Pity party pooper, that is. How good does it feel to finally be out of the pity party? I asked a friend of mine the same question just the other day, after she posted how she was finally happy, after 17 long months, just by changing her attitude.
For five long weeks, I saw myself in the likes of Frida Kahlo, Lieutenant Dan and Dr. House. In lots of pain, with a leg that doesn't work, embittered, jaded and unable to see any light at the end of the ever-lengthening tunnel. I was lugging myself around on crutches, and more recently, scooting up and down the stairs on my bum. Well, as of two days ago, I can use that bum leg. That has really helped to change my attitude about my leg, my health, my surroundings, and life in general. Instead of being pissed off about leaving South Africa earlier than I planned, I am now cherishing every moment I get to spend with my family, and the technology that allows me to talk to South Africa every day. Instead of missing my Northern Cape birds, desert landscape and heat, I am getting to know the North Carolina varieties and am happy for all the warm clothes my sister owns. I am no Pollyanna, but at least I am not Oscar the Grouch anymore.
Many people have commented that things happen for a reason. That's kind of a dumb platitude, but I tend to agree with it nonetheless. Or rather, I choose to agree with it. I'd like to think me breaking my leg has less to do with chance and more to do with the grand scheme of life. Perhaps karma caught up with me? Maybe there is a fabulous money making opportunity just kilometers away. Maybe my nephew was getting tired of Elmo and needed some Morrissey in his life? Who knows.
During my convalescence at the guest house in Pretoria, I met some amazing people; all fellow injured Peace Corps volunteers, but from other countries in Africa. There were a menagerie of injuries represented, from appendicitis to broken bones and even a mental meltdown. Between us all, we represented one whole person and could manage shopping, cooking, drinking and lots of talking. It was uplifting to be able to help other injured people, to hear their stories and even see some of their photos. When you realize you aren't the only person who has ever been hurt so far away from "home" and that "home" can be anywhere you make it, your pity part becomes less appealing.
Sunday, December 12, 2010
Sunday, November 21, 2010
The end?
Is it coincidental that the end of my volunteer service with the peace corps lines up with thanksgiving? I want to reflect on the things i am thankful for, highlight major lessons learned and things that happened. Maybe in the near future, i will be able to do this, but right now, i cannot. I can bend my knee 100 degrees, make my way to the kitchen and slowly prepare something to eat. I have to stop and rest after a few minutes. My days consist of blood testing, physio therapy, the odd paper gathering and question asking. Worries about a visa, short-term health and my future are looming. My family can't wait for me to return, but i am less than excited. It's not what i planned, to break my leg and leave south africa before my time. Why am i upset?
I am staying in a cozy guest house with running water, helpful staff, other injured volunteers and free breakfast every day. I have all my medical needs taken care of, and even transportation provided by my organization. But i would trade it in a heartbeat for my house in the Kalahari with the tin roof, resident bat, harsh sun and wind, and batswana neighbors. My language barriers, overworked and undermotivated colleagues, lazy municipalities, lack of funding and physical challenges seem like a dream compared to this current life, with television and air conditioning.
I miss my weekend visits from my sweetheart, my daily visits from kids in the village, going to school to face whatever new challenges arose that week. I miss my friend in my village, the one person i could share secrets and my lunch with, and she could appreciate both.
I miss being a helpful, valuable asset to my communities, and my fellow peace corps volunteers. I guess that's what is so upsetting. Now, instead of helping lots of people do lots of different things, i can barely even help myself. I've never been so helpless or hopeless. It's hard to imagine being able to walk again, to not be apart from my sweetie, or what will happen in the next few days, even. But i'm trying. Life threw me a big curveball, and even though i tripped and fell, i try not to stay down for too long at one time.
I am staying in a cozy guest house with running water, helpful staff, other injured volunteers and free breakfast every day. I have all my medical needs taken care of, and even transportation provided by my organization. But i would trade it in a heartbeat for my house in the Kalahari with the tin roof, resident bat, harsh sun and wind, and batswana neighbors. My language barriers, overworked and undermotivated colleagues, lazy municipalities, lack of funding and physical challenges seem like a dream compared to this current life, with television and air conditioning.
I miss my weekend visits from my sweetheart, my daily visits from kids in the village, going to school to face whatever new challenges arose that week. I miss my friend in my village, the one person i could share secrets and my lunch with, and she could appreciate both.
I miss being a helpful, valuable asset to my communities, and my fellow peace corps volunteers. I guess that's what is so upsetting. Now, instead of helping lots of people do lots of different things, i can barely even help myself. I've never been so helpless or hopeless. It's hard to imagine being able to walk again, to not be apart from my sweetie, or what will happen in the next few days, even. But i'm trying. Life threw me a big curveball, and even though i tripped and fell, i try not to stay down for too long at one time.
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
On limited mobility
This is the first time, save when a broke my ankle at age 2, that i have been immobilized; this reason is the left tibia has two fractures, and i cannot bear any weight on the leg for 5 more weeks (total of 6 weeks of estimated healing time). There are metal pins and plates now inside, at knee and shin, keeping the bones level while they heal. Surgery was much less scary than i anticipated, but the pain is oh so much more. Not only do i feel the ache and throbbing at the site of said cutting and metal, but an almost constant cramping of the calf muscle. When i move from a horizontal t vertical position, there is several minutes of pain from rapid circulation, i guess.
Pain management was one of the two most difficult parts of my hospitalization. There were times i felt like Frida, waking from nightmares, screaming in pain, only to be stilled by in injection of strong analgesic. Never have i seen my body tremble so violently from a negative experience. The other terrible part was being alone. I never imagined i would come to need and enjoy the company of others, until this past 15 months of experiences in the peace corps. Especially in such a difficuly time, as being hospitalized, having surgery, and enduring so much pain. I did bond with the peace corps driver who picked me up from kuruman, took me and Jackei to our respective villages, then drove me to pretoria. He agreed to pick up a fellow volunteer so she could accompany me to the hospital. She also came to see me the next day, with another volunteer, and they brought me stuff to read, candy and a really nice card. The following day, a different volunteer came to see me. There aren't people i know all that well, or people i even see very often, but when you're in the peace corps, your bonds with fellow volunteers are very strong. You share this unique experience, and also don't know anybody else. Jackei couldn't leave work to come right away, and i was so grateful for the way these friends quickly accommodated time for me. Without them, i seriously don't think i would have been able to handle this situation. Last weekend, 5 or 6 of my friends were in town to celebrate their birthdays, and stopped by with mimosas to chat for awhile. People have been calling, texting and facebooking me every couple days. I am definately feeling the love.
Since i left the hospital, i have been staying in a private, en suite room with a double bed at this guest house in Pretoria. The peace corps uses this one for all africa volunteers who are in town for medical reasons. Currently, there are 4 other pcvs staying here. Having the company, albeit limited, is really great. One day, they helped me go grocery shopping. Let me describe that experience, just to give you an idea just how limited i really am.
Each morning, the peace corps sends a driver with a minivan (we call them kombis) to the guest house between half past 8 and 9. From here, people are taken to doctors appointments, the peace corps office, or on other errands. On this particular day, i went to the office for a check up with the peace corps doctor. I didn't have an appointed time, as things mostly organically evolve around here rather than adhering to a rigid schedule. I had time to use a computer for about half an hour before i checked in. Hobbled my way, on uneven cobblestones, and up four gigantic steps into the medical building. Up two more steps and down a hallway, to the exam room, and i am dripping with sweat and breathing heavily. By the time i fill out and file some paperwork and finish with my checkup, it is 11 and i am tired. A driver is available, and other volunteers are running errands, so i go so they can help me. The driver pulls right up to the entrance of the shopping plaza, but i must still walk a short distance to the grocery store. Mind you, one week out of surgery, on crutches, tendonitis in the left arm, i am moving at a turtle's pace and sweating again. Trying to remember what i need, my helpers pick and weigh my produce, accompany me to block other idiot shoppers from my hurt leg (people have come dangerously close!) And to make sure i don't fall. What normally takes 10 minutes took me (us) almost 45. I kid you not, i was so weak and shaky and positively soaked in sweat by the time it was over, that i wasn't sure i could make it.
Cooking regales a similar experience. Everything takes twice or 3 times as long, and i can't carry anything. I must put it in a backpack, or a bag that can hook on my crutches. I have carried beer in my pockets and pushed coffee on the tile floor with my crutches. I wash my hair in the sink with my drinking cup while i precariously balance on my good leg. My daily routine involves a distance of less than 1k, no doubt. I am doing seated and lying calisthenics for muscle strength, tone and rehab.
Mentally, it has been tough. Just knowing i can't go anywhere, run for stress relief, do my old yoga routine, almost anything i am used to, is tough. Not knowing if a can go back to my site while i recover or if i will get medically separated and be forced to recover in the states is kind of stressful. I am in the middle of visa applications, community projects, and leaving right now sort of mucks up all my plans. I am supposed to just concentrate on getting well, but when my near future fate is frightfully unknown, it is distracting. Almost as much as the constant charlie horses.
Pain management was one of the two most difficult parts of my hospitalization. There were times i felt like Frida, waking from nightmares, screaming in pain, only to be stilled by in injection of strong analgesic. Never have i seen my body tremble so violently from a negative experience. The other terrible part was being alone. I never imagined i would come to need and enjoy the company of others, until this past 15 months of experiences in the peace corps. Especially in such a difficuly time, as being hospitalized, having surgery, and enduring so much pain. I did bond with the peace corps driver who picked me up from kuruman, took me and Jackei to our respective villages, then drove me to pretoria. He agreed to pick up a fellow volunteer so she could accompany me to the hospital. She also came to see me the next day, with another volunteer, and they brought me stuff to read, candy and a really nice card. The following day, a different volunteer came to see me. There aren't people i know all that well, or people i even see very often, but when you're in the peace corps, your bonds with fellow volunteers are very strong. You share this unique experience, and also don't know anybody else. Jackei couldn't leave work to come right away, and i was so grateful for the way these friends quickly accommodated time for me. Without them, i seriously don't think i would have been able to handle this situation. Last weekend, 5 or 6 of my friends were in town to celebrate their birthdays, and stopped by with mimosas to chat for awhile. People have been calling, texting and facebooking me every couple days. I am definately feeling the love.
Since i left the hospital, i have been staying in a private, en suite room with a double bed at this guest house in Pretoria. The peace corps uses this one for all africa volunteers who are in town for medical reasons. Currently, there are 4 other pcvs staying here. Having the company, albeit limited, is really great. One day, they helped me go grocery shopping. Let me describe that experience, just to give you an idea just how limited i really am.
Each morning, the peace corps sends a driver with a minivan (we call them kombis) to the guest house between half past 8 and 9. From here, people are taken to doctors appointments, the peace corps office, or on other errands. On this particular day, i went to the office for a check up with the peace corps doctor. I didn't have an appointed time, as things mostly organically evolve around here rather than adhering to a rigid schedule. I had time to use a computer for about half an hour before i checked in. Hobbled my way, on uneven cobblestones, and up four gigantic steps into the medical building. Up two more steps and down a hallway, to the exam room, and i am dripping with sweat and breathing heavily. By the time i fill out and file some paperwork and finish with my checkup, it is 11 and i am tired. A driver is available, and other volunteers are running errands, so i go so they can help me. The driver pulls right up to the entrance of the shopping plaza, but i must still walk a short distance to the grocery store. Mind you, one week out of surgery, on crutches, tendonitis in the left arm, i am moving at a turtle's pace and sweating again. Trying to remember what i need, my helpers pick and weigh my produce, accompany me to block other idiot shoppers from my hurt leg (people have come dangerously close!) And to make sure i don't fall. What normally takes 10 minutes took me (us) almost 45. I kid you not, i was so weak and shaky and positively soaked in sweat by the time it was over, that i wasn't sure i could make it.
Cooking regales a similar experience. Everything takes twice or 3 times as long, and i can't carry anything. I must put it in a backpack, or a bag that can hook on my crutches. I have carried beer in my pockets and pushed coffee on the tile floor with my crutches. I wash my hair in the sink with my drinking cup while i precariously balance on my good leg. My daily routine involves a distance of less than 1k, no doubt. I am doing seated and lying calisthenics for muscle strength, tone and rehab.
Mentally, it has been tough. Just knowing i can't go anywhere, run for stress relief, do my old yoga routine, almost anything i am used to, is tough. Not knowing if a can go back to my site while i recover or if i will get medically separated and be forced to recover in the states is kind of stressful. I am in the middle of visa applications, community projects, and leaving right now sort of mucks up all my plans. I am supposed to just concentrate on getting well, but when my near future fate is frightfully unknown, it is distracting. Almost as much as the constant charlie horses.
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Happy halloween, tricks and treats
Wow, the last month has flown by and been quite eventful! I am writing this blog post from my phone in a hospital bed in pretoria. I tripped and fell while crossing the street in my shopping town, and manage to fracture my tibia in every way possible! Not even rescuing a child, running, or anything out of the ordinary. My peace corps doc says i should eat more calcium. I never thought about that until now. I don't drink milk, eat much cheese, spinach but i do eat yoghurt. Hmm...anyway, so this happened last friday night. Me and my fellow volunteers were staying together to celebrate halloween by making a braai and hanging out at a guesthouse. Showers, indoor plumbing, good company. So the electricity goes out during dinner, and a friend and i walk across the street to get my tobacco, next thing i know i'm on the ground and can't move. My friend says i grabbed his shoulder, so i didn't even fall with my whole body weight (of 68 kilos). The next morning, peace corps said to go to a local doctor and then phone from there. Alter the xrays, they plastered me to stabilize the knee/leg for the long trip to pretoria. My friends were so great, and Jackei, too. They carried me places, cooked my meat, got me beer, helped me find all my stuff, were just so helpful. Peace corps sent a driver to take me there, it's a solid 7 hour drive from my village. We had a great journey, had awesome conversations and he let me bring Jackei to help me pack and say goodbye, and pick up a friend who came to meet me in pretoria and came to the hospital with me.
Tonight at the hospital, i was fitted with a brace, given crutches, ct scanned, wheeled here and there, given a needle in my arm with sacs of fluid in them (HATE needles) and fed. Tomorrow afternoon, i will be having Orthopedic surgery involving plates and things. When i meet with the surgeon tomorrow, i can find out about healing time, recovery, what what. I just want to be able to run again. And wake up from the anasthesia.
Friday at school, my librarian and i prepared halloween craft masks for 50 kids to celebrate our american halloween. It was so awesome to see how excited they were, and how patient as we tied the string to secure each and every one! I just love working with my librarian, each time we bond a little more, share and grow together. I shared my lunch with her that day, too. What a wonderful thing, to share a meal with a friend! It always tastes better that way. I took my weekend bag, purse, and our projector to town on the bus. Another volunteer is borrowing it for a project at her school.
The day before that, i woke up at half past 5, walked to my far school, had coffee with Jackei and met his newly arrived brother and cousin from bangladesh, and went to a workshop for computer stuff for school. I am performing many duties of secretary there because they lost theirs, and the department is not replacing her. Why? Good question. Then i watched some john travolta terrorist movie with rahman bai over at Jackei's, walked back home, cooked black beans and sour porridge for dinner, and went to bed. Trained a new community volunteer on the computer at school the day before that. Started library planning, book cataloging, and did peace corps committee work before that. Busy busy! And now, everything is on hiatus again. What is the universe trying to tell me? I think i need to be still and listen to her direction.
Tonight at the hospital, i was fitted with a brace, given crutches, ct scanned, wheeled here and there, given a needle in my arm with sacs of fluid in them (HATE needles) and fed. Tomorrow afternoon, i will be having Orthopedic surgery involving plates and things. When i meet with the surgeon tomorrow, i can find out about healing time, recovery, what what. I just want to be able to run again. And wake up from the anasthesia.
Friday at school, my librarian and i prepared halloween craft masks for 50 kids to celebrate our american halloween. It was so awesome to see how excited they were, and how patient as we tied the string to secure each and every one! I just love working with my librarian, each time we bond a little more, share and grow together. I shared my lunch with her that day, too. What a wonderful thing, to share a meal with a friend! It always tastes better that way. I took my weekend bag, purse, and our projector to town on the bus. Another volunteer is borrowing it for a project at her school.
The day before that, i woke up at half past 5, walked to my far school, had coffee with Jackei and met his newly arrived brother and cousin from bangladesh, and went to a workshop for computer stuff for school. I am performing many duties of secretary there because they lost theirs, and the department is not replacing her. Why? Good question. Then i watched some john travolta terrorist movie with rahman bai over at Jackei's, walked back home, cooked black beans and sour porridge for dinner, and went to bed. Trained a new community volunteer on the computer at school the day before that. Started library planning, book cataloging, and did peace corps committee work before that. Busy busy! And now, everything is on hiatus again. What is the universe trying to tell me? I think i need to be still and listen to her direction.
Monday, October 4, 2010
mid service
It has been over a year now that I have been volunteering in South Africa. During the last 14 months, I have seen a lot. I have pushed my body to limits I never thought were possible. I have seen the depths of my soul and not been able to run away. I have lived in poverty with no running water, and I have been fed some of the best meals I have ever eaten. I have fallen in and out of love. I have learned to like children. I have gardened in the desert. I could go on ad nauseum with a list of crazy, fucked up and wonderful things I've experienced here, but I think you get the idea. In short, I have been pushed to the limit in every way imaginable, some by external forces, mostly by myself. Living on the edge like this is a very dangerous thing, because if something big happens, something major, the person on the edge is the least stable and likely to fall.
As an education volunteer, I work mainly with schools. Last month, there was an almost month-long teachers' union strike. We are not to affiliate ourselves with anything political, so we were instructed to stay home, away from the schools and not to do any community activities. Coming from a country where unions are all but disbanded and powerless, this was a really upsetting, uncomfortable time. Everything was in upheaval. From one day to the next, we didn't know what to expect. Were the demands going to be met? Would there be picketing? Would there be rioting and looting? Intimidation from union reps? Parents and kids asking when can they go back to school? Dazed volunteers feeling useless, scared, depressed, and very confused about tons of conflicting information? Yes, yes, yes, and yes. All of these things happened, to smaller or greater degrees depending on what part of the country you were in. I personally witnessed demonstrations, speeches, walk outs, but no violence. That doesn't mean I still wasn't extremely uncomfortable, fearing for my already questionable safety and well-being.
The winter was still lingering in the Kalahari, and that meant super cold nights and mornings, me being less active due to the cold, waking up later, eating more (meat, rich curries), less sunshine, general glum ho-hums. I seem to be greatly affected by the weather, thriving in the hot sun and becoming quite blue with cold, wind and no sun. Perhaps I have always been this way, but living as an isolated foreigner has a way of bringing things like this to the spotlight where they cannot be ignored. I am also still dealing with the loss of a relationship, which has not been easy, to say the least. Mostly I wander around, only half-engaged with whatever I happen to be doing, only half-enjoying life and not caring about anything nearly as much. The strike rode winter's last wave, and left my already shaky psyche tumbling to the shore, choking up salt water and trying not to knock myself unconscious with that surfboard which slipped out from under me the second I got in the water.
The icing on the cake, the piece de resistance, was the very recent betrayal of a dear friend by another among our group of volunteers. The results of this situation are that I cannot trust one and will greatly miss the other because he is no longer allowed to remain as a volunteer. Instead of blaming or being angry, I am really, really sad. I am hurt, I am confused. I feel betrayed, and I feel the fool. One person's actions reverberated so strongly within our group, and I wonder how one person can hold so much power. Does this person know it? Was it planned or meditated, manipulated and forseen? Was it a simple mistake made out of anger, hurt, or revenge? I don't know. I don't know if I ever want to know. People do stupid shit all the time, myself included, for no good reason. The problem with doing anything is that you can never take it back, good, bad, or ugly. What's done is done. The end. Move on. Stew, reflect, learn something from it, but move on.
I'm hoping to do this very soon. I'm hoping to not let this crazy chain of events keep me down. I'm trying to take lessons from each situation and start again. The latest thing I have learned is how important it is to reach out and keep in touch with my fellow volunteers. I created a nice social circle of local friends in my village, and get busy doing "my own thing," not worrying about anybody else. If I didn't hear from someone, I just assumed they were okay and went on with my own business. Now, I am going to make the effort to be more available to more volunteers more often. We are the only support systems for each other, we are our surrogate family and friends, and damn it, it gets really hard sometimes. I think the peace corps says it's normal to be depressed at this time in our service, to be disillusioned, or to be really excited about the coming year. If we are neither and all the above, I think that's okay, too.
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
Friends in low places
What qualities do you look for in a friend? What do you expect from someone who is a close friend? Or a best friend? Mutual respect, trust, comraderie, understanding, active listening and shared interests are qualities i enjoy in a friend. Between human imperfection and expectations, it is amazing when you find someone who can be a true friend, especially when times are tough,
and when you can also hold up your end of the bargain.
When i was little, i was so envious of my younger sister; no matter where we were, she could make friends so easily. I was always so shy, too embarrassed or hesitant to ever initiate new friendships. As i got older, i emerged from my cocoon as a social butterfly of sorts. Beginning in high school and through all my higher ed years, i have made lots me friends and contacts of various varieties. I still keep in touch with many of them, no matter when or where i met these friends. However, i have noticed since joining the peace corps, i have again become shy.
Perhaps being a foreigner, a stranger in a strange land, or experiencing one of those nearing age thirty crisis moments, i can only speculate. For a while, i relished meeting new people, secure in myself and was not bothered much by all the social interaction. I enjoyed my new freedom and isolation, and did not really worry or miss people from "back home," save my best friend. We communicated regularly via email and weekly by telephone. He was the first to hear good news, and the first to talk me through and listen about the hard times. In some ways, it was funny because neither of us expected to have that kind of a connection while i was here, but we both enjoyed the journey. Our relationship shifted and we did our best to understand and cherish the process and each other, especially given the circumstances.
Recently, our friendship was put in jeopardy. I don't think it is fair to assign blame, but sometimes, very unexpected things happen. I feared that these changes would mean the dissolution of our friendship. I stopped communicating because i didn't know how to say things i needed to say. I do not like to hurt people, least of all my friends. Eventually, we found a way to talk and listen, to hurt and to laugh, because that is better than crying, and realize that we truly are great friends.
I am so grateful for good friends, for people who have the courage to share very intimate parts me themselves with me, and to appreciate me, for better and for worse. Here's to you, one of my best friends.
When i was little, i was so envious of my younger sister; no matter where we were, she could make friends so easily. I was always so shy, too embarrassed or hesitant to ever initiate new friendships. As i got older, i emerged from my cocoon as a social butterfly of sorts. Beginning in high school and through all my higher ed years, i have made lots me friends and contacts of various varieties. I still keep in touch with many of them, no matter when or where i met these friends. However, i have noticed since joining the peace corps, i have again become shy.
Perhaps being a foreigner, a stranger in a strange land, or experiencing one of those nearing age thirty crisis moments, i can only speculate. For a while, i relished meeting new people, secure in myself and was not bothered much by all the social interaction. I enjoyed my new freedom and isolation, and did not really worry or miss people from "back home," save my best friend. We communicated regularly via email and weekly by telephone. He was the first to hear good news, and the first to talk me through and listen about the hard times. In some ways, it was funny because neither of us expected to have that kind of a connection while i was here, but we both enjoyed the journey. Our relationship shifted and we did our best to understand and cherish the process and each other, especially given the circumstances.
Recently, our friendship was put in jeopardy. I don't think it is fair to assign blame, but sometimes, very unexpected things happen. I feared that these changes would mean the dissolution of our friendship. I stopped communicating because i didn't know how to say things i needed to say. I do not like to hurt people, least of all my friends. Eventually, we found a way to talk and listen, to hurt and to laugh, because that is better than crying, and realize that we truly are great friends.
I am so grateful for good friends, for people who have the courage to share very intimate parts me themselves with me, and to appreciate me, for better and for worse. Here's to you, one of my best friends.
Saturday, August 7, 2010
Living the life you like
"you can like the life you're livin' - you can live the life you like- you can even marry Harry and mess around with Ike" -Chicago
or something like that...
The lady in front of me shouts in delight for the taxi driver to turn up the music. She really likes the song, and is rockin' to the beats. She lifts her hands, bobs her head, clearly unconcerned what the rest of us passengers might be thinking. How unrepressed, how liberating, to witness such freedom of spirit!
To live the life you want takes a lot of courage. From a Western perspective, a person who is a product of social and educational systems designed for conformity and oppression, doing things out of the ordinary seems out of reach, or a goal to accomplish "someday," after going to college, finding a job and filling your mortgaged home with stuff, as the systems demand. It is amazing the repressive tone our culture takes on when compared to southern African culture, whether urban or rural. They encourage free expression where we stare and feel embarrassed if we see it out of context- at a music concert, for example, would be an appropriate place for expressing unabashed pleasure.
"Freedom from stuff" as a topic alone could fill pages; how fulfilling it is to have little, less to clean, less to move, and less to worry about people stealing. What I really want to talk about, though, is discovering my passions and purpose. I finally think I've done it.
For as long as I can remember, I have enjoyed art: drawing, painting, colors, shapes, light, both looking at and making it. Nature and I have always been close. I remember loving natural sciences and going to the zoo as a girl, and even entertained the idea of making a career as a marine biologist- that is, until I enrolled in my first biology course and quickly realized microsciences were not for me. Inheriting my mother's green thumb and joy for cultivating the earth, I guess I would consider myself more of a "naturalist" than a "scientist." In recent years, as an adult, I've developed a passion for food and cooking. Healthy, minimally processed, simple and delicious is the kind I love. There also exists my love for reading, quest for knowledge and understanding, and the career in library sciences. All these passions, so little time I have to pursue them; this was my dilemma before joining the Peace Corps.
The million dollar answer for the question, why did you not want to go job hunting after earning the masters' degree? is because information science is not msole passion. I do not desire to work in any library, no matter how great, for 40 hours of every precious week of my life. I have worked in kitchens, bakeries and restaurants and don't particularly want to do that again, either. Not all the time. I don't want to paint all the time either and try to earn my living selling my artwork. So, because I didn't know what to do, joining the Peace Corps seemed like a good idea. It was a vehicle to allow me the time to figure all this out; bide some time, let me travel, meet new people, challenge me in new ways. Little did I know that this experience would lead to me discovering my true purpose.
Amid the sea of self-help books about purpose, habits, missions and the like, this one washed up on my shore last week. I checked it out from the Kuruman public library after searching for books about business. I have been helping the youth in my village with their business ideas and was also considering learning more for my benefit. This little gem is called Authentic Business (2005), all about the integrity of purpose and passion you must have within your business. Not just acting ethically or how to write a business plan, but the author offers a paradigmatic shift when examining the discipline of businesses. The author, Neil Crofts, had dyslexia and never learned to write for content until after he left high school, which is amazing because he is a great writer. The book reminds me of another inspiring book I read called The War of Art by Steven Pressfield, talking about overcoming your creative battles. The similarities are that both authors have their priorities in line with ethically sound, humanitarian, sensible but profound ideas. Profit is not an authentic motivator for neither art nor business. Somewhat surprising to see printed in black and white on the page in front of me, but quite refreshing, nonetheless. One passage in particular had (has) me grinning from ear to ear, ready to shout with joy: (pp 29-30)
"What is your non-negotiable dream? So precious that, so far, you have told no one for fear of it being compromised. What is the purpose to which you would commit body and soul if only you were allowed? What is your purpose that is profound for you and positive for life on Earth?
Say it.
Write it down.
Discuss it with people. If your regular friends won't discuss it with you, find other friends to discuss it with you."
He has simply articulated, or more aptly, abstracted, what I have been unconsciously doing during the last year; asking and mulling over these questions. After one year of "new"s: continent, languages, places, faces, names, goals and dreams, I am ready to answer these questions!
When I am honest, as I must be, I do not want what I thought I did even 2 months ago, 6 months, or twelve. My life looks very different. I am excited to see where it leads.
or something like that...
The lady in front of me shouts in delight for the taxi driver to turn up the music. She really likes the song, and is rockin' to the beats. She lifts her hands, bobs her head, clearly unconcerned what the rest of us passengers might be thinking. How unrepressed, how liberating, to witness such freedom of spirit!
To live the life you want takes a lot of courage. From a Western perspective, a person who is a product of social and educational systems designed for conformity and oppression, doing things out of the ordinary seems out of reach, or a goal to accomplish "someday," after going to college, finding a job and filling your mortgaged home with stuff, as the systems demand. It is amazing the repressive tone our culture takes on when compared to southern African culture, whether urban or rural. They encourage free expression where we stare and feel embarrassed if we see it out of context- at a music concert, for example, would be an appropriate place for expressing unabashed pleasure.
"Freedom from stuff" as a topic alone could fill pages; how fulfilling it is to have little, less to clean, less to move, and less to worry about people stealing. What I really want to talk about, though, is discovering my passions and purpose. I finally think I've done it.
For as long as I can remember, I have enjoyed art: drawing, painting, colors, shapes, light, both looking at and making it. Nature and I have always been close. I remember loving natural sciences and going to the zoo as a girl, and even entertained the idea of making a career as a marine biologist- that is, until I enrolled in my first biology course and quickly realized microsciences were not for me. Inheriting my mother's green thumb and joy for cultivating the earth, I guess I would consider myself more of a "naturalist" than a "scientist." In recent years, as an adult, I've developed a passion for food and cooking. Healthy, minimally processed, simple and delicious is the kind I love. There also exists my love for reading, quest for knowledge and understanding, and the career in library sciences. All these passions, so little time I have to pursue them; this was my dilemma before joining the Peace Corps.
The million dollar answer for the question, why did you not want to go job hunting after earning the masters' degree? is because information science is not msole passion. I do not desire to work in any library, no matter how great, for 40 hours of every precious week of my life. I have worked in kitchens, bakeries and restaurants and don't particularly want to do that again, either. Not all the time. I don't want to paint all the time either and try to earn my living selling my artwork. So, because I didn't know what to do, joining the Peace Corps seemed like a good idea. It was a vehicle to allow me the time to figure all this out; bide some time, let me travel, meet new people, challenge me in new ways. Little did I know that this experience would lead to me discovering my true purpose.
Amid the sea of self-help books about purpose, habits, missions and the like, this one washed up on my shore last week. I checked it out from the Kuruman public library after searching for books about business. I have been helping the youth in my village with their business ideas and was also considering learning more for my benefit. This little gem is called Authentic Business (2005), all about the integrity of purpose and passion you must have within your business. Not just acting ethically or how to write a business plan, but the author offers a paradigmatic shift when examining the discipline of businesses. The author, Neil Crofts, had dyslexia and never learned to write for content until after he left high school, which is amazing because he is a great writer. The book reminds me of another inspiring book I read called The War of Art by Steven Pressfield, talking about overcoming your creative battles. The similarities are that both authors have their priorities in line with ethically sound, humanitarian, sensible but profound ideas. Profit is not an authentic motivator for neither art nor business. Somewhat surprising to see printed in black and white on the page in front of me, but quite refreshing, nonetheless. One passage in particular had (has) me grinning from ear to ear, ready to shout with joy: (pp 29-30)
"What is your non-negotiable dream? So precious that, so far, you have told no one for fear of it being compromised. What is the purpose to which you would commit body and soul if only you were allowed? What is your purpose that is profound for you and positive for life on Earth?
Say it.
Write it down.
Discuss it with people. If your regular friends won't discuss it with you, find other friends to discuss it with you."
He has simply articulated, or more aptly, abstracted, what I have been unconsciously doing during the last year; asking and mulling over these questions. After one year of "new"s: continent, languages, places, faces, names, goals and dreams, I am ready to answer these questions!
When I am honest, as I must be, I do not want what I thought I did even 2 months ago, 6 months, or twelve. My life looks very different. I am excited to see where it leads.
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