A Meditation on Frustrations

Originally Written October 29, 2009

Dear Readers,

I’ve been trying to write something to this effect for a while, but have had a hard time forming it. However, while writing an email, a lot of thoughts came to me, and I’d like to share them.

For starters, right now I’m rather irritated, to be honest. Peace Corps isn’t a vacation, and I never thought it would be. In fact, despite talking to recruiters, reading about it, going to the website, I never really had a good idea what Peace Corps ultimately did. And actually, in some ways I like of still don’t. Peace Corps seems to be life condensed: there are just so many ways to interpret it. And you can have so many plans that seem to give meaning to it, only to have something fuck it to bits. So where is the meaning? Did you just get screwed out of it? Or do we place assign meaning too often to the wrong things? Don’t read the rest of this expecting answers. But I do think that we are putting life in a box too often when that’s kind of like trying to put sunshine in a box. It fills the box, but it also fills everything else outside of the box. The minute we put it in a box and seal it, it might not become the opposite of life the way darkness becomes the opposite of light, but it still isn’t the real thing. It’s just a misapplied label, this boxed definition. Quite honestly, I don’t really any longer expect all that much to get done in my town. I’ll go more into this later, but I think by just accepting where I am, both in life and geographically-speaking, would be much to my benefit. And I suspect this might be a good philosophy for me to follow through with for the rest of my blinking days. More than materialism, or finding the right woman, or getting the perfect job, a lot of stress would probably be alleviated if people just take things one thing at a time, one day at a time, one moment at a time. For me that means, I have a library going, but since the people here work at their own pace, I need not necessarily be concerned and have an ulcer over my project right now.

That’s the good thing is coming out of this irritation and out of this service in general: just simple acceptance. I’m with a group that’s taking all the time I had planned for an English class or clean my room or whatever. So what? I get boiled potatoes for breakfast, a similar meal for lunch, and something else bland for dinner. Why fight it? I’m just getting too tired to fight it any longer.

I’m also losing interest in trying to get much done here, frankly. If I only give kids the chance to draw and do jigsaw puzzles, I’ll count that as a success. I don’t always enjoy it frankly, and it’s teaching me that I don’t think I want to be a parent, but it’s helping them be kids and use their brains and play with others. The people in this town have a good work ethic, but it doesn’t extend beyond their immediate survival. Of course that’s very important, but when trying to do a big project, such as a library, it’s hard to impress upon the town why they must all contribute to supplies so we can put in the cement floor. And so, things take forever. Add that to the vagueness of how long things will take, or when they will start, or other such predictions, and it just drains a person. I can feel myself losing motivation in my work, and even when I look at my French studies or painting, it is hard to get the motivation back up. This isn’t all the town’s fault of course, but the attitude of getting nothing done in a timely manner is rubbing off on me.
I’ve figured I can take only about a week or so of time in site before I decide I need to get out again. I usually try to go about two weeks (rounding up) before I head back out to my capital city to get good food and a hot shower and a use the internet to call home and read my email.

So now, riding out this frustration, I just want to give up my resistance and say, “Hell, here I am, and something might get done, and something might not. I’m just gonna chill try to enjoy life today.” That’s not an easy philosophy, but it is an important one. Do I believe it? Maybe not completely. I want to, but it’s so radically different from how I’ve been raised in my environment. But I guess this is where I get to take responsibility for my life, even if I never really have control over it.
Most of what the Peace Corps offers I’m not sure I care about. At least not in terms of work. I enjoy more spending time just talking with the people, even though after a while I do need deep, witty, more educated conversation.

Before, I saw myself as a linguist, an anthropologist, an Indiana Jones figure, but those self-images have kind of been shaken as I realize how hard it has been to adapt to a much more basic style of living. This journey has made me look at myself in such a way that I feel I have a lot of metaphorical fleas or tumors and I feel uncomfortable in my own skin. I can’t pin down the problems, because there are simply too many flaws. I think the best method maybe to just acknowledge there are flaws, and then turn my attention away from them. They will continue to be there perhaps, but I don’t have to watch over them like a prison guard. Maybe our flaws are like the class clown: they intensify only when they have an audience.

I don’t want to go home, to ET to use the Peace Corps lingo. For one thing, I’m too damn proud. But for another, I always try to believe that I don’t have the bigger picture, and that things will get better. Also I have learned a lot. Mostly about myself, but since I will be living with myself for quite a while hopefully, that’s important. I just kinda want to be myself, though. Not be the flawed, impatient, insecure person I feel like a lot. Especially here.

There’s something I’ve learned. Improvement and love comes from within. You don’t always have to travel the world or try to leap tall buildings to find it. I heard that a lot of incoming volunteers want to be up here in the North rather than in the deserts of Lima-Ica. I did, too. The deserts weren’t how I pictured Latin America. But now that I’ve spent a year here, I believe that location is not the most critical factor. Everything that a person needs comes from within. Sometimes everything else in the world just happens to jive with you. I’m not saying people necessarily ought to settle, or that everything is equally easy or equally hard. But in the meantime, enjoy life wherever you are. I’ll be trying to take my own advice right along with anyone else who has been asking these same kinds of questions.
Tristan

Comfort Zones

Originally Written October 1, 2009

Dear Readers,

Last night I wrote a little about the importance of passion in life and used languages as an example of passions in mine. But as much as languages consume in my life, it is not the only thing that plays a role in me. There is another big factor, a darker one. I’m afraid of a lot of things in life. Traveling around, seeking knowledge and familiarity of other things in the world have not alleviated my anxieties. That tells me two possibilities: either I am not doing what is right for me, or regardless of whether I am acting true to myself or not, fear is a bottomless feeder that vexes until its host’s life is withered away. Unlike a parasite that dies when its host dies, fear is not a living entity that worries about its survival, at least not in a biological sense. And fear has its paws deeply entrenched in humanity everywhere.

I spoke about how sometimes I worry about losing my passion for languages. But it will either happen or it won’t. I can make choices in life, but beyond that, control is out of my hands. And again, this applies to everything, not just my interest in languages. So again, I see a connection.

It’s very easy for me to stick with what I know. I’ve tried to shake that instinct by traveling around, but it’s a lesson that isn’t learned easily. I’ve tried to take risks and do daring things to help encourage growth and courage like joining the Peace Corps. But once in a new environment, that battle is not even half over yet. It’s not good enough that a person moves into a new country where things are sometimes backwards from what they knew beforehand. They have to be willing to go with the flow, as they say. My town, let’s admit, is unstimulating. It is beautiful here. But to my Western “developed nation” mentality, there is not a hell of a lot to do here. It layman’s terms, it’s boooooring. And that, dear readers, is kind of depressing. Mix it with traditions and customs that even after a year, if they don’t seem bizarre, they at least still don’t feel natural, and you’ve got yourself a recipe for feeling a long ways from home.

Let me give an example to help me clarify. Rinconada is celebrating its town festival. It’s a two-day party with drinking, music, a band, groups performing separate acts, costumes, stands of food, Peruvian moonshine, and of course tons of rice. A couple of weeks after that Silahua will be having their big party. Patrick and I have been asked to participate in both. In fact, it was more or less assumed we’d act in the party anyways.

There’s a good side to this. I’ve been accepted as a local community member. So much so that I’ve been asked to help participate in a dance or skit or something. Sure, people still stare at me when I walk down the road, but beyond that, I think I’ve been accepted.

But then fear comes in and tells me I don’t want to participate because it’s new and different. You might think you can get used to new and different things. And maybe you can. I don’t yet know the difference. It’s easy to *pretend* that you are well-adjusted and wise, especially when talking to a nervous brand-new volunteer (employee, international student, etc) but I think that we all still have our insecurities.

As I’ve stated before, I don’t like dancing. But if I’m going to dance, I like good music to dance to. Well, if you are in Peru, you are pretty much expected to dance, and the concept of someone who doesn’t like to dance seems about as unimaginable to the Peruvians as a talking can of peas. And as far as the music in my town goes… Well, let’s just say it’s not what I think about when I think about dancing. It’s easy to say, “That’s not for me, that’s not my thing, I want to do something I like.” And lots of times that might be right. I can say that about going to law school or med school, or being in a band, or reading Shakespeare, or hiking for weeks straight in the dark oppressive undergrounds with a team of geologists. Valuable yes, but not for me, not something I want to do.

That doesn’t really apply to participating in a town festival though. So what if a person doesn’t like dancing or the music. There are lots of things here that I am not interested in, or at least I don’t think I’m interested in. For example I don’t think I’ll ever need to learn how to be a farmer here, or how to plant banana trees. But what I’m trying to say is that for all the limitations I find here that frustrate me, I’m starting to see that I can be pretty limited, too. It’s easy to miss what is right in front of you. It can be irritating to have no one to talk to about things that I want to talk about. When the majority of folks have very basic education and knowledge of the world and are only interested in their crops, cows, donkeys, and fields, that just doesn’t leave a lot to talk about. But why should I think that I really know more than they do, at least if you don’t measure life in terms of places seen or languages learned or books read? If the folks here “don’t know any different” but are still happy with the simple pleasures of just getting together at a local party, aren’t they in an important way still going along pretty well?

I guess I’m saying it’s fine to not dig dancing or the music or the food. Everyone’s got personal tastes. Probably nothing will ever make me like their music (Lord knows I’ve had plenty of chances to give it a good listening-to), but it’s not fine to say you want to learn about different cultures and then hide behind “but they have to fit into my comfort zones.” In life, maybe taking part is better than hiding from something behind an excuse. Even if it’s scary and new and in your heart of hearts you suspect you’ll probably never do it again. I guess for now that’s the best I can articulate what I’m thinking about.

Sincerely,

Tristan

Callings in Life

Originally Written September 30, 2009

Dear Readers,

Sometimes it’s hard to know your calling in life. For me, I passion for languages. Just the act of acquainting myself with another language gives me a sense of joy that few other things do. It’s hard work, it takes a long time, and it can become painful or dull at times. But I love it. At the moment I’m learning French by working my way through a translation of “Angels and Demons” by Dan Brown and a French course to help me with the pronunciation. I’ve been seeking out resources for several languages recently, and look forward to seeing what else I’ll have the chance to learn in my life. Sometimes people ask me what I plan on doing with all the languages I learn. I suppose it might be foolish of me, but I don’t always think ahead of learning them. They give flavor to my life even if I am just getting to know the grammar and idiomatic uniqueness. I don’t know how many of them I’ll actually ever use in my life. Ideally, I’d love to use all of them, but I don’t know how. I don’t know if I will.

It seems to me that I’ve been given a gift with languages. I may have something of a talent for learning them, and I do believe in such a thing. But I think that the passion is more important, and the hard work you put into learning something is still more important. The love I feel for languages is the gift I’m referring to.
A few times in my life I’ve wondered if I’ll ever lose my passion for languages. I can remember three times in life, all of them thankfully relatively short-lived. Once was in Germany. I don’t recall exactly what happened, although I know wrote about it on my blog at the time. Eventually it passed, this lull. And then again when I had just graduated from college. I remember this more clearly. I was also trying to learn French, and I think the method and literature I was using were serious factors in wearing me out, because they just weren’t interesting methods for me to learn with. I ended up taking the summer off from study, rebooting my interest and instead flirting with a Navajo dictionary and course book, without making any real attempt to absorb new words. Even in that phase though I started to theorize different methods I could use to learn.

And then a couple of weeks ago marks the most recent downtime. My interest mostly all back at the time of writing, if it was ever gone. But it bothers me every time this feeling rolls around. As if I might grow out of something. It’s not like growing out of playing with toy cars or a type of music, though. A passion isn’t just a phase. It’s a way of life. Lives of course can change. Relationships are always in change, in growth. I used to want to go into filmmaking. I had real dreams about that, and that changed for me into languages. I turned out fine. But this is something I don’t want to lose. I don’t know if I ever will, but the idea of it is so profoundly disturbing to me, to even think about it would make me wonder what I had left. If a person loses something they love, it’s not like just having your house burn down or your car stolen or something else that’s devastating. Both of those can be awful events in a person’s life, and I thankfully have not had to endure either of those. But when a person loses a passion, that must be like losing part of your soul. I’ve told people how I love to write. But it doesn’t compare to how I love the sounds and grammar and symbols of other languages. It helps fuel my imagination. I guess, though, what relationship doesn’t have its hard times, right?
It’s silly really, but I read about a Greek fellow who completely absorbs a different culture and through that he learns the language. He’s learned over thirty languages in his life, I believe. The silly part is that when I read about him, I started to question my own devotion to my hobby. He said that he found vocabulary and grammar boring. Instead he loved the culture. For me, the main thing I look about in a different culture *is* the language, and if I find their language enticing, I have much higher chances of wanting to learn about them more. And usually to see if there is some I can learn how to speak like them. And although I find highly technical grammar written in linguistic jargon nearly unreadable and vocabulary lists to sometimes be dry, I still love grammar and vocabulary. So in other words, I started to feel very self-conscious about what I look for in languages, and presto, lull number three in my life.

Frankly, I compare myself too much with other people. This is probably a common problem with people, though. Maybe we’d all feel reassured if we compared with each other how often we compare ourselves to one another, although since that almost never works, we might end up feeling more miserable. And that would suck, wouldn’t it? Maybe we ought to stop giving a damn about what other people think. I don’t advocate being self-absorbed jerks, but hopefully a person doesn’t need to be a jerk just to be themselves. It’s scary though because no one can really do it for you. You have to be you.

I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about these questions. About these questions with languages and how they tie into even bigger issues, more universally human issues, one could perhaps say. But I think finding a passion is a key move to being yourself. Maybe a passion is a calling, even if that calling isn’t a job. I don’t know what I am called to do in life. I figure I have such a love for languages, but I don’t know how to incorporate that. I don’t think teaching or linguistics is for me. I’m almost certain on that, actually. Nor am I sold on interpreting or translating, at least full time. But languages are about communicating with folks. I said that I get most of my joy out of learning a language, and constantly adding to it, the way I add details to pictures or added Lego models when I still played with Legos. But beyond that is communication. Maybe somehow that’s what my calling is.
Or maybe I’m wrong about it. Maybe it’s just supposed to be a wonderful hobby and I’m actually meant to be a fisherman off the coast of Canada. It was the first job that came to my mind. But even if I were in Canada, I’d still be looking for chances to use my French, not to mention look for grammars and dictionaries and texts for Ojibwa, Stoney, Inupiaq, Wampanoag, and other such colorful tongues…It’d be one of the foremost things on my mind.

Hope all is well.

Tristan