As the end of summer approaches and I begin a new chapter of my post-Peace Corps experience (returning briefly to work at the Grand Canyon in Arizona), all I can say is: this has been the best summer of my life.
Every day, every year gets better, filled with more opportunities to be grateful for all of life's goodnesses. Maybe this is just my perspective after living in one of the poorest countries on earth for two years, but I can't help it; I am still in awe at how great we have it in America. When I first returned to the US, my father & I used to joke about my newfound sense of wonder: every few minutes it seemed, you could hear me exclaim, "This place has EVERYthing!!!" That feeling, though starting to wane under complacency, is still strong in me.
This summer, I worked with inner-city teenagers from Washington, DC. It was a very hard job, not so much because it was physically challenging or difficult to work with that rebellious age group, but because personally, I struggled with the sense of entitlement that many young people here have about almost everything. We'd buy them treats at the store and they'd complain it was the wrong flavor. They couldn't drink the water because it didn't have ice in it. The van was hot because the air conditioning had only just been turned on. I didn't want to sound like the old hag on her soapbox whose every sentence starts with, "Well, in Africa kids don't have..." or "If we were in Africa right now..." So most of the time, I'd grin and bear it... and try to take in the lesson of appreciation for all the things we've been blessed to have in this country. This place has everything!
I've been away from Madagascar for four months. Some things that still amaze me:
- we can eat anything we want at virtually any time of day or year
- we try to take in fewer calories than we consume, and often fail at that because there is SO much food being sold to us everywhere
- we have hot water, refrigeration and ice inside our homes
- no one stares at me, cares that I'm white, or feels compelled to talk about what I'm wearing, how my body looks or what I bought at the store that day
- lines at the store make sense; there is order versus chaos in public settings, on the road, at the post office, in the bank and at the market
- people have manners: no more picking noses, blowing snot rockets, or popping out a boob to breastfeed at any given time; personal space is respected and people apologize if they bump into you
- we have operational, efficient modes of public transportation
- everyone speaks English (this has been a puzzling surprise for me... I never expected to still be amazed after all this time when hearing English being spoken. I often turn my head in shock while walking down the sidewalk or sitting at a restaurant, thinking: they're speaking English!)
All I can say is, life is good. And it's good to recognize that.
I have just returned to Arizona after a five-year hiatus, having lived here off and on for over seven years. This morning, in my friend's backyard, which sits against the red rocks spires of Sedona and is surrounded by Sycamore trees, I wrote in my journal:
"Though the struggles of always packing and moving and being uprooted are surely tiresome, I wouldn't trade the sense of renewed awe I have right now at smelling the Juniper-scented air and seeing Oak Creek Canyon's rippling waters this morning at sunrise for anything.
So many memories come flooding back in just from the smell of the air alone. I forgot about this place, forgot about what it's like to be inspired by landscape, to go play for the sake of playing, to use legs-arms-back to catapult heart-mind-spirit to a freer, more loosely-tangled space.
I forgot about biscuits & gravy at Macy's Coffee Shop while the train clangs by, forgot about the round curving earth endlessly expanding all around you on that night drive up from the desert floor, with Saguaro cactus and rocky crags of mountains and multi-layered red rock formations jutting out here & there, forgot how the air smells like pine & sand & water & Creosote bush..."
Every day, every year gets better, filled with more opportunities to be grateful for all of life's goodnesses. Maybe this is just my perspective after living in one of the poorest countries on earth for two years, but I can't help it; I am still in awe at how great we have it in America. When I first returned to the US, my father & I used to joke about my newfound sense of wonder: every few minutes it seemed, you could hear me exclaim, "This place has EVERYthing!!!" That feeling, though starting to wane under complacency, is still strong in me.
This summer, I worked with inner-city teenagers from Washington, DC. It was a very hard job, not so much because it was physically challenging or difficult to work with that rebellious age group, but because personally, I struggled with the sense of entitlement that many young people here have about almost everything. We'd buy them treats at the store and they'd complain it was the wrong flavor. They couldn't drink the water because it didn't have ice in it. The van was hot because the air conditioning had only just been turned on. I didn't want to sound like the old hag on her soapbox whose every sentence starts with, "Well, in Africa kids don't have..." or "If we were in Africa right now..." So most of the time, I'd grin and bear it... and try to take in the lesson of appreciation for all the things we've been blessed to have in this country. This place has everything!
I've been away from Madagascar for four months. Some things that still amaze me:
- we can eat anything we want at virtually any time of day or year
- we try to take in fewer calories than we consume, and often fail at that because there is SO much food being sold to us everywhere
- we have hot water, refrigeration and ice inside our homes
- no one stares at me, cares that I'm white, or feels compelled to talk about what I'm wearing, how my body looks or what I bought at the store that day
- lines at the store make sense; there is order versus chaos in public settings, on the road, at the post office, in the bank and at the market
- people have manners: no more picking noses, blowing snot rockets, or popping out a boob to breastfeed at any given time; personal space is respected and people apologize if they bump into you
- we have operational, efficient modes of public transportation
- everyone speaks English (this has been a puzzling surprise for me... I never expected to still be amazed after all this time when hearing English being spoken. I often turn my head in shock while walking down the sidewalk or sitting at a restaurant, thinking: they're speaking English!)
All I can say is, life is good. And it's good to recognize that.
I have just returned to Arizona after a five-year hiatus, having lived here off and on for over seven years. This morning, in my friend's backyard, which sits against the red rocks spires of Sedona and is surrounded by Sycamore trees, I wrote in my journal:
"Though the struggles of always packing and moving and being uprooted are surely tiresome, I wouldn't trade the sense of renewed awe I have right now at smelling the Juniper-scented air and seeing Oak Creek Canyon's rippling waters this morning at sunrise for anything.
So many memories come flooding back in just from the smell of the air alone. I forgot about this place, forgot about what it's like to be inspired by landscape, to go play for the sake of playing, to use legs-arms-back to catapult heart-mind-spirit to a freer, more loosely-tangled space.
I forgot about biscuits & gravy at Macy's Coffee Shop while the train clangs by, forgot about the round curving earth endlessly expanding all around you on that night drive up from the desert floor, with Saguaro cactus and rocky crags of mountains and multi-layered red rock formations jutting out here & there, forgot how the air smells like pine & sand & water & Creosote bush..."
