Good News: when I wrote this post, I was fresh to grad school, Tucson, the USA, my house, modern appliances… I have settled into some kind of rhythm here. Yes, I still feel lost at times but I feel like I’ve taken the blindfold off and am taking steps in a direction. A body in motion stays in motion, they say.. But a few weeks back I was sorting through all of this… So that is where you find me when I wrote these words on a Tuesday in May:

What am I doing? Who me? Oh I am procrastinating studying for an exam. It’s not tomorrow, it’s Thursday. But all day today a new post was brewing, and I’d like to share it.

I told a friend aquél día: It’s amazing how quickly the tension has found me again. What do I mean by that? For 2.5 years I tried to remember it, conjure it, while I was in Guatemala but I couldn’t quite justify what I consider the ‘struggle’ of living “This American Life” (the title I now disagree with. It’s US Citizen, not American).

Fast forward to three weeks into this graduate program, and just under 2 months of being in the USA again it found me, or I found it: the tension. How do I describe this tension, label it, jar it up and sell it in a way you will buy?

I’ll describe it how I feel it: The Tension of Being. It’s not a tension of ‘surviving’ because we have basically figured out survival in the USA (and in most of the world, just in varying degrees of convenience). Even the poorest of us have televisions in our homes (98% of US’ homes have TVs in them, I just learned). I am NOT saying there aren’t gross injustices in our country (systemic racism, white supremacy, treatment of Native Americans, treatment of individuals with disabilities… and this list is not exhaustive). But I rarely meet people who are truly fighting for survival unless they are battling a life threatening illness.

But I should speak for myself: in the USA I do not struggle to survive, put food on the table, or live. But I have struggled, historically, with existing, being to the point where I have wanted to stop living. And this, held up against the struggle to survive that I saw in Guatemala makes my identity struggles as dark as a whoopie cushion. What was my biggest struggle in my 20s compared to that of my Guatemalan host sister? For me it was: How do I find a job that fulfills me? For my host sister it is/was: How do I find a job that pays me on time? When I call my (real) Mom she asks: “How are you?” and when I greeted Abuelita she asked: “Have you eaten?” One is a lot more basic of a need than the other (hunger vs. feelings about my existence and comfort or happiness level).

And living between these very distinct tensions, the tension of existence and the tension of survival, are nations apart. Those nations are not Guatemala and the USA, those tensions are Pre-Peace Corps Me and Post-Peace Corps Me.

So much unfolds from this new understanding… Guilt (for how easy I’ve had it and still do), embarrassment of my fragility as a young person, gratitude (for this realization, this experience and my privilege), respect (for my host family) and conviction. I want to shake the 20-something who was apathetic, lazy and spoiled. I opened my eyes as a 23 year-old in Seattle, alone in the great big world, uncushioned by my parents’ wallets, beliefs or discretions and I panicked. I spiraled quickly into a personally paralyzing depression sparked by anxiety.

How do I look back on that period in my life and understand her now, empathize with her, without wanting to shake myself? I think criticizing my inchoate stages isn’t going to yield much if anything, but it feels so natural to lambaste myself in order to distance myself from her. Privileged, itchy, lost Natalie. In all the ways.

In Guatemala you hardly hear people say: “I struggle with anxiety and depression.” You see in the face of the most trying of circumstances (chronic malnutrition, the cycle of poverty, systemic oppression, illiteracy, chauvinism to name a few) a stubborn strength to keep going. And it is because they don’t have the option not to. Guatemala has rising rates of suicide but it’s not been a longstanding occurrence. I wonder if depression is a result of “giving up” being an option to many of us, because there is space for hopelessness and doubt and that is called “I didn’t get out of bed today” which Guatemalans rarely do. With all the women I lived with, even on their worst days, they got out of bed (and early) and didn’t take siestas or naps, even. Not even on their worst days, not even at 92 when their bones ache. Not even then.

In developing countries, There is No Tension of Being because the Tension is in Surviving. In the USA we put a tremendous amount of pressure on ‘discovering ourselves,’ ‘pursuing our passions’ and ‘retirement funds.’ These are ideas fueled by privilege and, I’ll say, ignorance as to the deeper issues that the majority of the world face.

There were people in the pueblo who died suddenly, and we usually didn’t know why. Do you know why that is? Autopsies cost money, and scientific research costs money, and you know what those things lead to? Knowing why. But in developing countries, you don’t always know why and you have to keep moving anyway. You don’t know why your neighbor died from the pain in his foot that extended up to his chest the next day and killed him (leaving his wife and two children). You wrestle with God, “Why did this happen?” and eventually you accept that it was God’s will (at least, this is what I observed in the pueblo). I am not saying that tragedy doesn’t strike in the USA but it’s fairly uncommon that someone dies and we don’t, at baseline, understand why.

Here in the States (and many other developed parts of the world) we know why people die suddenly (not always, but often). We investigate, we categorize, we understand. But I don’t use this example to say that we should be happier because we know why sudden death occurred. It’s still just as painful, grievous, to lose anyone in our lives whether we know why or we don’t. I use the example to show the privilege it is to understand something because of access to services, research, technology… And yes, the losses still sting but we don’t have to sit in the cloud of unknowing and wonder, indefinitely, in addition to the grief.

My observation about the USA is that everyone talks about money and how they don’t have it. But when people in the pueblo said they didn’t have money, they really meant it. I saw their rotting teeth, their diet, their dilapidated homes (some, not all). But people here who say they don’t have money usually have homes, cars, even retirement plans (some of them). What they want to say is: “I don’t have as much as I want, or I don’t have a lot.” But no one wants to admit they have more than a lot of the world.

It’s disgusting, frustrating, and I am a part of this group. I’ve been a part of this group. And it disgusts me.

Elmer used to say: “I am privileged for being Guatemalan.” And I agree with him… Even though Guatemala has had to struggle and fight, the indigenous communities more so than any other population in that country (speaking as foreigner, not as a Guatemalan), but there are tremendous privileges to being Guatemalan. How beautiful is that country, how special the customs and how warm and friendly the norms… Guatemala taught me so much about untouched earth, green space, living slowly and patiently, waiting without getting irritated and spending uninterrupted quality time.

I had to replace my catalytic converter the first week of June. It set me back $350 (that’s 2,555 quetzales. I can live off of that for a month in Guatemala). I tried to think about how lucky I am to have a car… and not to worry about the exorbitant cost of maintaining it. And then our swamp cooler finally got primed to work again. It’s a cooling fan that is a more affordable cooling system to air conditioning. Without it, it’s so hot inside I could just stick my face in the freezer. We do have air conditioning, but the electric bill would run about $500 a month if we used it. And you see? I am quickly swallowed by the stress of finances that I remember from my working days in Atlanta.

And I try to carry all of this with me, and remind myself as I go, that there is a lot of tension but there is a lot of wonder, too. And I try to hold the tension of being in this culture of speed and unfriendliness by remembering what a privilege it is to be in a country where I can study, work and pursue opportunities if I want. Our country isn’t fair, but I hope that we are getting better. I want to work to make it better by working on myself. And that starts with gratitude and saying Buen Provecho (to myself) at the end of every meal even if there isn’t anyone else around to echo it back. The point is to be grateful and to stop and feel it.