WATCHING AND WRINKLED.

10:32pm That Night:

At the end of Day One in the Peace Corps AKA Staging, I ironed my teal shirt. 

In real life I don’t iron. But It’s my last night in America.

My roommate Kathy is a small woman in her 60s, not frail but petite, thin and almost quivery. Her voice is jumpy when she speaks and she walks like she’s nearly missing the bus. On the first night, her energy is that of a tired mouse just out of reach of cheese.

She got a new computer because her’s crashed the day before. Talk about stress. Her son shipped her a new one and was talking her through set-up. I was charmed and felt a little responsible for Kathy, all at once. She loses her fitting from time to time but she is also just a sweet lady. She seems to be holding her own but on this night, she was just as wired as we all felt. I brought her a salad from downstairs, helped find the right USB cord, assured her she didn’t lose her passport, and recommended she check her bag for her misplaced shirt. She took my salmon salad on accident. I ate the chicken. I was just slightly ruffled by her all-over-the-placeness but I was also happy to help. Either way, it wasn’t a calming way to start things off.

I was still ironing the shirt. I looked over, she was on her knees praying, leaning on her bed. Instantly I was flooded with softness and warmth. I paused to appreciate the moment. My dad prays on his knees over his bed at night. My Nana prayed on her knees at Mass. Up and down, up and down. And now, Kathy, over her bed, the night before our first day in Guatemala. 

I kept ironing. She asked me a few questions about my family, my life.

Then she burst out:

“We’re supposed to go wrinkled!”

I laughed. I thought, that’s the perfect approach to this whole thing. 

From talking to other volunteers, I quickly learned that we’re all more exhausted about shoring up our lives than starting Peace Corps. It was selling the houses, leaving the cats, saying goodbyes, organizing storage units and PACKING that made us all wrinkled before we even started. 

8:20am That Same Morning:

I zoomed into the Atlanta airport, 5 minutes before the cut-off. 

I was so UNCOLLECTED when I saw my sister and B-I-L. They were both wearing their yellow ’30’ shirts for my birthday. My dad was wearing his, too! Ah! So sweet. I barely passed the baggage weight limit on my two bags. Said goodbye. My sister cried, my dad’s eyes looked watery. I was too tired to think. 

It put a real hitch in my get-up that I had to wear business casual attire on the plane. Airplanes are for yoga pants and mesh socks. Slacks have no place on airplanes unless you are in first class and, as a personal courtesy to myself, I ignore all suits in first class. Actually, I glare. Even more fun. 

A WORD OF ADVICE TO THE WANDERER: If you leave Summer in Alaska, give yourself more than 7 days before the next thing. 

Maybe I could have done the turnaround in 10 days. 2 weeks would have been ideal. Enough time to see friends, spend time with family, relax and pack. AND UNPACK YOUR HEART FROM THE GLORIOUS SUMMER you just left behind. 

But 6 days? I was actually insane.

I thought I would sleep on the plane but I couldn’t. I did some writing and when the plane landed, I still had one post about leaving Ketchikan 75% done. 

I COULD NOT step into Peace Corps until this post was done. It was a race against the clock. Baggage was going to be circling the belt, circling circling “Are you my mother?” But I was in the Terminal in a Panda Express cafeteria writing about Alaska. 

Had.to.finish.it. 

I eyed strangers in the bathroom. I thought ‘This could be them, any of them. My fellow volunteers.’

My uber driver Saied dropped me off, I rolled into the hotel with one of my two bags.. The other one was not with me yet, but the airport was supposed to bring it to the hotel. 

This sign is perched at the registration desk. 

I register, meet a few faces who I recognize from our intro videos, and our training commences. 

When I checked into the hotel, the attendant said “You’re rooming with Kathy R.” Didn’t know I’d be sharing a room. I thought “The consultants I used to work for would perish.” I think it’s nice, keeps you from getting self-absorbed. To business folk a hotel suite to yourself is just a fact, like morning coffee. 

But I’m workin’ for the government now.

But I didn’t see Kathy at registration. Her name wasn’t familiar from the facebook group. I leave a note..

I toss my bags in my room and training begins. 

We take one break and I get my other bag from reception (airport dropped it off). We take a survey at the end to show what we’d learned. I eat a hotel salad ($20) and the group goes out for Ethiopian food. I stay in the lobby, writing final posts about Alaska/Atlanta, drink my last draft beer of all time (it feels like) and eventually fall asleep in the frigid room. 

Some of it was too conferencey for my taste. You know the ‘parking lot,’ where the extraneous questions go on sticky notes and get stuck to the ‘parking lot’ to be addressed later? They had that. The term ‘flip chart’ nearly sends me into the dry heaves. Too much time carrying them around for conferences. There was even a glossy venn diagram to stick typed words.

No one joined the peace corps for parking lots. 

Thankfully it was short. 

I LOVE PEOPLE-WATCHING. 

You know what I got to do all day? People watch for 6 hours. 

Sure, we had group activities, we talked about Peace Corps’ Core Expectations, Mission Statement, Safety Protocol. 

But I was picking my squad. I was finding my people. I was determining my unpeople (no one is strongly on the unpeople side so far). 

Something funny happened:
During the icebreaker, I put my arm around one of the girls’ shoulders as I asked her a question. She looked at me with a blank stare. 

I said “You look very huggable. Are you not a hugger?”
And she said “…No.”
I said “Okay well I won’t hug you again then” and smiled.
I said “Maybe once you warm up?”
And she said “…No.”
And I said “Okay well if you hug me, I will hug you back.” 

She looked at me like I was an alien.

Later I apologized. I said “Sorry about the hug.” She said “It’s just personal space. You’re good though.” 

What a first impression, on both sides.. Note: I am from the South.

We got a debit card with “Peace Corps” on it. “You are buying this toilet paper as PEACE CORPS, not Natalie.” We had to take out $120 in cash and do it right away. This covered the costs of the ride from the airport, and food between now and our departure tomorrow. 

At the foundation, we are all still in the dark about a million things. How do we get our stipend during service? Where will we be living in Guatemala? When do we get reimbursed for checking our bags? When do we start learning Spanish?

But honestly I’m not feeling nervous. Naturally folks are worried about safety, vomiting off weird bean bacteria and theft. I seem to have told myself these things won’t be happening. I was reminded.. they might happen.

I’m reading the feel of the group: I’m not just out of school or passionate about some cause. I don’t have ‘Je Suis Charlie’ stickers on my computer, or USAID or live in DC. I haven’t dreamed about doing Peace Corps for 30 years and am finally doing it.. I don’t really fit with anyone else here. I’m not in school, just out of school, or care to work in the public health sector, EVER. I’m not gung-ho about volunteering, I’m not an adrenaline junkie or a thrill-seeker. I am an observer and a storyteller. This is going to be an unreal story to live and hopefully to tell.

Day One: First Impressions Made, Most Introductions Happened And all on Limited Sleep. We are to be at the lobby by 3:30am for our 4am departure to the airport. 

Below is my new family for the next three months. I don’t know much AT ALL about them, and we still don’t know hardly anything AT ALL about where we are going.

And when you’re in that situation, what do you do except take a photo?

Here goes..

I’m not sure what I am getting into, but here we go: