable seed. It's evolutionary biology for godsakes. Also, we LOVE to plan for the future. Put that under the same label.


Now here's the dilemma - the silly shit you see in the movies love part came before the Peace Corps. I tried, gosh danggit did I try, to hold out for that good-natured trust fund baby. We can all dream. As Shakespeare said "Love is merely a madness... and deserves a dark house and whip as madmen do." In my madness I cooked up some fantastic hopes for my beloved and I. But, as with all dreaming you soon awake. Maintaining a relationship while in separate countries for nearly three years is a far cry from realistic. Awaken we did and, as romantically as our circumstance allows, we agreed to approach our lives more sanely. Not unexpectedly, I've been feeling some self pity. Then one afternoon about two weeks later, I realized how to cure my madness.


All this time I thought I would find love in the Peace Corps. After Dan and I got together, that plan got squashed. Then, I had an epiphany in the bathtub (where all of my most important realizations occur). I needed a Plan B. Instead of trying to fall out of love, I would simply transfer the focus. Plan B = falling in love with Peace Corps. All of my romantic energy is now going to be concentrated into the experience and mission itself - not another person.  What that will actually mean, I'm not entirely sure.  But, I am already beginning to have hot sexy dreams about Armenia.






Just kidding.

In Recent News

From here on out, I intend to post at least once a week. I'm trying my damnedest to daily be in the Peace Corps/Armenia mindset. 


Recently, my Armenian study time has been gradually increasing. I make a point to surf the internet for any Armenian news and visit Armenia news outlets. In my limited free time, I also have been trudging through a very dense history of the 1915 genocide. 


'A Shameful Act' written by Taner Akcam is a detailed account of the years leading up to, events of, and aftermath of the Armenian genocide. He was the first Turkish historian to publicly acknowledge the genocide and is considered an international expert on the subject. It's most likely he was very pleased this past week. The French Senate approved a law that criminalizes the denial of genocides that are  officially recognized by France, including the Armenian genocide. Thus was Akcam's reaction: 


"If we want to prevent genocides and mass crimes; if we want to increase the awareness against the crimes of Genocide and crimes against humanity, we should not allow the denialist regimes to bully the democratic nations in the international arena...Turkey must understand that bullying and threatening others is not the behavior of an international actor."


Turkey's feathers are quite ruffled and they have stated that there will be serious trade consequences due to this 'betrayal'. Interestingly, some of Turkey's founding fathers played major roles in the genocide. It is the Turkish belief that the mass deportation and Armenian deaths of 1915 were not a 'genocide'. I was surprised to learn that the American government has yet to officially recognize the genocide.


With this weeks news I find my eventual departure becoming a greater reality. Who could have predicted that in all this time, as the days to my departure dwindle, Armenia is finally getting some international recognition. But, like all politics, it is hard to predict what this will mean for the lives of everyday Armenian citizens. Or even what it might mean for international relations (i.e. Peace Corps). The communities which Peace Corps works in are undereducated and there's a high probability that the average citizen is somewhat oblivious to current events. (This is true in my country, as well). 


But that will just have to be one more thing to wait and see about. 

In The Meantime

Please accept my apologies for the length of time between postings. Life, as we all know too well, tends to get in the way of pontification far too often. Also, there's been very little Peace Corps updates recently. I'll share what's been going on.


Sometime in December, I got yet another Dental package in the mail. It asked that I go get another check up, as the one that originally cleared me was going to expire before departure. Meanwhile, one of my wisdom teeth had been slowly coming in. The initial exam required a full jaw x-ray (I'm blanking on the formal term, but these are not routinely performed). It was then that the dentist informed me it was possible Peace Corps might request that I have all four wisdom teeth removed prior to departure. Fingers crossed and breath held while I waited for dental clearance, because wisdom tooth extraction is f-ing expensive when you are not covered for dental!


Anywho, I tried my hardest denial-like-self to pretend that the now visible tooth was a non-issue. It didn't bother me, so why bother it? My dentist thought otherwise. I made the appointment and two weeks later sat awake Novocained up the wazoo, doing yogic breathing while the doc drilled and sliced away. It was a most glorious afternoon. Being a female in the hormonal height of my cycle, the healing process was incredibly slow. It took two full weeks for recovery.  I had to return to the office because the discomfort was so extreme in the beginning. One of those weeks I was on a pain killer and wine diet = fat cow Carolyn.


Interestingly, they gave me the dry socket natural medicine - Clove. I injected the sticky brown goo into the gaping hole for about a week. Every application I thought, this is what cigarettes and clove cigarettes do over time - numb the area.  And I would feel proud to have (nearly) kicked the bad habit. I never thought I'd have to fight the urge to smoke cigarettes. I had my first drag when I was 18. But, because of my family's history with cancer and my childhood disgust with the smell (I would refuse to eat in restaurants that had smoking sections to the bane of my parents and brothers) it took three years of living and going out with smokers before I felt compelled to buy a pack of yellow American Spirits on my 21st birthday. Now, don't go thinking I bought packs in succession from there on out. Like I said, the relationship is a complicated one. There is only a small part of me that finds smoking acceptable. And with every glass of wine and emotional situation, that part grows until it's larger than the rational parts of my brain. It's then that I find a cigarette. And unfortunately, many of my loved ones smoke. They also tend to confide upsetting things to me, and then offer me a cigarette. It's a very vicious cycle. 


Why am I talking about this at all? I haven't bought a pack of cigarettes since September and haven't smoked more than one cigarette in a 24hr pd in over a month. But occasionally, the urge is still there and being that I was asked to sign a waiver by the Peace Corps proclaiming I understood the organization highly discouraged smoking, I want it to be irrelevant by the time I leave. Also, when comparing a 50 yr old life-long smoker to a 50 yr old that smoked but quit a good 20 yrs ago, it's obvious which side you want to be on. 


To sum things up: I'm vain and like a good buzz. Two things that I'm hoping will lessen over time while in Armenia. Oh, and I have one less tooth to worry about. 

Deadlines

     As previously mentioned, I'm quite the procrastinator. I hold my father fully responsible for this awful behavioral pattern. Just joshin'. He might've passed along the tendency but ultimately, it is I who decides to take forever to get things done.
     After receiving my invitation on (Halloween) Monday, I officially accepted and entered into the Peace Corps on Wednesday, November 2nd. I sent in an email and received a response later that day informing me I needed to send in my passport and visa applications (immediately) and write an aspiration statement to send to my country of service along with an updated resume. Even though the Peace Corps office has the second element of information on file, they need new, slightly different, copies for the Armenian office. 
     I was advised to send in these documents within ten days of invitation acceptance. I thought to myself, "I will start it over the weekend"... which happened to be my mother's birthday weekend. Instead of starting my aspiration statement, I ate, drank and lounged like the queen I often think I am. Not only was it my mother's birthday weekend, but a dear friend was home for the weekend. We hadn't seen one another in about a year, so I made sure to spend time with her as well. In a word, life caught up with me. 
     Since receiving my invitation, confirming my May departure date, I find that my thoughts do not focus on my service as much as they previously had. My time is spent working, reading and forever organizing my things in a way that I can easily pack up and go. Needless to say, I did not get around to starting my statement. In fact, it utterly and completely, slipped my mind. 
     Fast forward to the next Saturday afternoon: I am working, and an acquaintance asks "So, anything new with the Peace Corps?" and it hit me. "FUCK!! AM I PAST TEN DAYS?!?!" I checked my emails to confirm and in fact it was exactly the tenth day from receiving my invite. After work I grabbed my laptop, notebook, aspiration statement instructions and headed for Starb's.(There is a disappointing amount of coffee houses in the suburbs). I was able to get most of it done and around 6pm decided that it was not likely the email would be received until Monday morning. I also soothed my guilt and disappoint with myself, by reasoning that the 10 day deadline is really more for those individuals whom receive their invitations weeks (and not months) before their departure. 
     It was such a good feeling to be back in the mindset, thinking about my service, recalling why I decided to apply and what allowed me to continue my pursuit. Here is an excerpt:

     "As an American, I have been ingrained with a high degree of confidence in my identity; I am privileged and live a life of luxury. I choose to serve to challenge my comfort with this role.  While serving, I expect to meet this challenge with commitment and perseverance. Working with my Armenian counter part will certainly have its difficulties and I will constantly remember that I am there to serve Armenia and its culture – not my self; that compromise is key to any successful partnership. I am eager to begin working with someone whom I have no obvious commonalities. The greatest challenge whilst serving will be to gain the trust of my community members so that a successful partnership can be made. As a woman, I will need to adapt to the different role females play in Armenia. As a young person, I will need to be very respectful of the community elders and cultural norms. Overall, my strategy the first several months will be take in as much as possible and once I have a substantial amount of time and experience within the community, I will become a more active participant."

Fun Anecdote: I haven't had cable TV in close to two years (some would say I have been binging)and my new favorite show is American Horror Story. Sometimes, I need to fast forward through the scary parts, but I love a good thrill. While writing this post I was also watching the latest episode, and guess what?! There was an Armenian character! Loco shizz. I'm going to ignore the fact that he was a wealthy deusche.

You're Invited...

     A few hours after writing my last post, I came home from the gym to find my invitation on the kitchen counter. I was stunned. A small amount of fear began to seep into my chest and my heart rate increased. But, my 3 yr old niece was over so it was pertinent I play 'where is Soleil' prior to opening the packet. Oddly, I didn't have any sense of urgency but rather a reluctance to open the invitation. I think there are several reasons why, but most of them are unconscious; what I do know is that I was apprehensive about what assignment I'd been given. Would it be near a body of water? Am I leaving before Christmas? Is this something I still absolutely want to do? As adventurous as I am, the idea of leaving for a two full years is slightly disconcerting. Not that I feel the need to be surrounded by family and friends at all times - if anything 'alone time' is somewhat of a necessity in my life. Rather, it's the thought of coming home at 27 and having to start anew. 
     During the application process it is asked if there are any significant relationships that would prevent you from going abroad for two years. At the time there wasn't...now there is. My boyfriend and I have been together for just about three months. And when we met, it was with the understanding that both of us would be going overseas and neither wanted something serious. To make a long story short, we agreed to keep in contact after being together for only three weeks. He left for mobilization in Fort Hood at the end of August, then we got to spend a week together in New Mexico right before he was deployed. He's currently in Baghdad with shotty communication. 
     Most of my friends think I'm crazy to have knowingly started a relationship with Peace Corps around the corner. Military relationships are known to be difficult, with or without the other party also being abroad for an extended period of time. He has no idea when he will return. As conflicted as I am, I will not change my mind about serving in the Peace Corps. I know that it is the opportunity of a lifetime and I plan to seize it. And if you read the last post, you know how much I struggled to get this far. Yet, a part of me simply wants to stay home, find a steady job and wait for my boyfriend to come home. That's the romantic in me. The little girl that's been planning her wedding since learning what they were. 
That romantic also really wants to get a cat to call my own. 
     The practical part of me realizes that while life is short, the static of adulthood is lengthy. I believe that above all else emotional and spiritual growth should take precedence. When I use the term spiritual, I am referring to our connectivity with both one another and nature. Those moments you are able to slow time down while soaking in an experience, be it with someone else or whatever you are surrounded by. This is what I am seeking in the Peace Corps. 
     So, in May of 2012 I will depart to Armenia. I will learn to communicate in both Armenian and Russian. I'm really hoping to swim in the Black and Caspian Seas. But I really hope that when I get back there will be a boyfriend and (hypoallergenic) cat waiting for me.

The Weight

     These next 5 to 8 business days, while I await my assignment,  are going to be some of the longest of my life. It's been a long road thus far with lots of emotional ups and downs. With this blog, I'm not exactly sure (yet) how personal I want to get. My close friends know that there are few things which constitute as personal or 'private' information. My life experiences have taught me that (in most situations) honesty and openness bring only understanding and sympathy. Oddly, in American culture, many of us have been taught to deny sympathy - that having a person's sympathy deems you weak. My fascination with American culture, on an emotional level, is partly why I was drawn to serve in the Peace Corps.
     I grew up on the south shore of Long Island, New York in a town with a strong community. Proud Babylonians, we are. I was lucky enough to have two older brothers ahead of me in school, making me proud to be a Rodgers. "You know my big brothers, right? Yea, they play football, they're corner backs- ya know - the most athletic position on the team?". I excelled in my own areas as well, but I bragged about my big brothers to what I imagine was an annoying extent. Whatever. My close girlfriends and I have always agreed that above all else, growing up in Babylon gave us a real sense of identity. I realize now that our experience was not the same for everyone. That we came from stable homes and our greatest worries were about our clothes or what parties to go to. That if we did screw up, or get caught, the punishment would not be as harsh because we weren't 'problematic' for teachers and administration alike. Teachers liked, respected and favored us, and because of this we had a leg up when it came to getting into colleges. Teacher recommendations? No problem. Community Service hours? Duh.
     This bubble was burst pretty quickly upon arriving at Providence College. For the first time I was faced with actual conflict. The people I had once put so much trust and value in were beginning to feel foreign to me. My sense of identity was lost. I made friends with people who would distract me from the awful things I thought about myself. Even though I am not too far removed from my four years at Providence College, about 2.5 years, I couldn't be further from there. Sometimes I look back and am amazed at the fact that I managed to graduate on time, with a 3.2 considering what I was going through at the time. College was not a party for me, to say the least. I probably would have been in the Peace Corps earlier, but at the time I needed to focus on more pressing issues. I won't be so cliche as to say 'everything happens for a reason', but things certainly unfolded in a way that allowed me to be fully prepared for my upcoming challenge.
     As mentioned in my last post, it took quite a while to become medically cleared due to my own idiocy. That's partly true but more than anything else it was procrastination. Early in the application process it's asked whether or not you have sought mental health counseling. I answered yes. I could have answered no, because it never went through insurance (meaning it was not on my medical record). When my medical packet arrived it included a 6 page form to be filled out by my last counsellor. At this point it had been about a year and a half since I had last seen her. And as I said, I was already in a very different place emotionally.  Due to Providence College policy, on campus counselors are restricted from seeing non-students, even alumni. (A poor practice in my opinion). Essentially, she was unable to speak on behalf of my current status.
     The moment I saw her review my heart sank, I thought it was over. When I spoke to my medical assistant she informed me that this wasn't the end; that they would most likely ask that I get an updated review so that I may be fully cleared. I jumped on it and made an appointment through my PPO. For anyone who has been in counseling or tried it out (more so you folks), you know full well that some doctors just don't work for you. Their approach and practice is not one that helps. My original experience with counseling was not so, which is why it greatly benefitted me. The next time around, in the dead of winter (and we all remember how awful the snow was in New England) when all I wanted was to be at home soaking in a bath tub, I sat in a cold awkward disheveled  office of a woman whose first language wasn't English ( all that I am implying is there was a communication issue) and was made to feel that there was no hope. That my future was bleak because I would never be able "to cope with such trauma without professional help". It was a devastatingly huge set back for me. I wanted to cry but I punched a snow bank that ended up being a sheet of ice and not powder, instead.
     Thankfully, my family was fully aware of my past and was horrified, like me, of the language this particular counselor choose. My father decided he would take matters into his own hands ( yes, I am 'daddy's little girl'). We tried to get doctor recommendations from close friends and family hoping that whomever I saw would be more sensitive to my individual needs. Also, someone that would take all things into consideration - particularly, how badly I wanted this opportunity. Unfortunately, nothing worked out and by April I decided I needed to go back to the PPO and try again. Along came Dr. Silverstein (for anyone seeking counseling in the Boston/ Cambridge area I HIGHLY recommend her) and my hopes were reignited. After three sessions she gave me an amazing review and I felt a little closer to the finish line.


    I fought so hard to make it through this part. It forced me to readdress some lingering issues that I admit were things I wanted to put behind me in joining the Peace Corps. A lot of folks will assume that someone who willingly leaves their family and friends for two years, to a place that's not easily accessible, is trying to run away from something. Those folks are the same ones whom also share a dark history. And you know what? They're right, I did want to be removed from certain people and places that I feel will only keep me stuck in old, unhealthy habits. There is no shame in trying to move forward and beyond a painful experience. But there is a right and a wrong way to do so; and at first I was walking a path that was somewhere in between. What I realized is that the experiences which are so painful we'd rather forget them, are the ones that characterize who we are as people. More importantly, this same fact implies nothing about your character. It does not mean you are broken, damaged, unlovable or that you have something to hide. All that it means is you were altered by that experience and if you do deal with it appropriately- you will begin to heal. The healing process is a life long one and there will be set backs. I leave you with a quote from the novel Bitter In The Mouth by Monique Truong that spoke to me while I fought to get cleared:

Disappoint. When I saw the word written, I thought of it first and foremost as the combining or the collapsing together of the words 'disappear' and 'point', as in how something in us ceased to exist the moment someone let us down. Small children understood this better than adults, this irreparable diminution of the self that occurred at each instance. Large and small, of someone forgetting a promise, arriving late, losing interest, leaving too soon, and otherwise making us feel like a fool. That was why children, in the face of disappointments, large and small, were so quick to cry and scream, often throwing their bodies to the ground as if their tiny limbs were on fire. That was a good instinct. We, the adults or the survivors of our youth, traded in instinct for a societal norm. We stayed calm. We swallowed hurt. We forgave the infraction. We ignored that our skin was on fire. We became our own fools. Sometimes, when we were very successful, we forgot entirely the memory of the disappointment. The loss that resulted, of course, could not be undone. What was done was done. We just could no longer remember how we ended up with so much less of our selves. Why we expected nothing, why we deserved so little, and why we brought strangers into our lives to fill the void.

Any Day Now

     Well, here I go - my first blog post ever. In the time between first applying and now, with an official invitation traveling through the US postal system, I've vacillated between the idea of sharing a blog and simply keeping in contact with only close friends and family through email. Then, a few days ago I read the Peace Corps blog of an acquaintance from Providence College and decided there will probably be others in a similarly disconnected position, curious about what exactly we Peace Corps Volunteers are sticking our noses into.
     When discussing my decision to enter the Peace Corps, many folks balked at the 27 month commitment. At this point, it feels like I've been committed to serving for over a year. Since being nominated in August 2010, about 14 months ago, I have made most long term decisions based on the fact that I would (eventually) be leaving for a third world country. 
     I originally applied in June of  2010 and as mentioned, was later nominated in August. My recruiter told me to start booking doctors appointments to get the necessary clearance as soon as possible - as the process normally took 3 to 6 months. I assumed that my general good health would make it easy to get clearance. Oh, how naive I truly was. Due to my own idiocy and other complications, I was not medically cleared until mid-July 2011. Shortly after, I was sent an email informing me that due to all-around government budget cuts departure dates (like many other areas) would be affected. I was given little information about when I would hear next and was essentially told to sit tight. I finally received an email from the Placement Office in the last week of September, asking me follow-up questions that would simply update my file. Three weeks later (two days ago) I was notified that my invitation packet was in the mail.


And so it begins.