Disclaimer:

The contents of this blog are completely mine and do not reflect any position of the Peace Corps or the U.S. government.



Monday, October 31, 2011

The adventure to, and first days of Reconnect In-Service-Training

So Saturday morning, groggy and dirty because my water had gone out, Zach and I headed to the boat to start our hitch hiking adventure to Maputo for our "Reconnect" conference.  Our first chance to see our fellow Moz 16'rs and get some training and inspiration for the next phase of our service.  I cannot believe that it's been 5 months in country already!

We left pretty late, we were on the boat at 11am and I'm not sure exactly what we were thinking.  But when we got into Maxixe we hoofed it out of town with our giant backpacks, dripping sweat, and caught our first ride in the back of a pick up truck to the junction about 30km away.  We hoofed it past the junction and sat on the side of the road for awhile, eating coconut and trying to catch a ride.  The first car that actually stopped was going the wrong direction, so their good samaritan act saved them a long drive down the wrong road, but left us still out in the sun.  Finally, a south african woman who runs the Zavora lodge, offered us a ride to the Zavora junction and shoved our bags in the back of her tiny car with a bunch of gas tanks and we squeezed into the back seat with her colleague.  Another 50km later, we once again found ourselves on the side of the road and Zach yo-yo'd while I tried to catch us another ride.  About 45 minutes later, another decrepid pick-up truck stopped, driven by an older Mozambican from Sofala with a young woman in the back seat.  We hopped in and he took us another 50km or so, dropping us somewhere past Inharrime.  Almost immediately a big truck stopped with a few Mozambicans in the back and we quickly learned that they were headed all the way to Maputo so we happily climbed in, although I know that Zach was really hoping for a nice comfy SUV.  Luckily the pick up had a mattress in the back and pretty quickly two of the men got out so we got comfy and settled in for a long ride.  A couple hours later, somewhere outside of Xai Xai (shy shy) we unexpectedly pulled off the road and were told that we were dropping off the kid that was in the back with us and then proceeded to drive back up on a bumpy dirt road, knocking  branches off of trees and flicking off the giant ants that fell onto us from above.  We arrived in a small compound where we unloaded a bunch of stuff, young boy included, chatted with the locals and then loaded up a giant bag of mandioca. 30 minutes later we were on our way again.  Once we got into Xai Xai, we once again pulled off the road back into the campo where we stopped and unloaded the Mandioca and our gracious drivers ate some dinner.  On the way out, we scraped a truck and the owner had to be fetched to move the vehicle (no one mentioned the minor fender bender in that process).  Then, finally, we were on our way once again.  Coming out of Xai Xai it was starting to get dark and we were still hours from Maputo, but there was a sliver of a moon and a cool breeze over the Limpopo river valley and a gorgeous red African sunset.  We continued for hours, and at some point I finally just laid down on my back and watched the stars come out, which was gorgeous.  Another hour or so later, it got very cold and both Zach and I curled up into little balls shivering and hoping that we would get there soon.  I tried very hard just to enjoy the sensation of being cold, as I've barely had a moment where I wasn't sweating for the past few weeks, but I must admit, it was a little miserable.  Hours later, we came upon the stadium outside of Maputo, where it just so happened that at that moment all the traffic from a game was getting out, so we found ourselves in the back of a pick up truck, miles outside of Maputo in bumper to bumper traffic surrounded by drunk Mozambicans yelling "MULUNGU!!!! MULUNGU!!!" and laughing and pointing and taunting us.  Another hour or so later, at which point it was around 10pm, we finally came into the city and were looking forward to being dropped at junta (the transportation hub) to find a taxi to city center, where we still had to find a hotel.  At this point, we were both greasy and sweaty and dirty and exhausted and cranky.  When the truck finally stopped, we were nowhere near junta, and instead were on an isolated stretch of road with our hosts instructing us to catch a chapa.  This we just could not do. It was late, people were drunk, we had laptops and cameras and giant backpacks and so we practically begged our hosts to let us pay them to take us into town.  They reluctantly agreed, and took us to VIP Suites, and extremely high end hotel in a dark, deserted neighborhood where we couldn't afford to stay.  We finally convinced them to take us to a main road, and they agreed to drop us at another hotel.  A few minutes later, we pulled up to the Hotel Santa Cruz, where we profusely thanked our new friends, unloaded our bags and went inside to find out that we could get a room for 1,000 mets a night (about $30).  We went to look at a room and spent 10 or so minutes trapped in an elevator that only stopped between the floors, which only escalated (or elevated??  huh?  huh?) our crankiness.  The room was fine, a tiny room with two twin beds 6 flights up with a shared bathroom where a man was taking a bath in the shared bathroom with the door open.  We decided to stay rather than go somewhere else, and went down to the desk to pay.  The clerks were insanely condescending, customer service here is not a common value, but we finally got our key after successfully restraining the desire to punch someone.  Zach found pizza and cake and I peed for the first time in almost 12 hours and then we showered and settled in for sleep after a very very very long day.

In the course of the night, we had a drunken Mozambican yelling outside our door and then Zach got a phone call from the states.  But at least we woke up knowing that we didn't have to travel and had the whole day in Maputo to rest and relax.  After a hike across town with our packs, we checked into our hotel, a much improved, fancy, touristy affair, in the early afternoon and our colleagues started to trickle in.

I can't explain the joy of seeing all these familiar yet long lost faces again!  It's amazing that three months (almost) have passed so quickly and it was surreal to sit out and chat and laugh and catch up and get hugs from very missed friends.  It feels like just yesterday that we were in Kaya Kwanga during staging, wide eyed and nervous and excited, mostly strangers.  It also feels like yesterday that we were in the middle of training, sitting at Morgan's Bar, drinking 2M (doiysh eme) and complaining about the rigorous pace of training and language challenges and host families.  And finally, it feels like yesterday that we were at Hotel Girassol at the end of supervisors conference,  all saying goodbye with tears in our eyes and disbelief and excitement to discover our new communities, jobs and lives all over this big country.

I'm still astounded by the fact that out of the 29 people, I just adore and enjoy almost every single one of them and none of us seem to be able to wipe the smiles off of our faces to be reunited. I'm rooming with Tiffanie for the week, one of my favorite Moz 16'rs, and even though we were exhausted and it was late, we stayed up for a long time laughing and chatting and gossiping and catching up.  When we finally turned out the light, almost instantly a giant thunder and lightning storm started and as soon as that died down, an allergy attack hit and once I finally fell asleep I was plagued by nightmares all night long.  But the lack of sleep didn't affect my enthusiasm or excitement to be here.

Today, we had a delicious breakfast, the joy of what would be a mediocre buffet in the states after months without meat or cheese is indescribable.  Afterwards, we spent the whole day (broken by a lunch where there were cheese cubes.  Giant cheese cubes.  I can't explain the joy!) doing 10 minute presentations about our first months at site, so I got to learn all about what everyone has been up to. Now, I'm waiting for dinner, and for everyone to return from a party and very much looking forward to my week here in Maputo.

That's the news, boa noite todos e ate ja!

Wednesday, October 26, 2011

FAQs: My day-to-day life in Moz

When you are just living your life, the novelties wear off a little bit.  But so many of you have told me that you are curious about life here and so I will do my best to describe it.
I have 28 colleagues in my group of volunteers, and the more of them I talk to, the more I realize that I have a pretty unique situation for the Peace Corps, the Health Program especially.  Most of my colleagues, though not all, live in grass houses, mostly dependencias (mother-in-law apartments) in small communities.  One colleague lives in a homestay situation in an agricultural community where he walks 3 miles to get to the main road.  My fellow Moz 16’r that lives in Inhambane lives in a dependencia in the courtyard of his organization outside of town.  So what I will describe about my life here is not typical of the Peace Corps experience in a lot of ways, although with Peace Corps, there doesn’t really seem to be a typical.
Mozambique to Inhambane Province to Cidade de Inhambane:
Mozambique sits on the south eastern coast of Africa, bordered by South Africa to the southwest, Zimbabwe, Zambia and Malawi to the west, Tanzania to the north and the Indian Ocean to the east.  It has the longest continuous stretch of Indian Ocean coastline of any African country and that coast spans approximately three times the length of California. Mozambique has 11 provinces, four in the south, two central, and five in the north.  The north is divided from the central and southern provinces by the Zambeze river and the further north you go, the more rural and undeveloped the country is.  The country was a Portuguese colony that gained independence in the 70’s and then was wracked by a deadly civil war until 1992.  It is a country still in search of an identity, but has one of the fastest growing economies in sub-saharan Africa with a growing reputation as a tourist destination.
Inhambane Province where I live, spans 68.6 square kilometers.  It is bordered by Sofala and Manica provinces to the north, Gaza province to the south west and the Indian Ocean to the east.  The first thing that you notice when you enter the province on the EN1 is coconut trees.  Although there are not coconut plantations per say, coconut oil production was an economic mainstay in Inhambane for a very long time and the old trees still remain.  Inhambane City sits on the Southern Coast of the province on a peninsula 35 km off the ENI.  It is surrounded by Flamingo Bay and is 25 km (~15 miles) from the popular Indian Ocean beach destinations of Tofo and Barra.
As is true for what I’ve seen of Mozambique, the town has a split personality.  The downtown proper is full of businesses and restored colonial buildings now being used as businesses and corporate offices.  Many of the “lojas” or free standing stores are run by first, second and third generation Indians.  There is also a Muslim presence, and two very beautiful mosques sit right on the Bay.  It’s interesting how the old and new collide here and coexist much in the way that the Mozambican culture sits side by side with modern economic growth and change.  A woman wrapped in a capulana while pilaring (pounding) amendoim (peanuts) in a giant wooden mortar and pestle, an ancient tradition, while watching Portuguese soap operas on her television is completely normal. 
The churches are another perfect example.  There is a beautiful catholic church by the water that is hundreds of years old, with peeling yellow paint and a clock tower that always says noon that is reminiscent of a castle’s guard tower.  Right next to it is a giant new Catholic church, more freshly painted the same color, sort of blocky in that distinctive solid and angular 70’s style.  The new church is in use, while the other, slowly disintegrating with vines growing on the inside, houses a single small association called Vuneka that does HIV/AIDS work in the community.  The streets are lined with connected rows of buildings, some in disrepair, but most are colorfully painted and house a series of small stores and shops.  Most of the stores, sometimes two or three in a row, sell exactly the same things, sugar, salt, ceres juice, rum, toilet paper, rice, soap, ricoffee (instant coffee), powdered milk, peanut butter, flour, ground corn meal, omo (laundry detergent) and Amanda, this margarine that comes in a plastic pouch that has a smell and aftertaste reminiscent of bubblegum.
You walk in an open door, unless it is Sunday, in which case the doors are closed, but if you knock, the shop owner will crack it open and then beckon you to enter quickly while furtively looking around to determine if anyone sees that they are doing business on church day.  When you enter, there is generally a small space to stand in front of a large counter and you can usually see through to the living area in the back.  Very little is actually out to be browsed, but instead is stored on tall wooden shelves behind the counter and you ask the shop owner for what you need.  You may or may not be served in the order you arrived or stepped up to the counter, but you can assume you won’t be.  It isn’t uncommon for someone to enter in the middle of your transaction and hold their money out, ask for what they want, and get served.  It’s not anything personal, just that in Mozambique the concept of a line or an order of service simply doesn’t exist in the same way it does in the states.  I haven’t fully figured it out, but if I ever do, I’ll let you know.  The other thing is that no one ever seems to have correct change and is annoyed if you produce a large bill (200 meticais is a stretch, which is approximately $6.50), though in the lojas it is less of a problem. If you need change from a woman in the general market, more often than not she will need to visit some number of other ladies to get it.
For produce, which is mostly what I eat here, I shop sometimes at the Central Market, and more often at the Mercado Gilo, which is covered market right by my house. I don’t have a refrigerator, so I go to the Mercado every day. Here’s what I can count on finding: lettuce, onions, tomatoes, garlic, mandioca, sacks of beans, rice and amendoim, couve (a giant leafy green popular in dishes here), bobora (pumpkin) leaves, matapa (the leafy green of the cassava plant), coconuts, bananas, lemon, sweet potatoes, corn, oranges (boo!  Oranges here aren’t very good and they’re expensive and tangerine season just ended), eggs, plus, we are just at the beginning of mango season and I am waiting somewhat patiently for my first two mangos of Inhambane to ripen.  Common, but more expensive and not reliable finds are: carrots, beets, green onion, parsley, cilantro, eggplant, apples, cucumbers, pears, green peppers.  Compared to other volunteers, I live in the cornucopia of luxury food items.  Many people have tomatoes, onions, garlic, and bananas, lettuce, couve and that’s about it. 
The Central Market is a dream.  It is right in the middle of town, and is all covered.  When you enter, you pass through a series of about 10 tiny enclosed stands selling anything from batteries and cell phone chargers to cigarettes.  After that, on your right-hand side you see 15’ high stacks of handmade baskets all shapes and sizes in the distinctive beige with purple and indigo stripes that is the mark of this Inhambane specialty.  Again, you have three or four women running a business that sells exactly the same thing right next to each other, often chatting and sharing change.  On the left are two larger enclosed stands selling food and liquor.  After the baskets, if you turn right, you step down into the main produce section which houses what seems like unlimited tables of women in their multi-colored, multi-patterned capulanas selling anything from dried shrimp to fresh herbs to coconut oil to giant bottles of homemade piri-piri (hot sauce) to all the fruits and vegetables I listed above.  Aside from the most basic staples, in all the stores and stands here you can never count on getting the thing you found today tomorrow.  Because of this, I’m slowly learning that unlike in the states, where I decided what I would have for dinner, here I more than often than not make a dish because the eggplants today were beautiful or I found beets.
On the other side of the market, there are dozens of calamadaties stands, which sell used clothing, and next to them, there are stands selling capulana bags and wooden jewelry and beautiful ebony wood carvings, and then tables of fish and crab all swarming with flies.  It is a beautiful, hectic place.  But I prefer my market by my house, because there I am rarely confused for a tourists and the ladies recognize me and I can get all my basic everyday items.
My jobs are also very different from each other.  With Bios Oleos de Maxixe, I do product development, soap making, bath salt making and packaging (all in preparation for training local women to do the work), I am also managing and helping with the construction of a demonstration permagarden on the company property in Machevenga right outside of town.  I also do research and Ana and I spend a lot of time brainstorming all the good projects that BOM could do in the community.   With MONASO, I am being farmed out to various local community organizations to support their work and build capacity.  Lately, I’ve been spending a lot of time with ACUDES, which does trainings around good governance, supports peer educators that work with sex workers, drug users and families of miners and also trains locals in creating and marketing crafts and making clothing.  Through them I’ve been working with groups of young women in the schools here around HIV/AIDS prevention and sex and sexuality.  It’s very interesting work and there is more than enough to keep me more than busy.
Okay, I have to run now.  Will try to blog again soon.  I'm headed to Maputo for a conference here in a few days (3-Month Reconnect conference, how did that happen so fast?) but will return in a week or so.

The Peace Corps Personality Bootcamp

Preface: Friends, family, fellow-volunteers, facebook stalkers, fretting PC applicants and future volunteers.  This blog is all about my intense emotional process here and so I want to preface by saying I am fantastic, Inhambane is fantastic, the weather is fantastic and I am very happy to be here and that I made this choice.  Mozambicans are generally a wonderfully welcoming people and the work the PC does here is inspiring.  That said, adjustment to a whole new life in Africa is tough and below is reflective of the more difficult and personal aspects of this process.  If you’ll indulge me this overshare, I’ll be more focused on the place and work in the next one.
So the 2nd of this month was my four month anniversary in Mozambique, which means I'm now almost half a year into my service.  I have to admit, during staging and training it is easy to listen in an abstract way to everything that they tell you about what your emotional process will be like during your service.  And it’s easy to think, “yeah, but they don’t know me!  I’m just super happy to be here and I will handle it all with grace and always be positive because I am so grateful and in awe!”  Truth is our fellow volunteers gave us a “map” of the emotional stages that we would go through at every part of the process, and so far, I would just say that they do know me, and probably every single one of us.  Our past experiences, our sites, houses, jobs, communities, friends, organizations, environments are all very, very different, but our reactions to them are pretty much the same.
For me, the honeymoon period is over, and now I get to wrestle with the hard reality of being here for another 23 months, and I will say it isn’t pretty or easy, and it challenges everything that I thought about myself and who I would be here when I was immersed in the fantasy of being here from the safety of the states. I miss things I didn’t even realize I would miss so badly. Food (I’ll spare you the specific list, it’s longer than this blog entry), anonymity, my family, my friends, the rain in Olympia, a lazy day snuggled up with someone watching movies, speaking my own language, driving, camping, cold weather, sweet potato fries, a night out drinking and dancing with friends, showing my knees without shame, a gym, can’t believe it’s not butter spray, real coffee, toasters, tap water that is safe to drink, phone calls, washers and dryers, hot showers (yes, fellow volunteers, I do have a shower with a converter so I’m lucky, but it’s rarely more than barely warm), everything accomplished by the feminist movement, fitted sheet sets in attractive patterns, well cared for animals, being in the same time zone as my loved ones, noise ordinances, watching grey’s anatomy and eating ice cream with my parents, a bank account with money in it, hair salons, used clothing stores organized by size, whole wheat bread, mustard, meat (oops, getting onto food here), my keyboard and guitar, roller skating, Netflix and Hulu, fast internet, hugs, customer service, clean and free public bathrooms stocked with toilet paper, mothers who tell their children not to stare, pea coats with scarves, a giant selection of tea at the grocery store, the smell of fall, bike rides, an oven, microwaves, used book stores, soy milk, and a refrigerator.
I am facing the death throes of my past life as everything I went through to get here has taken a running leap at my brain and heart with fangs bared.  It’s as if to fully be born into this new life I have to see my old one flash before my eyes. All my past relationships and friendships have resurfaced in some way, and I have had to face any pain or guilt or disappointment and try to find a sense of peace.  The fact that I am turning thirty in a couple of months and am doing something that people in their early or mid-twenties generally do leaves me feeling old and behind after a life of feeling young and ahead.  It has also become intensely real that I am not likely to have a romantic relationship, casual or otherwise, for over two years and that puts me single and facing the dating world again at 32.  My identity as a professional is challenged because I cannot speak well, and as a result, my colleagues and community members talk to me and treat me like a child.  All of my ego and pride about being accomplished and well-paid and doing important work means nothing here, no one knows me and I have to start from scratch to earn even a sliver of respect.  I have always been the top of my class, always the number one or number two student, but in training, I was in the lowest language group and now I have watched my younger colleagues as they rocket ahead of me with their Portuguese skills, challenging my identity as an awesome scholar. I have always felt optimistic and inspired about community projects and here I see all my colleagues jumping in with boundless ideas and enthusiasm, and I’m finding that I’m more hesitant and tentative (though, admittedly, it’s better to sit back for a while and get your bearings, even according to the PC). I have only received serious professional or academic criticism once or twice in my life, and the most severe and personal tongue lashing I’ve ever gotten, I got in training from someone who didn’t know me at all.  In addition to eating my way out of the U.S. (my own personal three month good-bye party courtesy of my friends Butter Chicken, Korean Barbeque, Cheese, Pizza, Ice Cream, Sushi and Pulled Pork Sandwich), food has also been my go-to coping mechanism for all the stress of the past four months and so I’ve gained something like 15-20 pounds in the last 7 months, and I’ve lost all the strength and endurance I gained in derby and in physical training, so my identity as a fit and toned athlete (and a sexy one to boot!) has gone out the window with the rest.  My identity as fashionable and hip also no longer exists because in addition to an extremely limited wardrobe, ¾ of which is either falling apart or no longer fits me (either too saggy from hand-washing and line drying or too tight from the all-carb Mozambican diet) and a lack of hair dryers, products or curling irons, Mozambicans dress extremely well and when you don’t they notice, either by telling you, or by blatantly and relentlessly glaring at whichever thing they seem to find personally insulting and offensive, generally my shoes or my hair. Because I am usually the only white person, it is incredibly unnerving how people just openly stare with this shocked look on their face as if you are an animal in the zoo, scabby and with all your hair falling out taking a bath in your own feces. Added to that, for the first time in my life I have neither a plan nor a clue as to what I want to do after this giant step.  I’ve always had a five year plan and a very clear idea about how what I am doing fits into what I am doing next and what I am passionate about and what I believe and now I have lost all that focus. I have a good idea of who I’ve been, what I’ve been passionate about, what I believed, but it’s like I am floating in a stormy sea and all of those things are life preservers floating around me and I have to choose which one to swim to before I drown but I’m paralyzed by the thought of choosing the wrong one.  Peace Corps was my last ditch effort to figure it out and so I showed up just hoping that this experience will bring me some clarity and focus and direction.  What I’ve learned so far is that once the novelty of being a heroic and jaunty adventuring social activist living in a foreign country wears off, you are left with the same you that you started with. So now, here I am just sitting in the unknown, or as Pema Chodron says (and my mom recently reminded me) “Standing on groundless ground.” 
All of this is just the most extreme manifestation of every single one of those little fears and doubts we all carry around, they have just gotten magnified in the microscope of this incredibly unfamiliar environment.  Don’t get me wrong though, I am glad to be facing them, it’s just quite a bit more intense than I expected.  It is wave after giant wave and once I think I’ve ridden one out, here comes another one rolling in.  But I’ve been calling them death throes, because they come with a feeling of urgency, like all those self-illusions and delusions and aspects of my personality have realized that this is their last chance to hook me and pull me under and I can see that it’s hilarious and sort of sad how desperate they are.  It is a time that is ripe with potential change, and I can actually see it happening and I can see all the falsity and ego-clinging for what it is and I can see for a moment at the crest of each wave that there is sunlight and peace on the other side of the squall.
They tell you that you will feel isolated, and I do when I walk around my community because I am so obviously out of place.  There is nothing like being catcalled and taunted by groups of 13 year old boys to make you feel like its junior high all over again. But unlike some of my colleagues, I have immensely enjoyed my time alone in my house.  I’m not frightened of the boogey man or rats or spiders or giant grasshoppers or ninjas (word here for thieves), or of the dark. I like washing my clothes and cleaning my house and cooking my food. I sleep like a baby, aside from the rooster who always wakes up at midnight to announce that dawn is five hours away. I haven’t been truly alone in my own space or with myself for any period of time in almost thirty years, and getting to know myself with no one else watching to impress or accommodate has been like getting to know someone that you’ve seen every day for decades and never said even “hello” to and then one day you take the time.  Turns out, they have all sorts of interesting stories, and they are quirky and a little weird, and they like art and music and writing and cooking and you have all sorts of things in common and they might just turn out to be your new best friend and you can’t believe you went this long without getting to know them. 
I am loaded with Pema teachings and PC books and resources to help me cope with all of this new stuff and so I’ve been working my way through them. Thanks to Pema and a meditation practice, I have seen how little (if ever) I am actually just present and how much of my time (if not all) I spend in my mind flying around in the past and the future and in fantasy and fear and guilt and judgment and self-abasement and anger and regret. I’ve learned that we are all the same in this regard; it is simply the nature of our minds.  I think that if we could externalize that voice and just listen to it babble on, it would be hilarious to hear the narration out loud as we jump around the neural pathways we’ve built and then reinforced in our minds that connect one thing to another to another to another to another.  But we can’t, and the voice carries so much authority that somehow a passing and vague desire for ice cream sweeps you away into this 10 minute rollercoaster ride that takes you on a tour of the theme park that is your life and lands you smack in the middle of your biggest pain. Then you come to shaking your head and sweating and with your heart racing as if you’ve been woken from a bad dream.  I’ve found that I love with a passion the stillness and calm that comes in the few seconds that you actually sit in the now and be.  It feels like coming home exhausted from a long, stressful whirlwind of trip and curling up into your clean warm comfy bed and laying your head on a cool pillow and thinking you have never ever in your life been this comfortable or content or relaxed or been so happy to be home. I want to make those fleeting moments longer.  So I’m practicing with meditation to not always run away with the narrator in my head (who I’m pretty sure has ADD and is simultaneously sado-masochistic) who would prefer me always waiting in line for the next crazy roller coaster ride.  
Thanks to the PC books,  I have an idea now of who my heroes and role models are and why (my mom, my step-father, Ani Difranco, Melissa, Ann Lamott, Pema Chodron); I know what kind of life I want to have and where I am undecided (Kids or no kids?  Married or unmarried? City or country or other country? Job or another Master’s degree? Pacific Northwest or warm sunny climate?); I have done quite a bit of short term and long term goal setting and identifying the things that could keep me from reaching those goals; I have recognized some patterns in thought and behavior that I’ve carried with me mindlessly repeating for a long time;  I have realized that while I’m still not fully grounded in who I actually am, I understand that is not the pretty image of who I wish I would see when I look in the mirror or who I want to tell myself or others that I am, but that it doesn’t have to be disappointing because I am pretty lovable, interesting and cool nonetheless.  So long story short. Need personality boot camp?  Join the Peace Corps.
The great news is that I have a plan and I’ve been doing it! I get up at 6 every day. I am six weeks into my running program, I’ve been meditating every day, eating healthy, doing yoga, writing almost every day, keeping a clean house without an empregada, taking long walks on the bay, getting Portuguese tutoring, making art (by the way, I can sketch pretty well, who knew?), cooking complex and delicious meals (vegetarian….did I mention I miss meat?) for dinner-parties where I am the only guest in attendance and presenting it on a single plate as beautifully as any OCD alpha-cook can, and I’ve been saying “yes!”  I’ve laid out my goals for this first year on a giant poster.  And I have made a list of all the places I could decide to go and all the things I could decide to do after the Peace Corps, all the paths that my life could take, and it has made me realize that there are lots of exciting options and it is really up to me. Somehow, finding peace with life after this experience is allowing me to feel engaged and inspired here with this work even though what I will be doing is as of yet vague and unformed.  So it is really my life, and it’s happening right now and all I need to do is to be patient, stay engaged, keep working and follow my soul.