Thursday, March 19, 2009

Neither Winter Nor Spring

March 17, 2009

A couple of weeks ago I found myself very irritable, stuck within some frustrating combination of apathy and anger. I would cry at unnecessary moments, snap at those who were trying to help me, and get frustrated at the simplest of questions. I felt significantly disappointed by those around me and I didn’t really know where it came from. The answer, though, always almost comes from within.

We were told from the beginning to reevaluate our expectations. Every step of the way, a sign of frustration is followed by someone questioning our expectations. Lowering expectations is not something you can say to a group of overachievers who have crossed great ponds to meet their high standards. And if my “unrealistic expectations” had been replaced by something more appropriate from the onset, perhaps I wouldn’t be where I am. But no one can give you a correct set of expectations while simultaneously telling you that each experience is unique.

My current frustration came from the shock of another awkward transition from the dead depression of winter to the unexpected wake-up call of not-quite-spring. You see, I have reassessed my expectations on a continual basis, trying to find ways to match any worthwhile outcome to existing opportunities. And yet, it keeps getting redesigned, new expectations keep getting thrown out at me, and what I once threw out as dead or dying has been resurrected and thrown in my face.

As of the 12th, I have been in Moldova for a year and six months. And the first of us will Close Service in 7 months (excluding those who have/will leave early for medical, educational, personal, or additional reasons).

I think, ultimately, it’s fatigue. It’s not homesickness; it was an overall lack of energy and a reluctance to take on more responsibility because I don’t want to be disappointed, to fail.

“Many volunteers feel they need to create a monument,” he told me. And I didn’t get it at first. “Like a statue?” I said. “No, like a monument project: one concrete accomplishment to signify their service.” And I got the impression that he was either judging them or trying to persuade me into not relying on that same evaluation of my service: based on one concrete accomplishment. And I do agree that the perspective I’ll gain in ten years will shine light on the significance of each of these daily activities, but I also understand the longing for something solid…at least until the time of great perspective has washed over me.

Purging expectations is not the same as lowering standards.

When March came and I noticed the grayness, I remembered two stories. In Moldova, spring starts on March 1st and there is a story that starts on that day: the story of “Baba Dochia.” (doh-kee-ya) In this story, a woman ventures out with the first sign of spring on March 1 and as the sun slowly comes out, she gradually undresses. First her scarf, then her hat and gloves. Next come her large coat and sweater. And once she has taken off all of her clothes and the sun has warmed her whole body, the winter wind whips back and freezes her to death. This is the warning of the first week of spring: it’s a tease, keep your clothes on. What a depressing story. But I definitely remember to keep well-clothed and to not be tricked by the sun.

The second story is actually a memory. I forget the reason (probably that same intestinal parasite), but I stayed in the medical apartment last March. I was in the kitchen with a volunteer who would finish up that summer and we were both looking out the window at the gray March sky. I was wondering why it didn’t look like spring yet. “I remember it being nice by April,” she told me. True enough, I remember the Romania trip taking place on the first sunny weekend, the second week in April. So my shock at the March grayness was mitigated this time around and, knowing that spring truly is around the corner, I feel more patient.

Some of the girls that I had been working with have just let me know that they are going to be too busy to continue our weekly English meetings because they’ll be studying for their graduation examinations, etc. I understand, but I’m saddened; these were great girls and I enjoyed this source of consistency. I had also hoped that the relationships would develop. There’s still time. And that’s not the full extent of my activities in the village, but I looked forward to it. And it was an opportunity. The fewer people I meet with, the fewer opportunities there are.

As grim as this letter might sound, I actually feel a lot better. I feel calmer and I try to remember to stretch and pray more frequently, to say my mind, and to not take things so personally. And I feel like a have come through another transition and am now in a new (although unchanged) part of my service. I still have no doubt that I want to finish – and part of it is simple curiosity to see what will come of the full experience, what might come at the end. I’m also just not ready to leave.