Readjustment: The Good, The Bad, The Bizarre

It’s been over four months now since I returned to Seattle, and more than five months since I boarded a plane in Casablanca and left Morocco, my home for over the last two years, for likely the last time. I've started and restarted this blog post so many times I've lost count, never quite knowing what I was trying to say, as every day my head always seems to be in a different place. It’s been a time of transition (obviously), a time of great (terrifying) changes, and some of the hardest adulting I’ve ever had to do. If I joined Peace Corps to soul search and find myself, that entire process only had to be repeated once I was no longer in Peace Corps. I now have had to find out who I am without Peace Corps: 2 years wiser(?)than when I left, nowhere near the same person I was when I was 21 and debatably running away from who I was at the time, ready to prove I’ve changed, but back in the exact same place (physically) that I left. There have been great things that have come of this transition, some not as great, and, of course, a few bizarre realizations I’ve made. Here they are:

The Good

Morocco is a great country in many ways. It’s probably the most naturally photogenic place I’ve ever seen. There are wonderful parts of the culture and religion. The food is unbelievably great (I’ve said more than once since I’ve been back to Seattle that my stomach is homesick for Morocco). I can understand why people fall in love with it.

I didn’t fall in love with it.

I have no regrets about having gone into Peace Corps, and I have no wishes that I would have served anywhere else, but I never fell in love with Morocco. I struggled to feel like I was never able to fully be who I wanted there and often felt trapped. Being back in the US has made me unbelievably grateful for the opportunities we have here. I am more comfortable in my skin than I have been in over two years, and it’s been nothing short of freeing. In some ways my transition home has been like a bad breakup that I went a little too crazy after. Day 1 on US soil I cut all my hair off, I got a new tattoo within a week of being back to Seattle, and just to round it all off, I got a piercing also. I changed up my wardrobe and started dating again after not being able to for 2+ years. It’s been a blast to be able to do whatever I please without feeling like I’m under a microscope every time I walk out the door of my apartment. I can go to the store and buy groceries without someone 3 days later saying they saw me buying carrots and quizzing me to make sure I got the best price I could for that kilo of vegetables and if I actually, in fact, was capable of knowing how to properly cook the food I bought. In many ways it’s as if I finally have privacy about everything that used to be public, and I’m allowed to be public about everything that used to have to be private. And that’s a very freeing feeling.

I recently Skyped with a friend who’s still back in Morocco, who told me I looked completely different in the best way possible, and who said I look happier than she’s seen me in a long time. And it’s true. Being able to be myself again has made a world of difference. I love being put into situations where I’m uncomfortable and out of place. Those are always the moments I learn the most about myself. But sometimes it’s also nice to just be able to feel like you don’t have to spend 24/7 being self conscious.

There’s also good beer here. That’s been nice

. I’ve taken full advantage of that.

The Bad

As I said earlier, while I joined Peace Corps to find myself, sometimes I feel like now I have to do that process completely over again to now find my “Post-Peace Corps Self.” I went for a walk today to try to help clear my head a bit and called up one of my best friends from Peace Corps that I hadn’t talked to in awhile. Her and I spent a long time discussing how strange readjustment has been and commiserating over our struggles in it, specifically, we spent awhile talking about what making friends post-Peace Corps means and how in many ways it’s been both of our biggest struggles. I’ve always said that a person can never find friends like Peace Corps friends. We get each other in ways nobody else ever can. We’ve seen each other at our absolute worst and our absolute best. There’s no such thing as secrets in a Peace Corps friendships, with all possible topics on the table at any time, from what our most recent bowel movement was like to what it is back home we ran away from when we joined Peace Corps. Friendships in Morocco were deep, intense, trust-based, and most importantly, supportive.

One of the hardest parts about coming back after Peace Corps to the same place I left instead of moving somewhere entirely new is the realization that I have to face the fact that people aren’t right where I left them. My friends have scattered. I have to see people one at a time now rather than in large house parties filled with all of my favorite people in one place. People have moved, people have fallen out of touch, and, in all honesty, in many cases the most important people I want to see now are my Peace Corps friends who aren’t from here anyways. Combine that with the fact that I work evenings 5 nights a week and my social life is essentially shot. However the issue comes when I do have time for a social life and I have those moments where I don’t know who to call anyways. I told a friend today that my issue isn’t that I don’t have people to call if I ever need to talk. I have an abundance of great people in my life who have always told me I can call them whenever. The issue is that for the most part, all I have are people to call up and talk to. What I’m lacking are the people to call up to just hang out and be around.

 

But I think I also have a different definition of friendships when I meet new people now also. My friend and I were talking today about how we make friends and they just all feel superficial for the most part. They’re great. We get beers, we talk about what crazy thing happened at work that day, we share stories of our latest dating trials and tribulations, but it all feels surface level. I’m used to Peace Corps friendships. Friendships that involve talking for hours upon hours about our dreams and goals in life, about why we’re doing what we’re currently doing. Where we can cry to each other about the pain we saw someone else fighting through that day and how much we internalized it. I miss having friends that not only want to, but truly believe they’re working towards changing the world for the better. Friends that dream big, trust deeply, and have the utmost faith in each other and what our friendship means. And compared to the average American friendship, I feel like I’m always just surviving day to day, rather than truly moving forward in my interactions with others.

I may not necessarily miss Peace Corps or Morocco specifically, but I miss my Peace Corps family above anything else, and that’s a really difficult thing to explain to people who haven’t experienced it. Trying to explain that balance between not loving Morocco but being defensive as hell if anyone tries to insult it. Trying to balance wanting to travel more and knowing that if I keep letting everything in my life be temporary I won’t be invested in anything. Trying to find a social life that doesn’t require me to board a plane to go visit people on the other side of the country (or world). Honestly, the bad about readjustment is just the fact that I can rarely explain what is bad if I try, because it’s never anything tangible.

The Bizarre

A few days after I returned to Seattle I was driving somewhere (for the first time in a long, long time, I might add), and was sitting at a stoplight when the light turned green. Without thinking my hand moved to the horn and, just before slamming down and honking at the car in front of me less than two seconds after the light turned green, I stopped myself. I realized that maybe I should give the driver in front of me a chance to even process the fact that the light changed and allow them the opportunity to shift into gear and drive.

In Morocco, when cars pull up to a stop light, the car in the very front is often pulled so far forward they couldn’t see the light when it changed anyways. Car horns are used more as a courtesy for the drivers further forward in line than as an actual warning. And to be honest, now that I think about it, I’m not sure I ever saw a horn actually used as a real warning… Only as a way to let the furthest car forward know the light turned green and everyone behind said person was extremely impatient to get a move on. That day at the stop light I found myself chuckling at the extremely unexpected thing that had carried home with me from Morocco. My entire time living overseas I remember being extremely annoyed by how car horns were used, but apparently it had sunk so deeply into me that I tried to do the same thing without even realizing it. Ultimately, what this taught me was that sometimes what comes home with you most strongly are the things you never realized you paid attention to.

Additionally, I have taken to proudly accepting my “technological ineptitude” since I have returned home. It’s not that I’m actually technologically inept, merely that so much changed while I was gone that I have little interest in actually keeping up with it anymore.

One of the most striking things I found when I returned to the “first world” was how deeply everyone’s faces were buried in their smart phone. This was a realization I had before I ever left the airplane when I was flying into Europe after leaving Peace Corps. The moment the flight landed I was standing waiting for the mass of people to disembark and I stopped to look around. In that moment I realized that every last person within a 5 row radius of me already had their cell phone on and was very intently staring at the screen. It was unnerving to say the least. This isn’t to say I haven’t taken up this same “iPhone posture” as my dad calls it: slouched over, blank face, staring into my phone. It’s just to say that I don’t take the time to keep up with every latest fad or app that comes around. A friend finally sat down and explained Snapchat to me recently (which was invented after I left, I might add), and the only response I had was that people send a lot of stupid shit with that app, and after attempting to be a good millennial and use it for a few days, I gave up, finding nothing but useless information being fed my direction with it. I’ve been told I should get instagram, but I’ve yet to feel a draw towards it….

And finally, as I finish this post up, listening to it starting to rain outside, all I can seem to think is this: For all the times I longed for a Seattle rain while I was sitting out in the middle of the Sahara, there is very little I wouldn’t give in order to experience the smell of the desert after the rainstorm just once more…  

Dak Shi Li Kayn

Sometime around a year and a half ago, I put a quote up on the wall of my kitchen. It’s unknown who said it, but it goes like this: “Anyone can give up, it’s the easiest thing in the world to do. But to hold it together when everyone would understand if you fell apart, that’s true strength.” In many ways, that quote has both defined my Peace Corps service as well as helped me survive my Peace Corps service.

As of today, I only have 22 days left of my Peace Corps service. Including today, I have been here for 795 days, and compared to that, a mere 22 days left is an astoundingly small period of time. In fact looking at those numbers tends to give me a small panic attack. At the beginning of service I hung up on my wall a calendar that included every month of my time here in Morocco, and as each month as passed, I have marked a large blue X across the month. Well now here I am with just March and April of 2015 left un-Xed out, and I’m not sure how I feel about that.

Whether we want to or not, the end of such defining life events such as this tends to make you reflect back on your experience and also think forward to what it means for the future. I readily admit I’m not great with change. I’m all about change, but only on my own terms. My problem comes when change happens to me without my permission or say in the matter. That’s when I start to panic a little. Or sometimes, a lot.

Three and a half years ago, when I first started my Peace Corps application, I did it for a lot of reasons. I actually remember quite clearly the autumn day I first started my application. I was sitting in Viking Union at one of those tables that’s too tall to touch the ground when you sit, probably avoiding studying for a midterm or putting off some paper that I would end up writing at 2am the night before it was due (then later getting an awesome grade on, much to all my friends chagrin). I was burnt out. I was 20 years old and was one quarter away from graduating from Western. The idea of dropping out, loading up Toby, my trusty green Subaru, and driving across the country without a plan had crossed my mind quite seriously. I had studied abroad that summer and wasn’t adjusting back to the US well. I was angry at life, I was confused about what I wanted to be doing, my living situation wasn’t going swimmingly, and I felt like I was teetering on some invisible edge. Almost daily someone was reminding me that I was set to graduate in a quarter and a half (because I obviously wasn’t aware and panicking enough on my own) and the question “What’s your plan after you graduate?” was liable to make me punch you in the throat.

So I started my Peace Corps application. If I’m being completely honest here, it was mostly to shut everyone up who insisted on pushing me to have a plan for the rest of my existence after I graduated. I had talked about joining Peace Corps for a long time, and it was what everyone seemed to expect me to do next and no one seemed to understand why I hadn’t started the application yet. At the time though, I just wasn’t sure what I wanted to be doing. I hadn’t started my application because I was a little lost. Well, I was a lot lost. I knew I wanted to do Peace Corps eventually, but I was also incredibly aware that I was only 20 years old, and needed to do some soul searching. But for now, the Peace Corps application at least gave me an answer to the unceasing questions about my post-graduation plans.

So yes, my initial decision to apply for Peace Corps started mostly as a way to make people leave me alone. But it evolved. It wasn’t until over a year later that I finally left for Morocco, and in those 15 months or so, a lot happened. A lot I’m not willing to go into here because it probably doesn’t need to be on the internet. It became incredibly clear by part way through that next summer that I needed Peace Corps. I needed a chance to get away, start fresh, and figure out who I wanted to be and who I needed to be. I needed a change in scenery, I needed to be inspired, I needed people who didn’t know me and didn’t have preconceived notions of me. I had made a lot of really stupid choices the last few months that had burnt a lot of friendship bridges and nearly lost myself the opportunity of Peace Corps, and it was enough to make me realize how much I not only needed Peace Corps, but how much I wanted Peace Corps.

And that has continued to be what Peace Corps means to me. People join for many reasons, and I’m willing to bet nobody joins for one single reason, myself included. You join to make a difference. You join to see the world. You join to meet new people, learn a new language, challenge yourself. You join to kill some time between undergrad and grad school. You join to put it on an application later for the Foreign Service. You join because you need to learn something about yourself. Whatever anybody’s reasons are, we all have them, and we all have multiple of them. But for myself, Peace Corps was more of a personal journey than it was anything else.

Sitting here typing this today, I’m thinking back on the past 27 months of service I’ve had. In many ways, I don’t think my work has always been the most necessary or fulfilling. I don’t think I did anything outrageously needed or profound. With a few very notable exceptions, I didn’t make extensive connections of dozens of people I’ll forever stay in touch with and immediately come back to visit. But, in the words of my favorite Moroccan Arabic phrase (so important that I even had it tattooed onto my arm), Dak shi li kayn, it is what it is. Peace Corps was a personal journey for me much more than a professional one. And I’m alright with that.

When your two years of service start to come to a close, you have the option of extending your service for a third year if you want. A fellow volunteer in the group a year behind mine asked me about 6 months ago if I was considering extending, and, completely involuntarily, I laughed in her face. “I’ve almost quit and gone home early far too many times for extending to be a viable option for me” I told her. And it’s true. I have considered ET-ing (Early Termination – we love acronyms here…) on numerous occasions, at one point in time even going through the interview process for a job back in Seattle that was worth dropping out for (I didn’t get the job, obviously, since I’m still in Morocco). And each time I’ve considered the possibility, I’ve sat at my kitchen table and pondered that quote on my wall.

“Anyone can give up, it’s the easiest thing in the world to do. But to hold it together when everyone else would understand if you fell apart, that’s true strength.”

It’s true. If I had decided it was time for me to end my service and return to the States, nobody in my vast Peace Corps family would have questioned it. They would have my back, trust I did what I needed to do, and wish me well on my journey. We say it a lot: 27 months is a really long time to be unhappy. If you don’t want to be here, you won’t do your best work anyways and you should make the decision that’s best for you. Everyone would have understood if I fell apart. Although let’s be real here, it’s not really an if I fell apart thing. I’ve fallen apart plenty of times during my service here. I’ve cried more in the last 27 months than I have in a very long time. I’ve sat in my friend’s apartments when I just couldn’t sit in my own anymore. I’ve carried full conversations with my cat when I just needed someone to talk to. I’ve asked myself why the hell I took on this crazy ride more times than I can count. But here I am, 795 days later, and I did it. In a few days I’ll not only put a big blue X over March 2015, I’ll completely take the calendar off the wall and walk away.

I’ve spent a long time reflecting over my service the last few days, weeks, and months. To be honest, I’m really not sure what I’ve come up with out of all that reflection. I’m incredibly proud of the fact that I’ve made it this far, because I really didn’t think I’d make it at a few points on this journey. I know that I’m walking away from this experience a better person that I came in. I know I’ve grown up a lot while I’ve been here. I know I have more confidence in my ability to be a functional adult than I did going in (although make no mistake, I still can’t adult to save my life). But I also know that the future holds a lot of question marks for me. And that terrifies me. I have no idea what I’m doing once I go home. I really don’t even know what I want to be doing in the future. Facing unknowns doesn’t always lead to good things for me. But sometimes, they also do. I could have given up, it would have been easy, and nobody would have questioned me for it. But I held it together anyways, and I can’t stop tomorrow from coming, so I might as well stand tall, trust myself, trust the family that surrounds me, both blood and chosen, and make the most of it. Dak shi li kayn.

The music of this post, as well as the most true Peace Corps anthem I've found thus far.

2 Years Ago Was A Weird Day. Today Was Also A Weird Day.

Today is exactly 2 years since I boarded a plane in Philadelphia and came to Morocco. And you know what? It’s been a weird two years. It’s been without a doubt the most challenging thing I’ve put myself through, but it has also taught me so much about myself, about Morocco, about Islam, and most of all, it’s taught me a lot about what life really means.

I spent a good chunk of my day today at my host family’s house for my host father’s funeral. I’d like to say it’s the first funeral I’ve been to here in Morocco, but it’s not. I’d also like to say that I haven’t missed any funerals back home since being here, but that too would be a lie. I’ve missed 3. In a lot of ways, this is what haunts me the most as I look back on my service with a mere 84 days to go. When you leave for the Peace Corps, you know you’re signing up to miss things back home. You’re signing up to miss birthdays and weddings and graduations. You sign up to miss holidays with your family and watching the leaves change. But the impossible thing to know when you board that plane is if everyone is going to still be there when you get off the plane again 27 months down the road. But I was 21 when I came, no living grandparents, everyone seemed to be in reasonable health, what could go wrong? But sometimes, it just does go wrong. And that’s hard.

I had the opportunity to go back home for this Christmas, and to be back in my college town for New Years. While I was there, I ran into some old friends that I hadn’t stayed in touch with during Peace Corps, and one of them asked me (in an effort to understand my service without vague or never ending questions) to tell him my highest high and my lowest low of service. Side note: it’s a pretty brilliant question if you stop to think about it. I recommend all my fellow volunteers ponder it. Anyways… I thought for a bit about the question and tried to best form a response in my head. Immediately I knew that the pain of losing 3 people back home and being helpless to support those I love so much during hard times was my lowest low. Having only a computer screen to tell you how life is during those times is torture. But then I thought about my highest highs.

I’ve had a lot of highs since I’ve been in Morocco. I’ve travelled solo for the first time. I’ve learned a new language. I’ve carried conversations in English with students who previously could barely say ‘hello’. I’ve made best friends. I’ve eaten weird things. I’ve gotten weird sicknesses. I’ve learned how to cook. I’ve celebrated with my host sister when she graduated high school. I watched my parents step into the unknown when they left the US for the first time to come visit me in Morocco (they rocked it by the way).

I could go on. I’m tempted to go on. Because when it all comes down to it, I’ve had a lot of pretty great times here in Morocco. Sometimes things suck here, but sometimes also, they don’t. Ultimately, I think that’s the most important lesson I can come out of Peace Corps with. Just the knowledge that for every down, there’s an up, and for every up, there’s a down. If you spend 27 months in the Peace Corps, living in a foreign country, trying to function in an unknown language, and doing it mostly by yourself, and you don’t come out of the whole experience more resilient than you went in, I’m pretty sure you did it wrong.

I once asked a former volunteer to give me advice about Peace Corps right before I left for Morocco. They told me to journal on the bad days, and blog on the good. Well, I’ve both journaled and blogged today, so I suppose that I’m somewhere in the middle. But the more I think about it, I think basically all of Peace Corps service, and most of the human condition, is typically somewhere in the middle. So I guess what I’m saying here is just this: maybe Peace Corps just makes us a little more human.