Realization

I recently realized what worries me the most about moving to another country.

It's not adapting to washing my clothes by hand, eating new food, or using a latrine. It's not even learning to speak a new language, although that does worry me more than the rest.

I'm most worried that I will continually be lost for my entire service.

If you know me well enough, you've probably had a chuckle or two at the expense of my complete lack of direction. It's true...I rejoiced greatly when I was able to navigate to Walmart, a mere 2.1 miles from my campus. I've come to terms with it. Long trips are made after copious amounts of google map studying. Directions from friends must be laden with plenty of landmarks and details.

So the idea of packing up and moving to a (most likely) rural area, in a country where I don't yet speak the local language, don't know anyone, and can't simply type in an address on my phone...scares me.

Just thought I'd put that out there.

The sands of time.

Tonight, I sat in a movie theater with an amazing group of friends and watched the first part of an epic trilogy unfold before me on the silver screen.

Unlike some movie goers, I truly enjoy the previews. Sometimes they make me more excited than the movie itself, actually. So at midnight, I settled into my seat in great anticipation...

And then I realized... I probably won't be here when most of these movies come out. Certainly not when the next Hunger Games movie arrives.

Trivial? Yes. But just one of those signs that sneaks up on you to say.... Why hello there. You're not going to be here much longer. Those have been popping up all over the place lately.

It's those types of things that are such motivation to make every moment count. A day with friends isn't just any other day, it's part of a countdown. The hourglass has been turned, and there is no way to hold it back now.

Now it is simply time to pay attention to every single grain of sand that falls... And make every one matter.

Finished!

Right now, I have the sweetest taste on my tongue...Peace Corps envelope adhesive!

Okay, so in reality it tastes just like every other envelope, but never before have I sealed an envelope with such a great sense of triumph. It's a great feeling. First thing tomorrow, my beautifully finished packet of medical paperwork will be on its way to DC. Hooray!

In the past 34 days I have made more appointments, sat in more waiting rooms, and filled out more medical history forms than I feel like I have in my entire life. But, after much poking and prodding, it is finally finished.

So, here's to a short wait for medical clearance! Next step, PLACEMENT! :)

But...why?

Since I'm approaching graduation (60 days to go!) it's a regular (as in, nearly daily) occurrence to be accosted with some form or another of the question: "What are your plans for after graduation?" As such, I've developed a fairly regular routine for answering. It generally consists of an obligatory "actually," followed by an apprehensive but convincing: "I'm joining the Peace Corps" accompanied by a partial smile-smirk and close observation of all verbal and nonverbal reactions to the answer.

Responses vary... I've gotten everything from "good for you, I've always wanted to do that!" to the average "you're just postponing the inevitable, you have to get a real job someday" to the "[long awkward pause, combined with facial expressions that give away mental calculations of whether or not they should continue conversing or turn and run from such maniacal being] ...why on earth would you want to do that?"

Following any range of those answers, the conversation generally comes back to the the usual what, when and where questions... Usually ending in that persons frustration with the lack of detail I can provide. But occasionally I get the follow up question: "But...why?"

That simple question is one of the most confounding dilemmas I frequently encounter. First of all, the questions itself. In a society where we use: "hey, how are you?" as a casual greeting, giving very little thought as to the depth of the potential answer to that question, nor usually caring to actually engage in any meaningful conversation about the state of the persons being, it would be ignorant of me to assume that the asker has a genuine interest in my precise motives about joining the PC.

My second frustration is my lack of a succinct answer to the question. My motivation for joining cannot be summed up into a quick, well-rehearsed answer that I can easily spit out to people who inquire. It's a part of who I am. Which I suppose is as close to a concise reason as I can come up with, but not one I'll easily volunteer, at the risk of sounding corny beyond all get out.

Rabbit trail: This same phenomenon occurs fairly often when it comes to my dreadlocks. Actually, not five minutes ago I was approached by a complete stranger who, without any introduction or warning, stated: "I need to smell your hair" and then proceeded to stoop down and take a big ole whiff of my locks. Admittedly, that's the first time I've gotten that one. But I do, without fail, receive a never ending cascade of: "how did you do that to your hair?" "how long have you had dreads?" "do you put wax/honey/other random substance in them?" "do you wash them" (Answer key for all of you curious cats...backcombing, 5 months, no, yes.) All of those questions come with varying degrees of actual curiosity, disgust, and ignorance. To be expected, I suppose. But once in a while, I get the why question. Why. Why? Why did you straighten your hair this morning? Why did you braid it? Why did you put it in a ponytail? Why didn't you wash it? Blah, blah, blah...Anyways, I'm almost equally at a loss to describe my reasons for dreading my hair as I am for telling you why I'm joining the Peace Corps.

For the record, I'm working on developing a short (still probably more of a paragraph than a sentence), accurate answer. Look for it soon!