I've been back stateside for over a month, going on two. At times it's been uber-smooth, at others... well, I've comported myself with less than significant amounts of grace, intelligence and/or sobriety.
I live alone, work and study independently, do not yet own a tandem bike or have a person to ride it with and recently learned how to bake my own bread. There are delightful people in the program here at Illinois State, coming from a variety of backgrounds and experiences, and spending time getting to know them has been wonderful.
I cook my own meals (eleven-bean soup is on deck for tonight, simmering away in my new, from-a-thrift-store crockpot) and listen to NPR on an old, side-by-side tapedeck radio. About half my furniture (one recliner and two end tables) was procured from the area adjacent to my apartment building's dumpster.
I sleep on a beach blanket spread out on my living room floor with the quilt my aunt sewed for me while I was in Peace Corps. Absolutely love the fabric squares she used (island themed) and will often study them in the mornings while sipping good coffee and enjoying the sunrise through my large front windows.
I do my laundry in the kitchen sink or bathtub and line dry it (outside when the weather permits). Bought a suit for the first time, though it's second hand. Plaid, flannel shirts make up the majority of my wardrobe, and my beard is going over a month of growth (the transition point for me from hipster stubble to legit beard). Can wear wool socks some days, thanks to cool temps.
I bike about 95% of my commuting, walk 4% and only rock about 1% via automobiles; this makes me inordinately happy. However, a link on my chain broke today, making for a shit-ride to school. Need to repair it, right after learning HOW to do so.
I finally have made flossing a part of my life, after learning that I've carefully crafted six new cavities and three around old fillings during my two years in Miconesia. My doctor advised that "general wisdom states one drink a night, probably beneficial. More than one, probably harmful. You know, so long as we're talking about 'beer' [makes a hand gesture indicating average size]". Decided to heed his words: One day, one drink or less.
I am planning a massive bike tour of the US following completion of my masters. Bike rack, packs, lights, pump and patch kit have been purchased. Now I just need a helmet and the bike - old, single speed Schwinn road bikes to not work on long hauls. They often even come up short just for commuting.
I've stopped looking at new overseas assignments with Peace Corps Response (Peace Corps version 2.0 for RPCVs). The move into agriculture, post-master's, is becoming a central focus area. Just need to actually finish here.
I don't like being indoors. Rivers and mountains are still being missed, but trees changing colors can stop me in my tracks. The sweet, musty smell of fallen leaves decaying alongside the bike trail fills my nose and lungs during my rides, bringing back fond memories and reminding me how much longing and love of autumn exists in me. Rainy days with fleece clad Illinoisans recall me of Portland, make me smile.
I'm starting to feel at home in my apartment and even, dare I say it, in my country.
Monday, September 26, 2011
Saturday, September 3, 2011
Friday, September 2, 2011
Reentry
A week shy of one month back in the United States, I find myself in Bloomington-Normal, Illinois. I have an apartment in South Bloomington, office in North Normal, and an assistantship primarily out of Peoria (about 35-40 miles east of B/N) currently. Two weeks have passed with me here in Illinois so far, and I feel up to the tasks ahead: readjustment, assistantship duties, thesis. Honestly, the first will probably be the biggest challenge.
It’s not easy, coming back to the U.S. Seems like most folks either don’t think there’s much to reentry—like I’m just returning from a couple weeks of vacation—or they understand the challenges I’m facing but the way they talk makes it all seem bigger than I think it is or should be. Really, it’s one of those things that I don’t understand and I don’t want to. I don’t want to understand, to be told what it is or to deal with. I’m trying to make a seamless transition, and in the process I’m making some seams large enough, they’re tripping me up.
I listened to a radio show this morning while eating breakfast (turkey bacon, scrambled eggs and coffee, awesome). It was an old episode of Radiolab, about stress. They’re pretty sciency and philosophical and all, talking about the good and bad, the metaphysical and the nuts-and-bolts of subjects. Anyhow, at one point they discuss the physical expressions of chronic stress. That’s what I find most interesting, the way this mental thing turns into physical symptoms. So far, I’ve gotten a head cold, I tire easily and I’m carrying a shitload of tension in my shoulders and neck. That last one has been the most prominent. Over doing it with Frisbee golf in Boise set it off, but the way it’s stuck around and how it coincides with stressful times in Illinois really shows me that it’s mostly a mental thing. Even better though, it’s slacked off the past couple days as I’ve found a new level of comfort here.
Settling in, though slow, is happening. I feel good in my apartment, am really enjoying preparing my own food, love cruising around on my bike, am delighted by all the good beer, dig the anonymity of being just another American (U.S. American, excuse me), think my assistantship is rad, and am excited about the potential of this year for reconnecting with family and friends and truly closing a monumental chapter of my life: the grad school/Peace Corps chapter. Oh, and mail is SO FAST here. It’s amazing. We’re talking days, not weeks or months. Blowing my mind.
Then again, there are things I miss so much from Micronesia. Aside from saying ‘the people: friends, Peace Corps and Micronesian, as well as just Micronesians generally,’ I don’t really know how to put into words what I miss about my life there. Just small things come to mind, which maybe get at something bigger, though I’m not able to grasp it now.
I don’t like all this indoor time, and I can’t stand the sterile, climate controlled, windowless, frigid offices. It’ll feel like I’ve been inside for hours upon hours, that morning has dissolved into night when actually only an hour or so has passed. The sunlight, when I do find a window, will shock and soothe me.
It’s often hard to get people to acknowledge my existence. Now, I don’t want to be the center of attention all us foreigners are in Micronesia, but eye contact, a head nod, saying ‘good morning’. Anything that shows our shared humanity, that’s all I’m looking for. I’ll be passing someone, smile and say good morning. They walk by as though I were a tree. I miss hearing, ‘Nessor annim! Ifassoumw?,’ responding, ‘Annim! Pechekkun, nge een?’ I end up mumbling this morning exchange to myself three or four times a day.
Life is loud here, fast and full. Well, it’s pretty fast and full for everyone else, it seems. Not having close friends around doesn’t help. It’s hard to get more than a moment of anyone’s time. Then I feel bad when I start chatting someone up but know they don’t really have the time, or there’ll be those times when I’m getting lunch or waiting for an appointment and the person behind the counter/desk will apologize ‘for the wait’. I try and explain that ‘I really don’t mind, not in a rush, take your time’. They either don’t believe me, or the ‘sorry’s roll off their tongue as automatic statements without meaning. Then there’s always loud music playing in every building or rushing traffic or dozens upon dozens of people talking or construction. Airplanes are endlessly crossing the skies. Guess that’s part of why I like my apartment so much. It’s tucked away from town, on a dead end street, with almost no traffic, quiet neighbors, and the cicadas remind me of the crickets in Woleai and on Houk. No replacement for the constant roar of the ocean breakers, though. That gentle, distant rumbling, languidly keeping the time of the islands.
Well, life is all about change, transition, moving from one moment to the next, one place to the next, one time in your life to the next. Some things will never really change and others can never stay the same for long. I feel pretty well experienced in the process but a bit exhausted by it too. Anyhow, if nothing else, the easing of tension in my shoulders and the stiffness of my neck tell me: I am moving on.
It’s not easy, coming back to the U.S. Seems like most folks either don’t think there’s much to reentry—like I’m just returning from a couple weeks of vacation—or they understand the challenges I’m facing but the way they talk makes it all seem bigger than I think it is or should be. Really, it’s one of those things that I don’t understand and I don’t want to. I don’t want to understand, to be told what it is or to deal with. I’m trying to make a seamless transition, and in the process I’m making some seams large enough, they’re tripping me up.
I listened to a radio show this morning while eating breakfast (turkey bacon, scrambled eggs and coffee, awesome). It was an old episode of Radiolab, about stress. They’re pretty sciency and philosophical and all, talking about the good and bad, the metaphysical and the nuts-and-bolts of subjects. Anyhow, at one point they discuss the physical expressions of chronic stress. That’s what I find most interesting, the way this mental thing turns into physical symptoms. So far, I’ve gotten a head cold, I tire easily and I’m carrying a shitload of tension in my shoulders and neck. That last one has been the most prominent. Over doing it with Frisbee golf in Boise set it off, but the way it’s stuck around and how it coincides with stressful times in Illinois really shows me that it’s mostly a mental thing. Even better though, it’s slacked off the past couple days as I’ve found a new level of comfort here.
Settling in, though slow, is happening. I feel good in my apartment, am really enjoying preparing my own food, love cruising around on my bike, am delighted by all the good beer, dig the anonymity of being just another American (U.S. American, excuse me), think my assistantship is rad, and am excited about the potential of this year for reconnecting with family and friends and truly closing a monumental chapter of my life: the grad school/Peace Corps chapter. Oh, and mail is SO FAST here. It’s amazing. We’re talking days, not weeks or months. Blowing my mind.
Then again, there are things I miss so much from Micronesia. Aside from saying ‘the people: friends, Peace Corps and Micronesian, as well as just Micronesians generally,’ I don’t really know how to put into words what I miss about my life there. Just small things come to mind, which maybe get at something bigger, though I’m not able to grasp it now.
I don’t like all this indoor time, and I can’t stand the sterile, climate controlled, windowless, frigid offices. It’ll feel like I’ve been inside for hours upon hours, that morning has dissolved into night when actually only an hour or so has passed. The sunlight, when I do find a window, will shock and soothe me.
It’s often hard to get people to acknowledge my existence. Now, I don’t want to be the center of attention all us foreigners are in Micronesia, but eye contact, a head nod, saying ‘good morning’. Anything that shows our shared humanity, that’s all I’m looking for. I’ll be passing someone, smile and say good morning. They walk by as though I were a tree. I miss hearing, ‘Nessor annim! Ifassoumw?,’ responding, ‘Annim! Pechekkun, nge een?’ I end up mumbling this morning exchange to myself three or four times a day.
Life is loud here, fast and full. Well, it’s pretty fast and full for everyone else, it seems. Not having close friends around doesn’t help. It’s hard to get more than a moment of anyone’s time. Then I feel bad when I start chatting someone up but know they don’t really have the time, or there’ll be those times when I’m getting lunch or waiting for an appointment and the person behind the counter/desk will apologize ‘for the wait’. I try and explain that ‘I really don’t mind, not in a rush, take your time’. They either don’t believe me, or the ‘sorry’s roll off their tongue as automatic statements without meaning. Then there’s always loud music playing in every building or rushing traffic or dozens upon dozens of people talking or construction. Airplanes are endlessly crossing the skies. Guess that’s part of why I like my apartment so much. It’s tucked away from town, on a dead end street, with almost no traffic, quiet neighbors, and the cicadas remind me of the crickets in Woleai and on Houk. No replacement for the constant roar of the ocean breakers, though. That gentle, distant rumbling, languidly keeping the time of the islands.
Well, life is all about change, transition, moving from one moment to the next, one place to the next, one time in your life to the next. Some things will never really change and others can never stay the same for long. I feel pretty well experienced in the process but a bit exhausted by it too. Anyhow, if nothing else, the easing of tension in my shoulders and the stiffness of my neck tell me: I am moving on.
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