Finding Serenity in Shock, Storms, and Stretch Marks

written: July 27, 2008

Another energy-consumed-by-calm feeling has come over me, signaling only that I’m ready to write again. And while I feel this is a necessary time to write, I don’t know where to start. So I will begin with something I wrote over a year ago:

“The world is blooming in front of me. Some flowers bloom and perfume the air while others turn ugly. But I want to see it all happen. I want to see the world at its ugliest. I want to be shocked and horrified. Surprised and emotionally connected to a world that isn't seemingly my own. I want to be challenged. Before I had wished for a middle-of-the-road experience as my first Peace Corps project. Now I want the hut. I want to be as far away from all crutches as possible...”

The world is blooming literally here – fresh and lush gardens combined with a widening world view. And I do want to see it all happen. I still want to see the ugly and the angry. But I needed to remind myself of that. Because I have been getting angry; I have been feeling disconnected from the world that is still my world, instead of feeling gratitude for this eye opening experience. I have seen generosity and humanity, but I have also seen selfishness and pain – from both fellow countrymen and from strangers.

In addition to the “shocked and horrified” I’ve also been impressed with my own unintentional prediction that one of my biggest goals and challenges would be in maintaining self-discipline throughout the self-defined schedule. Both ideas were written before I even knew I would be coming to Moldova, before I knew specifically what my challenges would be. And they have come to be spot-on-accurate.

One of the biggest difficulties is finding balance, and it’s not just one type of balance, but quite a ridiculous number of opposites that I’ve been trying to equalize: time in the village and time in the city, responsibility to the point of guilt or acting like a volunteer to the point of indifference, not caring what people think and not wanting to offend anyone, productivity or cultural integration, frustration for change or acceptance for the situation.

Listening intuitively is something I seem to remind myself of only randomly. Sometimes it seems to carry more pressed importance to me than others, but it’s a growing process – though I may forget to listen to the greater will of things at times, when I do listen, my faith and trust grows exponentially so that the general growth is positive…and powerful. You have to try it to feel it; you have to feel it to trust it, to believe it. I’m saying this entirely to myself because I know what darkness feels like. I know what little sense “blind faith” can hold when you are shrouded and deaf. That’s the word: deaf. It’s not so much “sight” as “hearing,” as “listening.” Simple things such as: what do I want at this simple moment, where do I want to be? Then getting up from the bus stop and walking to the river so that I can see some glimpse of water in this ocean-deprived country. And so instead of waiting for the I-don’t-know-when-it-will-get-here bus, I sat somewhere more enjoyable and got up only when I was ready; no looking at the time. Then as I get back to the bus stop, I wait only five minutes before the bus comes to take me home.

Home. Yes, it’s “home” because it is where I felt most comfortable after the three consecutive nights in different places. It’s home because it’s where I was heading when I finally felt relieved of the eggshells I had been walking on for ten months.

At first, I defined that “relief” as the spontaneous readiness to stop caring about what other people thought (while admitting to myself that it had been a silent source of steady stress since coming to country). Though, I now realize that my spontaneous transition is greater than just eggshells. It’s the readiness to listen at every moment. To close my eyes and ask where I want to be, what I feel, where I’m being led at each moment, so that I let things work out the way they are supposed to work out instead of trying to fix everything all the time – instead of thinking that I know what’s best. I don’t. There is a cycle, a purpose, a harmony to things when we let them work out, and I want to let them work out. I don’t want to ignore the obvious. And I’ve said this to myself for the last two years but I don’t always act on it. I feel wholeheartedly that by getting down to the gut-of-the-matter, all of the “Peace Corps balances” will be found.

But I need to acknowledge the others that lead their life this way. There is something necessary in my reading The Meaning of Life and The Tao of Pooh (and, sure, The Alchemist, too) that reminds me that someone else is thinking the same thing. And, yes, that’s nice…but to know the PEOPLE, to see their lives and to feel their energy, their peace, their lightness of step…to know the people who lead their lives on a regular basis based on the subtle “this is where I need to be” feeling…well it’s awesomely inspiring. When we ask ourselves simply: what would I miss most if I couldn’t have it in my life? And then following that, regardless of how weird or scary that path may be… I’m not ready for that question yet, let alone the answer, but I am already grateful for those that I have seen make that step. Ideally, when I get there, I’ll be able to take that jump too.

In one year and four months.

Backing up to tell you a story:

I didn’t know how long I would wait for the minibus, I knew only that there would be nothing between 5:00 and 6:15, but it was not yet 4:00. I took my time, knowing that the 6:15 would still be there, assured and trying not to rush (I loathe that feeling). I went from here to there, forgetting something, going back, saying goodbye, saying it again, and then leaving when I was ready, regardless of time. I got a few fresh apricots out of it (yeah!) and some lovely walking company. And as I arrived at the Gara, there was the exact surprise minibus that I needed to take, leaving at just that moment. I hopped right on. The last seat was the one next to the driver. A coincidence, I said to myself, since the same thing happened last time and the driver bought me ice cream. This time was not as sweet. Different driver, different day. Grateful as I was that it wasn’t raining when I walked to the station (because it probably would have convinced me to stay another night), the downpour that followed while we were driving was scary enough to make up for it. It was brain-rattlingly scary. I had a front seat view of the speedy passes the driver made around other cars through the curtain of rain on the windshield, the turns he raced around blindly while driving on the opposite side of the road. Forget the fact that our side of the road looked dryer and flatter… Knowing perfectly well that he’s not the only driver that drives this aggressively made the threat of blind corners even more insane. And this, remember, is a two-and-a-half hour drive. The lightning shot down in solid bolts straight to the ground around us and the thunder mirrored my sick stomach. I don’t remember ever being scared to the point of sickness. I didn’t throw up, I was too mesmerized. I didn’t have a heart attack, either, though fainting would have eliminated the eye-witness view. The driver was anxious and stressed, rolling his shoulders every few minutes as he pressed them towards his ears during his evasive steering. And it got to the point where I was so sure that I would watch helplessly as we collided with another car that my body relaxed and I went numb. I realized that if this were to happen, I would be looking at it spot on. “I’d rather see my death coming,” he said as we walked across the country by foot, “so I walk on this side.” But I didn’t have a choice as I sat in this seatbelt-less seat, flinching at the sight of every oncoming headlight. And I prayed. “When you’re tense, you’re more likely to get injured during an accident,” she told me, “so the girls were fine in the backseat because they never saw it coming.” Well I let my muscles go, and I prayed…slowly but continuously. But as we were ten minutes from our destination, the storm lightened and our surroundings looked greener, a little less gray. And as I got out, umbrella-less, I thanked God for my life.

As I reread this entry, it sounds unintentionally serious. I want to shift slightly to talk about something ridiculous – stretch marks. To me, the name implies that they should come when something stretches, so why then are they popping up by the hordes as I have been shrinking? I expected them to come…like, you know…during the winter…when I stretched. I’ve done enough up-and-down ridiculousness to my body to know that they were bound to make their appearance. It’s the timing I don’t get. But yes, so summer and some larger sense of serenity have brought a natural (and unintentional) return back to normalness – productively and in weight. But it seems like every week there are more little red lines that join the crowd. “Hello to the summer season of shorts and swimsuits,” they say. Lovely and illogical.

And today I was back in Soroca and I saw how much the river has risen in the last few days – it’s incredible! It’s only about a meter from the top of the wall. We used to see cattle grazing on the river bank, but now we see only half of corn fields and the topmost leaves of trees. The river is speeding more steadily, but the rumor is that the storm has been the worst in 100 years! (No wonder I was scared for my life!) The other “word on the street” is that it will flood. And we have no drainage system. Already the bus station in Soroca is blocked by a street’s worth of water.

But summer has also been filled with multiple BBQ’s – the majority of which involve getting rained on. Last summer was a drought, this summer a swimming pool. It’s also involved seminar series and more time reminding myself that I like being in that educational setting. Business plans busted out in too short a period of time, but business plans nonetheless. Less time was spent writing, but I think I made up for it with the length of this entry. And now that I have my new shoes (thank you!) I’m running again, I’m active, I’m outside. I’m punching-bag-less but I’m burning adrenaline, I’m doing something productive with my emotional antsiness. Hallelujah! Another way of relieving stress: cutting your hair…yourself. Three-to-four inches of dry hair chopped off with loose scissors and my own hands. The process is just as refreshing as the fresher and “bouncier” result. A lot of time has been spent thinking about post-Peace Corps endeavors, but I can’t spend the endless amount of time internet-searching grad programs because I don’t have an endless amount of internet time to do so. But I think about it. A lot. I think a lot. Maybe too much. But now it’s time to listen.