So. I went through a break-up. 
I don’t want to talk about it. It was what everyone says about break-ups. Terrible. 
But out of respect for my own process, and for the relationship, I am not going to get into it. 

But if I didn’t say it, I wouldn’t be being honest about what has been going on in my heart and mind. And my heart and mind generate this blog. 

HELLO FELLOW JOURNEYERS!

I am nearing the end of my Peace Corps Service. It has been two (plus) long years of unexpecteds, very much expecteds, and the unexpectable. As an ever-curator of sentiment and meaning, it is hard to know how to sum up this experience. In fact, should I even try? 
How do you sum-up the birth of yourself (a new iteration), the development of an identity in a small pueblo, the grasping of two foreign languages at once, all in the great theatre of middle school? 

Why do I use the term theatre? Because no time is more transparent, whether you like it or not, than your adolescence. Your adolescence and then your Peace Corps Service. Whether or not you want it, your personal development, your ‘arc’ as it is, is unfolding in front of everyone. Your voice is deepening, your thoughts are developing, you are starting to shave your legs and use deodorant. Most of this applies to Peace Corps too, except in reverse. 

I use the term “Service” because it is what has been provided to me. However, it is a difficult term to embrace. I think it naturally comes from the understanding that I am not making an income. I have money to pay my expenses, and excellent health care (Jesus be a paid medical bill), so in that sense I am “Here To Serve.” But in almost every other sense, this has been a strange partnership between various counterparts. Myself: Natalie, 32, female, white, curly hair, US American, history of medical depression, evangelical upbringing, pastor’s kid, singer, from the Southeast, Theatre Degree (at least, those are the details that float to the service on my dating profile), with the Pueblo of Santa Clara: cold at night but warm all 24 hours, religious in every sense, supportive, gossipy (who died and how?), happy, hard-working, illiterate (many), malnutritioned (some), beautiful (at least, that’s what it said in my site entry packet). 

And then there has been the bully of time. I started this whole thing off counting the months, the days, the hours. Every afternoon I spent in a middle school was a huge triumph but more like a pyrrhic victory (o sea, a wash). I went home FIVE TIMES during service which, if you can help it, I do not recommend. Some situations were out of my control and some were because my family of origin is very important to me, and one was for a wedding. Every time I went back I had the pena on my shoulders of how simple it was for me to andar between countries without difficulty, without even a question on the part of customs/border patrol. People ask me in the pueblo about VISAS and HOW MUCH and HOW TO all.the.time. and it was a privilege I was born with: US Citizenship. So I don’t know the answers. I don’t know the process of getting a VISA to live in the USA other than it’s NOT EASY and it’s only GETTING MORE IMPOSSIBLE. And knowing that, learning that rather, and then hearing the familiar apathy of people in the States was head-spinning. “I hate my 9 to 5, work sucks, my medical bills are so high, traffic….” don’t hold a candle, even a match, to the struggle of people on the outside trying to carve out better lives for themselves and their loved ones. 

Please ask me more about it if you want to know. There’s so many stories and situations I could describe. 

But then, going home reminded me about the things I took for granted before: refrigerators, washing machines that sing when the load is done, movie theaters with fancy seats that recline at your finger’s behest. Yes, all of these things exist in Guatemala, but not where I live. And being home was also a reminder of all the food I love: namely desserts. But there is more: fancy cheeses, Wheat Thins, almond butter, and My Mom’s Special Meatballs. Pizza…… pizza.

But let me describe the months that have passed since I last wrote: I got into graduate school in Arizona for a Masters in Education (University of Arizona). I am still waiting to see what funding and fellowship opportunities will come through, but primeramente Dios, I will be moving to Tucson at the end of April/beginning of May to start classes on May 13th. There was a dragon in my uterus in January and, I am fine. In case you wanted to know. Must have been a painful period and now things are back to normal painful periods (apparently). See that’s me being apathetic about my good health, which I shouldn’t be. 

That’s the personal update. 

And what I want to say, before signing off, is the following: 

Santa Clara has captured my heart and challenged my perspective. The simpler life is often the better, happier, more supported and more grateful existence. What I mean by this is: a developed picture is a special gift in the campo, a video of yourself is especially entertaining if you’ve never owned a video camera… A lot of the people in the pueblo have smart phones these days with video capability, but it’s a fairly new thing. And more than anything, being known and being noticed is something that hardly occurs in the developed world. How many people will notice your absence if you disappear for a week, in your neighborhood? In Santa Clara, if I am gone for three days, everyone somehow knows. “Where have you been and what did you bring me?” they say. 

And the sense of identity that comes from being from a specific place runs deeeeep. There is pride in the Santa Clara clothing, the Mayan language (K’iche’) and specifically the variation that we speak in Santa Clara, and from simply being “from here.” If someone isn’t from here, we can’t speak to their morals, their actions… But if someone is from Santa Clara, that is different. They are one of us (I am inserting myself into that but I know I am not really a member. I have an extended guest pass).

And I can’t emphasize enough the beauty and importance of being known. If I have one suggestion for you, it’s to make yourself known. Not in a famous sort of way, but in authentic, genuine connection. Do your friends know your greatest struggles, your favorite food and your favorite shop? How many people know if you are sick? In Santa Clara, I walk through the plaza, any day of the week, and people offer me their avocados (for sale, of course) because they know I am in love with avocados (oj in K’iche’). I have a budging theory that mental health issues in the form of depression are only exacerbated by isolation and distance.

And I don’t mean like, 5 people, I mean known by a community. A community that needs support and wants to support you, consistently present. Basically I’m recommending that you move to a pueblo :-).

Be known and spend time. That is my second takeaway. Last night my host mom started to recount, in complete detail it seemed, the time Abuelita got sick and went to un hospital privado en Xela. I had already finished my food and was getting ready to get up and wash my dishes. But she started to tell me the whole thing. So I sat, I looked at her with my chin in my palm, and I imagined every detail she was describing. It wasn’t a fascinating story, but it was an important one. 

My therapist in Atlanta once reflected to me: “I don’t think US Americans want to feel authenticity, pain or joy. I think they want entertainment.” And I couldn’t agree more. Instagram at stop lights, news feeds, TV, alcohol, the fast pace of life is to jump from one point of stimulation to another quick enough so we don’t really have to think. And maybe it’s to quiet the loneliness, which- hey- can you blame us?- but nonetheless, we are missing the opportunity to feel and that includes slowness and boredom. And being completely present when you listen to the story about Abuelita’s health scare that you’ve heard before. It’s more important than pixels. 

So, that’s my first chunk of reflection about Peace Corps and moving on to the next thing. 

Wherever I go, I want to Be Known and Spend Time. And I know I will be a healthier, more whole person than before I stepped into this experience 29 months, a million stories, greetings and avocados ago.  

And thank you for accompanying me on this wild roller coaster of an experience. Your comments, your time and your support mean so much.