Veil of Domestication

Remember the idealistic setting they would always show in the fifties for the domestic housewife?  The spotless home, the aromatic dinner in the oven, the pearl-sporting wife.  It all looked so peaceful, so sweet, so… misleading.   I have recently been attempting to make dinners from scratch, and quite honestly, I am surprised that more housewives don’t turn into serial killers. Not because the job will drive you crazy or anything like that, but because of the things that preparing and cooking a chicken will desensitize you to. Preparing a chicken is something that, given the right soundtrack and lighting, would give any kid nightmares for a week.   Think about it.   My grandmother was completely unfazed by the idea of snapping a chicken’s neck.   I myself just spent the last 15 minutes sawing through the bones of tonight’s dinner, and it occurred to me that if one of the neighbor’s kids were to peek through the window while I did that, they would probably think a crazy person had moved in.

It starts off all neat and sanitary, the chicken in it’s colorful, plastic covering and me in my apron with my hair carefully pulled back.   Then it’s off with the plastic and I’m making contact with the cold, lifeless skin of the bird, peeling it off the flesh with my bare hands, hands that just an hour ago had been receiving a manicure.   I attempt it daintily at first, reluctant and inexperienced with the job, but soon I am tugging determinedly until the skin rips off.   Once the flesh has been laid bare, out comes the knife and I am cutting it up into chunks, doggedly sawing through bone, my hair escaping the tie and becoming disheveled in the action, until everything has been separated and will fit into the pot.   Then as it all boils, I occasionally stop by to scoop out the fat that has risen to the top, no longer concerned about what it all used to be.

Seriously, after doing that for a decade, I am sure that most people would be come desensitized to cutting up other things.   So kids, stop ticking off your mother.   She may be wearing pearls, but you have no idea what she is capable of.

 

Sphere of truth

Tell me something.  Are you wiser, once you’re older?  I am twenty-six and I don’t feel wiser than I did at eighteen, and that seems wrong.  One could accurately suggest that life has taken me in didactic circles, round and round, showing me something and then bringing me right back to it once I’ve forgotten what was taught.  You learn to love, then get your heart broken, which teaches you to toughen up and put up your walls, until one day when you let down those walls and let yourself hope again, and then the cycle starts all over.  Or you exercise everyday for a month, then miss a few days, then miss a month, then six months, then realize it’s time to renew your gym membership and start the chain of events all over again.  Or you get motivated, you pick a goal and shoot headlong for it, blocking out everything else, but then someone or something catches your eye, you get distracted, and the one thing you set out to do falls by the wayside until you finally return to it, wipe the dust off, and try again.  Or maybe it is a different cycle for you, but undoubtedly, there is a cycle.  It seems to me that there should be a way out of the maze.  An ultimate combination move that if you could just get the sequence down, you could move on to the next level.

Unfortunately, at twenty-six, I am no closer to figuring that move out than I was a decade ago.    If we are constantly following a 360 degree path, then what is it that we are orbiting around?  What is it that has such a pull on us that we cannot get more than a certain distance away from it before going back?  Is the key to free yourself from these desires, or is it to submit to them, or is the point to learn to give them up, or what?  Myself, I think this gravitational pull that we cannot seem to escape is what the religions of the world are trying to address.  That what you are seeking in each instance listed above is love, acceptance, and purpose, which is what religion tries to provide.  And despite the skeptical tone in those last two sentences, I do think that makes a certain amount of sense.  What I have yet to see is someone who has stopped circling, and that makes me wonder if it is possible.  What if the purpose of each person is to simply wander in a slowly shrinking circle, again and again, in the hopes that after a lifetime of circling, they may have actually learned something true?

I guess everything in nature is a cycle, and it would be foolish of me to think that life would be exempt from that pattern.  But still, sometimes I wish I could stop circling and just be there already.

 

PCD

Before returning to the US, all volunteers must undergo one last medical check to insure that we don’t bring any fun new parasites or diseases back to the home country.  After a series of blood tests, stool samples, and cotton swabs, we are given the American seal of approval and shipped back stateside.  But from what I’ve experienced so far, there is one thing they forgot to test for:  PCD, the Peace Corps Disorder.  It’s similar to OCD, in that you find yourself doing things that you know aren’t really necessary but that you feel you must do nonetheless, but the difference is that these are habits that you picked up during your service.  Here’s a list of some of my own PCD habits that I’ve noticed:

- Before sitting on the toilet, I turn on the water in the sink for a second.  This habit made sense in Peru, because if the water wasn’t on I would have to go grab a bucket of water from the other side of the house to manually flush the toilet.  After a couple of weeks in country, I forced myself to stop doing this, but it still makes me a little anxious to use the bathroom without the test-run in the sink.

- Every time I use the restroom, I am acutely aware of the location of the trashcan.  Peru’s sewage system is not able to handle toilet paper, and therefore you throw it into the wastebasket instead of the toilet.  After training myself to throw it away automatically, I am now un-learning that lesson.  Thankfully, fishing toilet paper out of a trashcan is much easier than correcting a breach of toilet paper etiquette in Peru.

-  In Peru, many items that are commonplace here are incredibly valuable to the volunteers.  Ziplock bags are one example.  Here, you can pick them up for next to nothing at your local grocery store.  Not so in my last place of residence, where we would cherish the baggies that were included in a package from the US and use said bag for all kinds of things over the next two years, until the plastic had long since stopped being clear and seal at the top had been canceled out by the many holes on the sides.  Each time I open the kitchen drawer and see that little box of sandwich-sized bags, I have to fight the urge to take some and hide them in my room, just in case we run out at some point.

- I haven’t quite adjusted to having such easy access to the internet at all times.  Every time I am walking down the hall of my parents’ house, I catch a glimpse of the computer out of the corner of my eye and get an urgent need to check my email.  When you live in a town without internet, you take the opportunity to get online whenever you can, especially if you’ve found a place where you can check it for free.  It is almost painful to walk away from it, despite the fact that I know it will still be there, free and available, whenever I want to use it.

- Having lived in a desert where water is a precious commodity, letting the water run while I wash the dishes still makes me nervous, like I am going to get caught and punished for being so irresponsible.  I just can’t seem to get over how much water I am using to clean a single dish.

These are just a few of the PCD moments that I have on a daily basis.  Clearly, this is a condition that should be studied by health professionals everywhere.  If you or any of your loved ones have experienced similar symptoms, let me know.  I’m thinking about starting up a support group to help deal with the stress of living with PCD and to promote understanding of this very real disorder.

Before returning to the US, all volunteers must undergo one last medical check to insure that we don’t bring any fun new parasites or diseases back to the home country.  After a series of blood tests, stool samples, and cotton swabs, we are given the American seal of approval and shipped back stateside.  But from what I’ve experienced so far, there is one thing they forgot to test for:  PCD, the Peace Corps Disorder.  It’s similar to OCD, in that you find yourself doing things that you know aren’t really necessary but that you feel you must do nonetheless, but the difference is that these are habits that you picked up during your service.  Here’s a few of my own PCD habits that I’ve noticed:

- Before sitting on the toilet, I turn on the water in the sink for a second.  This habit made sense in Peru, because if the water wasn’t on I would have to go grab a bucket of water from the other side of the house to manually flush the toilet.  After a couple of weeks in country, I forced myself to stop doing this, but it still makes me a little anxious to use the bathroom without the test-run in the sink.

- Every time I use the restroom, I am acutely aware of the location of the trashcan.  Peru’s sewage system is not able to handle toilet paper, and therefore you throw it into the wastebasket instead of the toilet.  After training myself to throw it away automatically, I am now un-learning that lesson.  Thankfully, fishing toilet paper out of a trashcan is much easier than correcting a breach of TP etiquette in Peru.

-  As a volunteer, many items that are commonplace here are incredibly valuable.  Ziplock bags are one example.  Here, you can pick them up for next to nothing at your local grocery store.  Not so in my last place of residence, where we would cherish the baggies that were included in a package from the US and use said bag for all kinds of things over the next two years, until the plastic had long since stopped being clear and the seal at the top had been canceled out by the many holes on the sides.  Each time I open the kitchen drawer and see that little box of sandwich-sized bags, I have to fight the urge to take some and hide them in my room, just in case we run out at some point.

- I haven’t quite adjusted to having such easy access to the internet at all times.  Every time I am walking down the hall of my parents’ house, I catch a glimpse of the computer out of the corner of my eye and get an urgent need to check my email.  When you live in a town without internet, you take the opportunity to get online whenever you can, especially if you’ve found a place where you can check it for free.  It is almost painful to walk away from it, despite the fact that I know it will still be there, free and available, whenever I want to use it.

- Having lived in a desert where water is a precious commodity, letting the water run while I wash the dishes still makes me nervous, like I am going to get caught and punished for being so irresponsible.  I just can’t seem to get over how much water I am using to clean a single dish.

These are just a few of the PCD moments that I have on a daily basis.  Clearly, this is a condition that should be studied by health professionals everywhere.  If you or any of your loved ones have experienced similar symptoms, let me know.  I’m thinking about starting up a support group to help deal with the stress of living with PCD and to promote understanding of this very real disorder.

 

Stateside

It took exactly eleven days in the alternate universe known as the USA before I found myself rushing to the nearest Starbucks, wanting to feel a little closer to home.  However this time I was hoping that the familiar surroundings would remind me of times in Peru, instead of the other way around.  So far, it’s not working. Partially, this is due to the view from the window.  Oklahoma has spent the last couple days reminding me just what rain and storms really are.  Everything outside is dripping , and as a result everything is a vibrant green and the flowers are all abloom.  As a desert resident, I can’t help but glance at it in wonder and maybe a little confusion from time to time.  Then there is the fact that, as a general rule, Americans really are a lot louder than the other cultures I’ve encountered.  People here are always talking and talking, or at least that is how it seems to me, but I could be wrong.  Peruvians may have talked just as much, but since it was in Spanish it was easier to tune it out.  Now, all the words that gush from everyone as they move around me invades my mind while I sit there, longing for the quiet of Peru.  But to some extent, it really had to have been quieter there.  After all, I did live out in the middle of a small town, and small towns are notorious for their quiet.

Plus, in Peru, I never really felt the urgent need to be somewhere RIGHT NOW.  I mean, time was flexible there, and arriving on time meant showing up at some point that day.  But here, even if we are just going to go get a cup of coffee and wander around town, there is this sense that it must be done NOW, like we have to hurry or we might miss something vital.  And really, there is no difference between getting it done quickly and doing it an hour later.  But we are so used to not having any time and having to squeeze too many things into one day that even our relaxed moments are rushed.  And everything must be done together.  Now, don’t get me wrong, I am all for being social and hanging out with people and doing things with friends, but I’m so used to doing things on my own.  Everyone had their own schedule and their own routine and while it was pleasant when the schedules did intersect, it was equally pleasant when they didn’t and I spent the day doing my own thing.

On a side note, this could be why I get so frantic when someone tells me to get married.  The idea of someone always being around is slightly appalling to me.  Well, actually, more than slightly, but I’m trying to soften it, since as a 26-year-old woman I know it is something that I am supposed to be looking for.  But seriously people, the sky won’t shatter and fall on our heads if I don’t take that route.  So while I know that many people consider it my logical next move to find a husband and settle down (as many people have either hinted at or outright told me), let’s just all calm down a little and shift our focus to other things, hmmmmm?  Okay, that being said, let’s move on.

Having located my local Starbucks haven, I’ll start working on the stories from the little travel time I had between Peace Corps and coming home.  I hope everyone really did enjoy my emails, because it looks like they won’t be stopping anytime soon.

It took exactly eleven days in the alternate universe known as the USA before I found myself rushing to the nearest Starbucks, wanting to feel a little closer to home.  However this time I was hoping that the familiar surroundings would remind me of times in Peru, instead of the other way around.  So far, it’s not working.  Partially, this is due to the view from the window.  Oklahoma has spent the last couple days reminding me just what rain and storms really are.  Everything outside is dripping , and as a result everything is a vibrant green and the flowers are all abloom.  As a desert resident, I can’t help but glance at it in wonder and maybe a little confusion from time to time.  Then there is the fact that, as a general rule, Americans really are a lot louder than the other cultures I’ve encountered.  People here are always talking and talking, or at least that is how it seems to me, but I could be wrong.  Peruvians may have talked just as much, but since it was in Spanish it was easier to tune it out.  Now, all the words that gush from everyone as they move around me invade my mind while I sit there, longing for the quiet of Peru.  But to some extent, it really had to have been quieter there.  After all, I did live out in the middle of a small town, and small towns are notorious for their quiet.

Plus, in Peru, I never really felt the urgent need to be somewhere RIGHT NOW.  I mean, time was flexible there, and arriving on time meant showing up at some point that day.  But here, even if we are just going to go get a cup of coffee and wander around town, there is this sense that it must be done NOW, like we have to hurry or we might miss something vital.  And really, there is no difference between getting it done quickly and doing it an hour later, but we are so used to not having any time and having to squeeze too many things into one day that even our relaxed moments are rushed.  And everything must be done together.  Now, don’t get me wrong, I am all for being social and hanging out with people and doing things with friends, but I’m so used to doing things on my own.  Everyone had their own schedule and their own routine and while it was pleasant when the schedules did intersect, it was equally pleasant when they didn’t and I spent the day doing my own thing.

On a side note, this could be why I get so frantic when someone tells me to get married.  The idea of someone always being around is slightly appalling to me.  Well, actually, more than slightly, but I’m trying to soften it, since as a 26-year-old woman I know it is something that I am supposed to be looking for.  But seriously people, the sky won’t shatter and fall on our heads if I don’t take that route.  So while I know that many people consider it my logical next move to find a husband and settle down (as many people have either hinted at or outright told me), let’s just all calm down a little and shift our focus to other things, hmmmmm?  Okay, that being said, let’s move on.

Having located my local Starbucks haven, I’ll start working on the stories from the little travel time I had between Peace Corps and coming home.  I hope everyone really did enjoy my tales, because it looks like they won’t be stopping anytime soon.

 

Changes

Walking around on US soil is unsettling in a very discreet way.  Everything is so familiar, and yet so foreign, all at the same time.  Simply sitting outside on beautiful day feels so wonderful and so wrong, because the air has a different feel.  It’s not a difference of temperature, because lately the temperature has been very similar to winter in Piura.  I think it has something to do with the scents of the mass amounts of vegetation in the area, as opposed to the dust that is normally being carried by the breeze at my Peruvian home.  Everything is so green here, so nonchalantly decadent.  The difference in the landscape is distinct, but only at first.  After that, the difference is still there, but in a way that you can’t quite put your finger on because the green is everywhere and so it fades into the background.  It’s like how you don’t notice how bright it is outside until you walk into your house and in comparison it is too dark to see.  The dryness of the desert has been so imprinted on my mind, I am so accustomed to seeing it out of the corner of my eye, that some where on the edge of my consciousness I am still looking for it, still trying to make this place match that land.  In the same way, I keep trying to fit myself into this place.
 
Similarly, my parents have recently moved to a new town, so while I have come home, I haven’t returned to the building that in my mind constitutes “home”.  This new house is filled with the same furniture as my home – the piano, the wonderful couches, the dining room set – and so at times I forget that this isn’t the same house.  Then I turn around in the kitchen and the microwave is in the wrong place or the dvd player is not hooked up, and I remember where I am.
 
My first morning back, I went to church with my parents.  As I sat there, I couldn’t get over how many gringos there were in the room.  I felt like I should know who they were, because where I lived, if there was a gringo around I either knew them or would go up and talk to them.  I had thought that when I returned I would have a sense of belonging;  that I would stop feeling like an outsider.  But sitting there, I still felt distinctly different from everyone around me.  I no longer stood out like a sore thumb (I wasn’t taller than everyone in the room, for example), but there was no connection, no sense that I was a part of that group of people. 
 
Everything is the same, yet everything is different.  I went to Walmart, which I knew would be an interesting experience.  I spent 15 minutes trying to pick out a shampoo.  The vast array of choices was confusing enough, but on top of that I kept trying to find the equivalent of the Spanish brands I had been using, trying to remember what the logo looked like without the actual words.  What color was my version of Pantene Pro-V?  Red?  Silver?  Blue?  Do they use the same color scheme no matter the country?  I find myself reminiscing about Peru the way I would about the US during my first few months of service.  At times in those months, I would search stores in hopes of finding a place that sold Dr. Pepper.  Yesterday I did the same thing, only this time I was searching for the type of yogurt that they sell in Peru.  By the afternoon I was exhausted, and it took me a while to figure out why.  Then it hit me – it was siesta time in Peru.  The stores should have been closed and I should’ve been resting.  Guess I’ll have to learn to live without my siesta from now on.  The trade off though, is that no sheep wake me up at six in the morning anymore.  I like that part.

 

Land of the free…

I must admit, I was more than a little nervous about coming home.  Although it wasn’t so much the arriving part as it was the nineteen hours of travel part.  After having been a stranger to the US for almost a year, the airport was kind of a crash course on the American culture.  Those of you who have spent a significant amount of time outside the US probably already know what I am talking about, but for those of you who haven’t, let me explain. 
 
Even without ever leaving the airport, you can learn a lot about a country’s culture.  When I checked into my flight in Lima, my luggage was 3 kilos over the limit (but hey, considering I was packing 2 years into 2 bags, I didn’t feel like that was too bad).  However, with only minimal effort on my part, the rules were bent and I didn’t have to pay extra.  That, my friends, is Peru.  Nothing is set, whether we are talking traffic rules, prices, or even laws.  However, on every other plane that I tried to board, I found myself scrambling to comply with some new rule that they had come up with while I was on my way there.  I went from being allowed three carry on bags to two, and then back to three on a later flight when one of the bags was too big and they had me take stuff out of it (which happened to be the things I had stuffed in there to make two bags).  Standing in line is also something that Americans take very seriously, and I found myself fighting the urge to slip to the front like I would in Peru, where everyone pretends they can’t see all the people waiting. 
 
And then there is the difference in prices, which is jaw-dropping.  On one flight, the only food available you had to pay for.  The lady next to me didn’t speak English, and because of a three-hour stop in immigration she hadn’t had time to buy anything for lunch.  When I told her the prices, she was shocked.  When I then explained that they didn’t accept cash, only credit cards, she thought I was lying.  Most places in Peru don’t take cards; almost everything is done in cash, so she thought that bringing $20 along would keep her well fed until she landed.  In fact, $20 would keep you fed and buy you a hotel room in Peru, but on a flight from Miami, it gets you nothing.  Not even a pair of headphones to watch the inflight movie ($2, cards only).  Land of the free started sounding very ironic right at that moment.
 
But when I finally landed late that night, I was more than happy to embrace my family and my culture.  Instead of a Peruvian taxi trying to overcharge me, my parents’ car was waiting.  Instead of a crazy traffic and horrible roads, I was able to relax on a smooth ride home, not once wondering if I was about to be involved in a head on collision.  I poured myself a glass of water, throwing in some ice with a huge smile.  And then… I did a practice leap into every bed in the house, before settling with a contented sigh on my parents’ couch, something I have yearned for many, many times. 
 
More thoughts on my first days in the US will follow, but for now, it’s good to be back.  I’ve missed it.

 

Easing my way back into the world

In a few months time I will be returning to the American way of life, and so today I decided to do a test run.  I had a meeting that was set for 8:00 a.m., so I figured if I was getting up that early, I might as well make a day of it.  Throughout the day, I worked, cooked, cleaned, did laundry, showered, worked on my computer, and talked on the phone.  Sounds very American, I know, but while the verbs are the same, the actual actions were very different. 

First, work.  For my 8:00 meeting, I managed to stop hitting the snooze button by 7:45, threw on some clothes and put my hair in a ponytail, ignored the makeup but remembered to brush my teeth, and arrived at 8:30.  Now, I realize that showing up thirty minutes late for a meeting would not exactly earn me a promotion in any US corporation, but here it meant that I was about an hour early.  Realizing my mistake, I headed back home, made breakfast burritos with homemade tortillas, worked on my “to do” list for the day, then headed back at about 9:30 for the meeting.  I had another meeting that was supposed to start at 10 (aka 11), but the school was having its Mother’s Day celebration today, so we rescheduled for next week.  Of course, this was decided by the fact that no one showed up, which meant that I got to go and talk to the different associations later on during the day to pick another time. 

However, in true American fashion, I was not idle while I waited (fruitlessly) for people to show up.  I cleaned.  I threw my sheets in soapy water to begin returning them to their original color, then cleaned my room while they soaked.  During the cleaning process I found a scorpion in my bed, which is always comforting.  I also found a ton of spiders, but those I left alone.  Now, I realize that leaving spiders and their webs where you find them is decidedly un-American, but most of those webs were stuffed with mosquitoes, proof that they were paying enough rent to continue living in my room.  Like they say, my enemy’s enemy is my friend.  An hour later, my room was much cleaner (with all of those spider webs I can’t honestly call it clean) and my sheets were drying on the line, but I was incredibly dirty and sweaty.

I distinctly remember maintaining a consistently higher standard of bodily cleanliness in the US, so I headed for the shower.  But despite the use of soap and running water, the showering experience here is completely different than that of the US.  For instance, when you enter the shower you spend the first ten minutes hunting mosquitoes.  The green fungus growing on the walls hides them really well, so they can only be spotted when they are flying.  As a result, you spend those ten minutes kicking and slapping the walls, with some mid-air clapping going on as well.  It’s like a very weird form of the hokey-pokey, only without any singing and with the risk of large welts and loss of blood if you don’t do it right.  And when you do finally start the water, you still spend the entire time randomly slapping yourself every time you think you feel a mosquito.  Even so, after all that, you leave with at least three large mosquito bites, generally in either the middle of your back or other, more inappropriate, areas.  And what do you do the moment you get clean?  Put on bug repellant, got inside my mosquito net, and inventoried the new purses that we just got in (pictures will be coming soon).

In the evening I called my parents, using a calling card and having to hang up and call back due to bad connections.  Now it is 11:00 at night and I am typing away on my computer, partly because I felt like writing, and partly because the light from the screen attracts all the mosquitoes that have managed to get inside the mosquito net, and if I don’t get them while I type, I’ll make sure I get them before falling asleep.  Yeah, not so sure that people in the US are in the habit of smashing mosquitoes on their laptops or using them as mosquito bait.  But I what can I say?  I’m easing back into the American world a little bit at a time.  Poco a poco.

 

No Peeps in Peru

WARNING: This email may contain material that is too shocking for children under certain ages.  Parental supervision is recommended.  That’s right folks, this email has a “must be this tall to ride” sign. 

You see, we’ve just recently finished up with the Easter holiday, which I celebrated by freezing at 15,500 feet in the Peruvian Andes and therefore successfully avoided what could have been a terrible cultural shock – there is no Easter bunny in Peru.  Not a single sign of him anywhere.  I’ll wait a moment for the significance of this to sink in… No Easter bunny means no egg hunts, which means parents have no method of bribing their children to wear all the cute Easter clothes.  It also means that all of us adults have no excuse for buying  completely unnecessary amounts of candy, which we will inevitably end up eating ourselves, thus ensuring that dentist practices will remain open for at least another year. 

After a little contemplation, I’ve come up with a few different reasons for the lack of dyed eggs in Peru.  The first of which is DISTANCE.  Unlike Santa Claus and his speedy reindeer, the Easter bunny has nothing but his own for paws for transportation, making any story about him traveling the world in one day very improbable.  Anyone who has ever seen a rabbit hop along would never buy a story involving a rabbit traveling the world in one day, no matter how young they are.  As it is, there must be an underground network of bunnies working together to accomplish such a feat, and that is where you run into another snag in Peru – the only rabbits around are those that are being raised by families for food.  You’re not going to find a lot of wild rabbits running around the countryside. 

Another problem doesn’t involve rabbits, but the chickens here and their egg-laying habits.  The eggs here are not clean and white like the ones in the US that are practically begging to be painted bright colors.  The eggs here are various shades of tan, which isn’t exactly the ideal color to start off the dying process.  They are also a lot smaller, which would make them a little more difficult to find during an egg hunt and trust me, a bunch of lost eggs hanging out in the desert sun would not make for a pleasant living environment.  Maybe they did try the whole Easter egg hunt here, and after a few such catastrophes decided that it wasn’t worth it. 

And lastly, I blame the candy companies for the lack of Easter bunny enthusiasm.  If you think about it, Americans celebrate three holidays every year that encourage us to overindulge our sugar cravings – Easter, Halloween, and Christmas.  Seeing as how it is the candy companies that rake in the majority of the profits during these times, I’m guessing that the marketing they do during those holidays is tremendous.  Peruvian candy companies, on the other hand, haven’t quite caught on to the whole “marketing” idea.  Maybe it is the difference in disposable income, but very rarely have I seen adults here buying candy.  So rarely, in fact, that I can’t actually remember it ever happening and I am just assuming that it has to happen somewhere.  But basically, this is not a candy-consuming society, and therefore holiday traditions in which candy plays a vital role have not developed.  I don’t blame the people for this, because everyone loves candy, right?  So it must be the fault of the candy producers, who are failing to convince their audience that they not only like candy, but cannot imagine going without it.  Then, and only then, will the Easter bunny make his way down to the Southern Americans.

 

What I learned in the mountains

Over the Easter weekend, I joined a few volunteers on a three day hike through some beautiful mountains in Peru.  Along the way, I realized that a lot of the advice you get for hiking also applies to life.  Feel free to add some more if you want.

Watch your step

When you’re walking along a trail, it is very easy to get distracted.  There is plenty to look at around you, people to talk to, etc, and little by little you become less concerned with what you are doing.  You pay less and less attention to the steps you are taking until you stumble, stub your toe, slip on a rock, or step in a puddle.  My favorite part about that is it takes us by surprise every time, as if we have no idea how that happened.  We forget that each step does matter and if we don’t pay attention to what we are doing, there will inevitably be consequences.  On the hike, I would often try to take in the scenery around me, watching the trail out of the corner of my eye.  Problem is, I wear glasses and things are a bit blurry that way.  It turns out that donkey poo, if you blur the edges and aren’t really paying attention, looks a lot like a rock.  The other problem was that the trail had a lot of standing water and I was basically hopping from one rocky patch to the next, and so when I did mistake a pile of manure for a rock, I really mistook it for a rock.

Look ahead

And while being aware of what steps you are taking is important, it is equally important to make sure that you are heading in the right direction.  More times than I could count, I would be focusing on what I was doing only to realize that I could go no further.  On this hike, the problem was generally that the trail had turned into a small river and we would have to backtrack and find a way around.  No big deal, but it takes a lot less time and energy to look ahead from time to time to see if the path you are taking will get you where you need to go. 

Go at your own pace

This is one of the first things our guide told us, and also tends to be one of the hardest things to accept on the trail.  We tend to rate ourselves based on what those around us are doing, and on a hike, this means that we are somehow losing if we aren’t walking as fast as everyone else.  No one wants to be the last one into camp.  But if you focus on keeping up with everyone around you, you completely miss the point.  The point of a race is to be the first one to the end.  The point of a hike is to enjoy the walk, look around, take pictures, and in general, make memories.  I’m not saying you shouldn’t work for things.  Climbing a mountain is obviously going to be at least a little difficult no matter what.  But you don’t have to kill yourself to get it done. 

Don’t be afraid to lead

On a hike, there is always one person in front with everyone else following behind.  Quite honestly, I had never been comfortable being the person in front.  I preferred being the second or third person.  I just didn’t like the idea of people watching me, stepping where I stepped.  I always worried that I wasn’t going fast enough or I was going too fast.  I would get all embarrassed when someone would take a different way than the one I went on and it turned out to be better.    But apparently I have gotten over that.  Everyone, at one point or another, will be the one in front.  And you know what?  You’ll probably do just fine.

Make your own trail

There are times when the official path, the path that everyone agrees is the correct path, is still not the best path for you to take at the time.  This was especially true on this hike because the rainy season was just ending, and about 3 months of rain had turned much of our trail into a river.  But what a trail is nothing more than the route that other people have taken to get to a certain destination.  It is not the only route that must be taken to get there.  True, if that many people have gone that way then it probably works.  Just because the majority of people go that way, it does not mean that you must as well. 

It’s more fun with friends

Hiking, as well as life in general, is more fun when it is shared with people you care about.  And I am not talking solely about experiencing beauty together or sharing good times and laughter.  Some of my best memories of the hike are about overcoming obstacles and getting through rough moments.  You learn a lot about your friends in times like that, and when you come out on the other side you are usually closer for it. 

Be in the present

Have you ever noticed that we rarely focus on what is happening right now?  We are usually planning some future event or going over something that happened in the past or, as happens most often in my case, coming up with hypothetical situations that will most likely never come to pass.  I noticed this happening a lot when I was on the hike.  There I was, surrounded by beauty that will not remain much longer (the glaciers we saw up there are disappearing fast), and I noticed that my thoughts were everywhere but on what was happening right then.  I find my inability to focus on what is right in front of me both sad and frustrating.  Sad because I feel like I miss a lot of opportunities that way, and frustrating because I am having a hard time changing.  I really want to learn how to be content with now instead of constantly coming up with what I could have done differently yesterday or trying to change what will happen tomorrow.  I want today to be enough.

It’s all in your head

But the key lesson I learned on this trip is that what you are dealing with is not as important as the way you are dealing with it.  The first two days of our hike it was raining.  We were cold, wet, and tired.  One thing after another seemed to go wrong.  And yet, there was a minimal amount of complaining.  It turns out that you can be physically miserable and still have a blast.  We laughed, we joked, and we really appreciated the simple things, like the wonderfully warm soup.  It could have been a miserable situation if we had let it be.  We could have focused on the hardships and gotten frustrated and upset, but we chose not to.  It was just one more instance where I realized that it is your attitude, more than any other factor, that defines a situation.  There is a quote that says “Whether you think you can or you can’t, you’re right” and I completely agree.  We build things up in our mind to be impossible, and therefore they are.  We decide that we are miserable, and therefore we are.  “I think, therefore I am.”  I realize that is not what he meant when he said that, but I still feel that it applies.  It really is only as difficult as you make it.  

 

Just me

Peace Corps, like most things in life, comes with a few preconceptions that aren’t entirely correct.  For example, there is the illusion of saintliness that is applied to the volunteers.  This is not really surprising, since when I signed up I was spouting all kinds of angelic motivations for my stay in South America.  For a few moments before I actually arrived in the country, I had convinced myself that I was selfless, compassionate, generous, and all of those other traits that everyone throws high up on a pedestal and then rarely uses.  But as I sat on the bus as it left the Lima airport and stared at the scene that whizzed by outside my window, I became aware that I wasn’t really any of those things.  I remember how dark it was.  How all the barred windows and walls topped with shards of glass hinted at the undercurrent of crime in that seemingly peaceful community.    There were crowds of people surrounding fires burning inside of large metal barrels, and I remember thinking that I had only seen that in movies, never in real life.  It was a sinking feeling; a realization that I had definitely bitten off more than I could chew.  I began to understand that I had never actually seen, much less lived in, poverty.  I had no experience, no preparation for this.  I had no idea what I was doing.

Hence, the three months of training.  They put you in a secure community and introduce you to a nice family that is just as curious about you as you are about them.  You start to learn the language, but more importantly, you learn that there are more important things than flawless grammar when it comes to communicating.  You learn a little humility as you stumble through sentences that should be so simple.  You discover the value of a smile and a willing attitude, which I relied heavily on for the first 6 months of my service.  When you can’t communicate well, people tend to assume you are slow, but if you smile they at least understand you are trying. 

The halo that you used to see above your head slowly fades away, and you begin to realize that you don’t have to be a saint to help.  It’s okay that you need time for yourself, that every now and then you say no to projects.  You figure out that there is no need to feel guilty about taking a vacation, and that it is okay that you are looking forward to being back in the US.  I think that my time here as made a lot of my faults more apparent to me, but at the same time, I have stopped condemning myself for them.  I recognize that I have a lot to work on, but for once I don’t feel discouraged about it.  I guess in the end what I’ve realized that I will never be a saint, but that doesn’t make me a hopeless case either.  It’s just me.