It's Hard to Follow Tangents. Even for Bombastic Jerks Like Me.

Life is a confusing mess. The only way to simplify matters is to acknowledge the truth of that statement. Once we've accepted that shit just happens and not every moment of life means something or is a part of some Great Master Plan of God or The Universe, it makes things much more manageable. Personally.

I'm not saying life doesn't have meaning. It absolutely does. But meaning is subjective. Because life is ultimately meaningless in The Grand Scheme of Things (which doesn't actually make sense since I just pointed out that a Grand Scheme doesn't actually exist but bear with me) we get to decide what is meaningful to us, with the knowledge that those same things are likely not meaningful to the majority of others, the world, or cosmos. Just us. Which simplifies things further. Convenient.

If my career is an ultimately meaningless endeavor that does nothing more then bring me money and a sense of self-worth or satisfaction, it could be just about anything. Something I enjoy, in a setting I enjoy, with people I like and a comfortable chair. I haven't actually found that yet because I don't enjoy most things for 40 hours a week except maybe eating or playing sports or sitting on the beach with a good book and I'd die quickly if I did the first, I'm not good enough at anything to be paid for the second, and the third is what retired people get to do if their pre-retirement job paid pretty well so I'd be taking away my whole 65+ agenda and no one would pay me to do that either, unless I was a book critic which would be lovely but I have no idea how to become one of those and I think I may be too old (too lazy) to try and be one now. So what should I do with my life? According to me, it doesn't really matter. Which sounds harsh I guess, but it's actually just realistic, freeing me up to find meaning in whatever it is I decide to do for whatever reasons I decide to do it. Handy, really.

My optimistic and pessimistic sides battle constantly over who's right and who's best. Right and best are often different things. My pessimistic side is probably right but people are always telling you that being optimistic is so much better and it's all about perspective. Is it? Is it really? Is it my perspective of a shitty situation that makes it not shitty? I don't think so. I think when things suck, it's OK to feel bad. Or mad or sad or depressed or a little (or a lot) crazy.

Now, I also understand that there are levels of appropriateness for our feelings. Boundless happiness is almost always permitted because it is unlikely to cause physical or emotional harm to others. Unbridled anger or frustration can, however, belittle, hurt, sadden, and bring tears or bruises to others so it should be checked. But if you need to vent over the phone to your BFF for a few minutes about how much you hate airports, you have every right. And that BFF should say something like, "That sounds really frustrating, I'm sorry. I hope the rest your the day gets better." Because we're human and we're allowed our emotions.

Anyway, back to the optimism vs pessimism situation. I agree with Louie CK, whose show I've just started watching/loving, that there are a series of choices that exist in life and even the best of them lead, ultimately, to heartache, tears, and emotional disaster. I also agree with those who see every day as a precious gift and encourage others to make the most of the life they have now. Which of these two perspectives I choose to focus depends on the day. Sometimes the weather. Certainly the time of month. Maybe even full moons, who knows? But the battle forges on.

When people say they are happy, what does that mean? Surely you can't be happy all the time. What about when bad things happen to you or to people you love? You must be something besides happy then. That's when people say that of course they feel sadness and anger but, in general, they are happy people. What does that mean? Is that based on a percentage? If the emotions we feel most often over the course of our lives from the time we were born until the age we are now were put into percentage points, I imagine my emotions would look something like this: 33% Sleepy, 25% Focused, 17% Amused. I suppose happiness could fit into some of those. Can you be a happy sleepy? Does focusing on my goals make me happy now or only after/if I complete them? I'm certainly happy when I'm amused so that's a relief. But am I a happy person? I just don't know.

Happiness is elusive. Life is confusing and messy. Existence is futile. And yet I love my life. I really love it. It's an extremely precious thing and I am SO blessed. I couldn't possibly believe in a God because of how blessed I am. I realize this seems contradictory but it isn't. I'm blessed and people all over the world are starving, abused, sold, and ruined. And here I am. Not that my worries or cares aren't valid. My life has tragedies. But my opportunities and advantages are so unbelievably unfair when compared to the global lack that a just and loving Superior Being seems unlikely. Immense wealth in the hands of few is balanced by populous groups of people whose value depends on their relation to the poverty line. I drive my car to Starbucks and children sleep hungry. What can I do about it? Very little. Not that I won't try. Of course I will. Maybe that's what happiness is: trying. We all try, we do what we can, and we find satisfaction in the effort. Happiness is fickle, like hope.

These are my thoughts. They confuse me too. I think that putting them in writing will help to make sense of them but it doesn't. It's all still pretty confusing and jumbled. But now that I don't believe in God it frees me up to believe in other things. Which I think is what all this mess is about. What do I believe in? Humanity? Relationships? Chaos? Love? They all seem like reasonable choices.

-Age

The PC's Like Going From VCR to DVD

What was the Peace Corps like?

Well, it was like…..it was sort of like……pretty much it was like going on vacation. Except for a really long time and you don’t have any money and it’s not nearly as much fun and you’re kind of just waiting around for it to be over but you feel like The Shit while you’re there and even when you get back, if you want to impress someone, all you have to do is slyly mention that you were a Peace Corps volunteer doing development work in a faraway country and automatically you’re cooler than anyone else at the table. Unless you’re at a table with an astronaut who’s been to the moon. Astronauts always win. I try not to associate with them.

It’s kind of like that.

How to sum up 2 years, 11 weeks of your life in a few sentences (or paragraphs if the person asking is really asking and not just trying to be polite)?

It was frustrating and boring and really hard. I found the language challenging, the culture emotionally intense, and I didn’t end up doing many of the things I imagined myself doing. I cheated a lot and, instead of integrating into my community, spent the weekend in other towns with other Americans.

I loved the people and hated them. I could feel both simultaneously cuz I got to know them - really got to know them –talked about the culture and the ideals and the social norms constantly, dissecting with fellow PCVs the dynamics of a place that we couldn’t accept (always aware of our own arrogance while at the same time convinced we were right). I loved the people because the ones I met, the ones that touched my life and I’ll never forget, were wonderful. I couldn’t help but think that in many other places they would do so much better for themselves and yet I was so glad they were there because their country really needed them. DevelopingCountry was a better place with them in it as they provided a sense of hope – hope being that tortuous thing that every place and person needs but doesn’t trust completely.

Yet for some inexplicable reason I now feel restless. I know, many of us know, that if we had the opportunity, we would leave the life we have now, jump on a plane with nothing more than a few pairs of clothes in a backpack and travel to some new developing place and not feel an ounce of trepidation. On the contrary, it would feel right. We would know we were just where we were supposed to be and the lack of stability would be comforting – it being an adventure that makes all of the questions marks in our life seem insignificant, like semi-colons that no one ever uses or trusts.

But instead, I’m being a grown-up with this story from my past that’s too long to actually be a good story that people would listen to.

The Peace Corps was like pushing the pause button on  your American life, living a completely different one, and then coming back to push play – except that all the images on the screen look different now and you want to push pause again.

Or maybe it was like something else. What do I know?

-Age

The Beginning of the End...Of My 20s

You know how sometimes you’re encouraged to consider life in perspective? For example, whenever life gets you down people will mention that you live in New York City and you have loving friends and family but there are people all over the world starving, suppressed, and far worse off than you are right now. So perk up! That’s completely legitimate. Helpful even, at times. But it doesn’t really get to the root of the problem you’re having. It doesn’t make your life better it just makes your life seem better in comparison to, well, complete and utter tragedy. As far as I’m concerned, if you get to the point where you need to start weighing your life against the lives of those who are forced to face a living hell every day then you probably do have something to worry about.

I try not to compare. It doesn’t seem fair to either of us.

I’m currently a little low. This happens. It’s not a cry for help or a need for any kind of reassurance (In fact, it makes sense that these moments come out in this medium because I write when I feel strongly about something and the writing of it usually helps immensely because all I want, all anyone really wants, is for other people to know me and I write my feelings and thoughts much better than I say them). I know what my life looks like right now – what’s good, what’s bad, what needs improvement, and what should make me proud. I know how much I weigh and the length and color of my hair. I’m pretty familiar with me. I’m just a little low.

What I’m worried about is balancing. Balancing all the important aspects of A Life. The type of life I think I’m supposed to have and the type of life I want. It’s not very harmonious currently and I’m not entirely sure what to do about it. I could blame grad school and rightly so as it consumes so many of my waking hours. However, I’m 29 years old and I’ve never had a real job, never been in a serious romantic relationship, and still couldn’t tell you with any kind of certainty where I’ll be in two years let alone five. There’s more than grad school to blame here. 

I could try blaming my parents. That something in the raising of me went horribly wrong and now I can’t grow up. But that’s not fair either because I think being a “grown-up” means that you are responsible, respectful, kind, generous, honest, and goal-oriented with meaningful relationships and an ability to see yourself for who you are and continue to make changes – all things my parents raised me to be and believe in. 

I don’t know what it is. I’ve made great strides to overcome my shyness and I’m doing fabulously. I talk to lots of people (even initiate conversation!), I make friends (albeit slowly), I can take the lead, input my opinions, laugh and play and get serious and be real. However, what I’ve noticed is that people my age or older tend to intimidate me. I spent most of my life with friends my age and we get along just fine. My best friend doesn’t intimidate me of course and we’re only months apart in age. However, in the Peace Corps most of my friends were a few years younger. Here, in graduate school, many students are a few years younger. I feel a connection to them because we are at similar places in our lives, however, the strides I need to be making socially are the types of strides that put me in contact with people my age. I need to be able to relate to someone on the same level in more substantial ways. That is currently hard to find and I’m struggling. 

Here I am again, grappling to find a conclusion for this post. Probably because there is no conclusion. I have no bright ideas or epiphanies as to how I should tackle this problem. I won’t compare myself to any of the women in Half the Sky because that would only serve to disrespect their heroism. In fact, I’m sure they’d have great advice for me. They’d probably say something like Get over it already! Jeez! Or maybe not. Maybe we’d strategize a plan to get me feeling more like a consonant adult. Then I’ll do that plan, it’ll work, I’ll write a book about it, and become a multi-millionaire, helping other late-20-somethings like myself! Perfect. 

-Age

It's Not Personal, It's Just Business

I resent them for being fitter than me and healthier than me and wealthier with this forced perfection that they all emit from every perfectly stitched seam of their designer clothes to every pore of their luxuriously spa-ed skin.

You can see their money and hear it. They're so polished, coiffed and sleek. The sound of their voice tells you where they grew up, where they went to school, the types of conversations they're a part of during their well-manicured tirade through the corporate world.

I try not to feel so obviously covetous, so jealous of the possessions and appearance and status I never knew I wanted til I saw it draped across a back, shining from an ear, glinting off a tie, or jutting from a hip bone through $75.00 spandex yoga pants.

I catch myself sometimes wishing I could wear some sort of badge or transmit a kind of telepathic signal that lets people know I was in the Peace Corps or that I'm working on a graduate degree. Some sort of, "Hey, I'm impressive too," referencing those things about me that seem important but really aren't.

I lived in a small village in Bulgaria and taught English. So did my Bulgarian counterpart and no one's praising her for her selflessness or adventurous spirit. Not that I'm trying to diminish my service. I'm just being realistic. The impact made on me was far greater than any imprint I left. And maybe these people feel the same way - that too big a deal is made out of what they do and who they are.

I suppose it's possible that they're like Lance Armstrong - forced to do what they don't want to in order to compete with everyone else who, ironically, feels the same way. Doping up for the race, striving for success even if the means to The End cause them to keep up in ways that are counterdispositional.

However, no more excuses for them. Or me. Let's continue, shall we?

It's the couples that really get me: gorgeous paired with gorgeous. Above-average-made-gorgeous-by-nice-clothes-over-sinewy-muscles paired with above-average-made-gorgeous-by-golden-highlights-dangling-inches-above-kickboxing-asses.

They make me want to get my hair cut by someone named Jean Luc and eat celery on purpose.

Now, I know you're chastising me in your minds telling me I should be satisfied with who I am and the life I'm living. I know that. Trust me, I do. And I am. Seriously, I am. It's just that sometimes I want shiny things too.

-Age

What I Know Now

Things I've learned during these first few months living in New York:

·         Our coffee table is very sturdy and as many as 3 girls can dance on it vigorously at any given time

·         It takes 7.5 minutes to walk from my apartment to the subway

·         You can use the subway to be very sneaky and avoid all kinds of inclement weather – there are so many passages and tunnels you never really have to go outside if you don’t want to

·         Of my roommates, I’m the clean one

·         It’s good to carry one dollar bills in every pair of jeans or each jacket because you will inevitably be asked for money each time you exit your house

·         Shoes wear out here much faster than pretty much anywhere else

·         The city really is magical in the fall – Central Park with all of its leaves and pathways and seasonal drinks in each of the 1 billion coffee shops. Pure magic

·         It’s hard to live here if you don’t really have any money…but it’s possible

·         Online dating seems to be the way to go

·         Small, crowded super markets and moms/nannies with strollers: beware your ankles. Bitches are ruthless

·         People in the financial district can be described by the following adjectives: shiny, sleek, coiffed, confident, and demanding

·         Brooklyn is where the bearded men live

·         Harlem is awesome and I now know the definition of gentrification because I am contributing to it personally (and I don’t really know what to do about it…)

·         The best bars are the ones where the beer list is endless and written on the wall in chalk (for easy exchange for different and fun local brews)

·         I don’t feel very sorry for the well-paid, downtown workers who, because of hurricane Sandy, have to work in the uptown offices while their building is being repaired. Though I’ve heard many complain far more than I’ve heard my minimum-wage co-workers with no electricity or running water complain

·         Graduate school is time-consuming and difficult but interesting and well worth the effort

·         The Chrysler building is my favorite

·         In NY, I wake up early every day but I’m not snooty about it - “Only dull people are brilliant in the morning.” – Oscar Wilde
     
      There’s probably a lot more but that’s all I got for now.

-     -Age

Listen To My Words

When someone listens well it’s because they genuinely care. They aren't thinking about what they’re going to say next, how it relates to them and their life, and what tidbits of their own perspective they can add to what the other person is saying. Their eyes don’t’ wander as they ponder their next phrase or story or how they can relate how interesting they are while the other person is still in the middle of whatever it is they’re saying. To be fair, there are some conversations where this is appropriate, where the need for a give-and-take type of conversation needs to take place, both parties putting equal thoughts and effort into the conversation. But I’m talking about what makes a good listener: someone who cares about what the other person is saying and shows it.

There are times when a conversation, in traditional terms, isn't really appropriate. When there is something personal to relate and the person doing the sharing needs simply to be listened to so that whatever is going on with them emotionally can be conveyed to someone. They need to be heard and feel as though they’re understood. Human connection is so important for all of us. Not just women. Not just people of a certain age. All of us. The desire for someone to fulfill our emotional needs is so strong and that is why we share our fears, our secrets, our past, desires, ambition, happiness, and anger. Even if our thoughts and feelings aren't ideal or aren't “what they should be” it doesn't stop them from being our thoughts and feelings, no matter how flawed. And to be able to convey our insecurities or annoyances or trepidation knowing that they our based in imperfections without being judged or preached to or made to feel as though those thoughts are somehow wrong is so valuable.

If I were to tell someone about a fear, no matter how irrational, I wouldn't want the response to be - “hey, that’s stupid. You shouldn't feel that way” – “you need to be more confident” – “don’t worry so much, you over-think things” – well that just makes me shut down. I no longer want that person to know how I feel because they won’t allow me to feel it. I wish I could take back what I told them so they can’t tell me it’s wrong. No one can help their emotions. This is simply how I feel. And I want to be able to talk about it and just have it be known without an unsolicited opinion or critique.

There are people in our lives that give us the emotional support we need and we go to them in times when we want to be heard and understood and afterwards we are often left with a sense of having related to someone, a remarkable feeling. The feeling that, with words, we can describe the buzzings and whirrings and irrationalities of our mind and have someone understand them. Well, maybe not always understand but at least be aware of, to hear us.

I have people in my life that I always go to when I need to talk. Not just so they can tell me what I want to hear but so I know that what I’m thinking or feeling is perfectly OK and I’m still me and maybe they even know me a little better than they did before. I don’t share personal things about myself easily. If I begin to share and I can tell the person isn't really all that interested, I’ll stop. If I’m interrupted in the middle of a speech that involves effort on my part to share, I turn off. Game over. I make a promise to myself not to make that mistake again with that person. Once, over the phone, I started to tell someone a story about my sister, my favorite person in the whole world, the most unique and wonderful girl I know, and was interrupted, told that they had to go. After talking non-stop at a leisurely pace for 45 minutes, they suddenly had to go and I felt so stupid. I promised never to do that again, that the privilege of knowing me better wouldn't be extended to that person again. That may all sound very extreme or, I'm aware, even condescending but for someone who finds sharing herself difficult, it’s a necessary defense mechanism. Self-preservation. And I’ll forever be wary of people who strongly monopolize the conversation almost every time we speak.

More positively, I’m always awed by people who share themselves easily with others – their thoughts and interests and background and opinions. People who talk as though what they have to say is interesting simply because they are the ones saying it. No matter how trivial. It’s fascinating because often it becomes true. Because they speak to you as if what they are saying is vital to your knowledge, it actually becomes something you want very much to know. I don’t have this innate sense of authority or self-confidence or trust in other people or whatever it is that requires such freedom with feelings and emotions but I love people who are capable of this.

However, I also really like those people who keep things close to the vest. People that, once they've learned to trust you, surprise you with their thoughts and feelings and obvious vulnerability. They open up and because you know sharing is foreign to them, you feel truly privileged to be on the receiving end. It’s nice to know these people who don’t share much or with many. Their emotions are more precious and you begin to realize that you have become one of these people for them, someone they can be themselves with comfortably and without consequence.

It’s valuable to have these people in our lives but it’s also valuable to try and be one of these people for someone else as well. Even if it’s just one person who knows they can come to you and say anything.

-Age

Obama Did Not Bring About This Change But He May Have Funded It

When I got back from Bulgaria I was prepared for potential readjustment difficulties. We were told they happen fairly often and we'd heard from past volunteers that had experienced trouble returning to a life in America. The reasons for these problems are probably:

• change in culture
• new pace of life
• friends/family don't quite understand the significance of what we've been through
• finding something to do and a place to do it in...on our own

But, I think the biggest one is:

• All of the personal change and growth that was forced upon us by navigating challenging situations and becoming close to a new group of people really quickly
• the more challenges that were undertaken and the more new friends that were embraced, the more these influences changed us
• however, our power over the direction of these changes is questionable and I'm sure it varies from person to person

This rapid growth is hard for others to understand or relate to which means we're left to evaluate it on our own or with other RPCVs. 

How did I change?

Do I like all the changes?

How do they relate to this new life in America?

Can I adjust them and how?

I don't like all the ways I've changed and I feel that some new parts of me aren't working here, in my American life.

I won't go into detail about these changes but I'm hoping to decide if they need to be deleted or just tweaked.

Also, I'm left with another question:

Is there only a certain amount of good that is allowed to take up our selves...our personalities?

Let me elaborate...

  

Let's say Gandhi was capable of 80% goodness. His goodness level could lower, depending on the situation or the point in his life but he is capable of no more than 80%. New, lets say an average person, like me, is allowed only 60% goodness. It could lessen, maybe, depending on the time of the month (that was meant to be a joke) but it cannot exceed 60%.  So, if I gain a new good, it's at the expense of some old good I used to value.

I'm worried this doesn't make sense but it's been running through my brain and if it doesn't get out I may explode.

For instance, in the Peace Corps I gained self-confidence and the ability to be assertive when necessary. But, room had to be made for these things. Other characteristics that maybe aren't too harmonious with a confident, assertive nature get pushed out. Like compassion and kindness or, at least, some degree of my compassion and my kindness towards others has diminished to maintain that 60%.

What if I want those things back in full force? Do I have to give up something else? What? Which characteristics are most valuable to me? To others? More specifically, to those I respect? To those who influence my life professionally? Personally?

Does any of this make sense?

Fitting this new self, which looks and talks and behaves a lot like the old self, into a new life (cuz the old life really is no longer an option for any of us) is, uuuhhhhhhh, a little tricky.

But, we don't always realize it right away.

When we have so many things we wanted, when we are doing the things we hoped to do, when we live in the places we dreamt of living, and with the people we chose to surround us, well...

why aren't we happy?

Now, I've written before about how happiness isn't necessarily what life is all about. That sometimes we're happy and sometimes we aren't.

Happiness is conditional.

We need lows to appreciate the highs. 

Being happy during life's inevitable tragedies doesn't make much sense.

We can't be happy all the time.

Blah Blah Blah.

But, that's kind of the point. When happiness is appropriate, why are we...why am I not happy?

These parts of myself that I've given up or allowed to lessen, are they what's kept me from enjoying these past few months back here?

Or am I just downplaying the effects of stress from moving, being in grad school, and starting a new job?

I have  no conclusion for this post. No explanation for my feelings. These are just the things I've been wondering and feeling and now I've put them out there for my friends and family to read and worry about. Whoops.

Maybe happy was the wrong word. I don't want to freak anyone out or make them think I'm on the precipice of depression or something extreme like that.

I'll change it to satisfied.

I'm not satisfied with myself right now.

Working on it.

-Age