deeper musings

Today was one of those days where almost nothing went right and instead of a mound of frustration and fruitlessness, I am left with the realization of how my patience and perspective have grown. Markedly. I have left the world of the instantaneous, and in many cases, the sensible, and slowly I am learning to function in the realm of the deliberate, and sometimes, the insane. I came to the Peace Corps with Dalai-Lama-esque ideals and thoughts of deep meditation and learning of values through local people. Instead I have stumbled upon a region that has been ransacked by communism and then hung to dry by a desire to be somewhere else, where life is easy and the money flows. Western desires meet communist tendencies. Greed takes over. Idealism is eclipsed by the need to put bread on the table. There has been way too much waiting and false promises—of new hope and a wealthy future. These people have to think critically and work together to get out of this situation and yet critical thinking and teamwork have been learned out of entire generations. Rote memorization is the rule here.

I do not want to waste my time or the time of others in a two-year stint on this side of the world. And I know that it is not a waste of my time, no matter how slowly things seem to move at times. The intellectual and spiritual growth afforded to me here is beyond compare. Never again will I have the time and opportunities that I have now. My reading and writing have never been as prolific, but I need to focus my energy. This is the contribution that Armenia makes to me—there is no cosmic teahouse, no Buddhist monks, the people themselves do not necessarily inspire me to greatness or any sort of transcendentalism. However, my position in this country and my ability to reflect on my American life from a new position and new perspective have granted to me that which I ultimately search.

In testing my patience on multiple levels, in the startling realizations of what post-soviet really means, in the daily struggle, in the rut of seed-chewing and squatting and cat-calling, in the everyday monotony and redundancy of a culture-deprived republic, where even the name of the culture house uses a Russian word, I have found new life in myself, and an ability to appreciate that which heretofore was simply too a minute a detail to have time for.

I want to be yogic, to be deliberate and meditative and peaceful. I have bought books and taken classes and filled my home with candles and plants and nice music, and now without candles or plants or even running hot water, I find that I have spent too much time trying and not enough time doing. I crave the comforts of home and then have to ask myself ‘why?’ Deprivation is an integral part of the PC experience. It is one of the reasons I came—a part of this existential quest. And desire is a part of deprivation, in fact it is definitive of deprivation—necessary for the full experience. But I have to ask what type of experience I am trying to cultivate, and further, why I can’t simply let this one be. Be. I need to be.

A strange lesson to learn from the country of Armenia, but perhaps the country isn’t important. PC is different everywhere, but is it the same too? Certainly it elicits similar feelings of hope, desire, frustration, gratitude, indulgence, martyrdom, fortitude and even defeat. There must be a greater sense of humanitarianism coupled with wanderlust. A strong recipe for self-improvement through introspection, or simply a clean slate. A new lens on life. And yet the first thing that comes flooding back is everything old. It clings to me, defines me. Nobody knows me—the old me—the only know the now me. And this only comes though observation as I stutter through “please pass the potatoes” at dinner. My actions are so important—they don’t require tenses or affixes or definite articles. Still, I am not totally understood and possibly I never will be. I have to take that chance. Besides, it isn’t what I am here for. My growth and that of my community will occur simultaneously and most likely neither will be very evident, perhaps for a very long time. This is one of the lessons of the Peace Corps—to be conscious of and happy with my own strides. It is possible I will be one of the only ones to notice, certainly the only one who truly knows the blood, sweat and tears behind even the mildest of accomplishments. Celebrate. Victories like this don’t happen every day, and like a stone in a pond, the ripples will continue—well after I have gone. At least I can hope.

This is the interconnectedness of our actions and in a deeper sense, it is why we are here as volunteers. We are the role models—for ourselves, for each other, for the countries we serve. It may take the countries a very long time to figure that out. That’s okay, our personal growth will surface more quickly, and this we will be able to apply to those things we interact with for a long time to come. This is the timelessness of the Peace Corps. An organization as effective in its own country as it is in those it services overseas. It is a thankless job. It is an important one. And it takes a certain strength of character and personal resolve to make it work, to get through the slow times, and to derive benefit from the most peculiar inanities of a foreign land.