Since the arrival of our counterparts we have established a youth team that has taken responsibility for the library, clubs and computers. The youth team consists of one SMARTD staff member, Wes, me and four out of school youth. The team has been working very hard and has achieved a lot more than I could have ever expected in such a short time. Here are some of the projects and clubs that have been created or improved since the creation of the team:  In a month since their arrival, the library is now officially open and we are seeing around 100 students and community members a week come through. Once we receive the books from African Library Project we will begin distributing library cards and will allow the books to be checked out. (THANK YOU to everyone who contributed to our African Library Project. I am so sorry that I have failed to express our extreme gratitude before this time. The community is very excited about the new reading materials. Once the books have arrived, which will be sometime in March, I will make sure to post a lot of pictures and updates.) A gym has been created at SMARTD that has a stationary bike, a bench press, jump ropes and free weights. It has been incredibly popular with community members of all ages. Out of this a body building club has been created for the youth. In the near future we also hope to begin a aerobics club that will appeal more to the girls and women in the community. The gym has led many people to begin making healthier choices about their diets. There have been many requests for further training on proper nutrition and ways to lose weight.  The Tae Kwon Do club has begun again and is pulling in between 20 and 30 students every Friday and Saturday. We also have a music/dance club and drama club for the youth that meet weekly. (I will take pictures of the clubs this week and I will put them up on flickr). Computer classes are back up and running. Wes is currently teaching alongside the youth team so that they can take over once we leave. He has been busy training the team how to maintain the computers and keep them virus free (or reformatting them often due to the inability of the anti-virus to keep up with the multitude of viruses that are everywhere here!)  My wonderful sister sent me close to 60 early reader books that we have donated to the local primary school. Prior to this time, the school had very few books for the students to use to help them learn English. The principal was overjoyed with the donation and is going to put them to very good use in the classroom. Thank you so much Tori! This last week the standard seven students and several teachers helped us build 8 tippy taps (hand washing stations) at the primary school. Prior to this time, the students and teachers had no way to wash their hands after using the latrine or before eating. The tippy taps are easy to build and maintain and use materials that can be found locally and inexpensively. The day after we built the tippy taps Wes and I went back to the school and taught the students and teachers why it is important to wash your hands, when to wash your hands, how to wash your hands, how germs are spread and the correct way to cover your coughs and sneezes. I showed them how far germs spread by putting flour in the palm of my hand and coughing and sneezing into it. This was a big hit with the students. I also put flour on my hand and showed how germs spread easily when we touch others, our face, and objects like door knobs. Wes did a great job demonstrating the correct hand washing technique. The students listened very well and proved later that they knew how to properly wash their hands using the tippy tap. Hopefully we will see that increased hand washing will lead to less illness and missed days of school. Finally, I would again like to wish Wes a very happy birthday! He had a bit of a rough birthday week last week, so we are going to celebrate it again this week…and next week when we are on a cruise to Mozambique! Here is a picture of the donuts I made him to celebrate. They are a little bit deformed because I am limited in my selection of things to cut cirlces, but they were still good.

It's hard to believe I’ve been back in Lesotho for almost a month now!  Time does fly when one is happy and busy.  It’s still summertime here…actually, it’s a very warm autumn, and I am just relishing the sun and heat, trying to take in enough to sustain me during the cold winter months.

So much has happened since my last entry:

1 I have changed places in which I live; I now live in a lovely mokhora on the compound of Ntate and ‘M’e Monyane.  As of two days ago, electricity has been added!

2 Seventy-five percent of the project for electricity in Mopeli Government Primary School has been successfully funded, thanks to the incredible generosity of my friends in the U.S.A.  I have been trying to get your names so that you can be properly and individually thanked, but am having some trouble, so please accept this general thank you until I receive more specific information.

3 My third…and PROUDEST item…is Perry Grace de Lucia was born on January 10, 2012.  I am now grandma to three lovely children.

4 My young friend, Ausi Mathabo Nyamane, is still doing quite well in her second year of high school.  Last year she was the second in her class!

5 We are all working very hard to complete the electricity part of my Peace Corps project so that we can begin to build a decent road to the school.

6 Each day I am happier with the fact that I am working for the Peace Corps; it is a wonderful organization.  I am also more aware, each day, of the overwhelming amount of material wealth available to all Americans We are a very lucky country.

7 Tsoene Mathata has adjusted quite well to his new environs; he makes himself at home in the Monyane’s house and HAS NOT attacked any of their chickens!  He is in love with their cat, Little Kitty, and growing fat!

8 The two additional classrooms at Lepholisa are almost completed; they now need floors and ceilings.  I was hoping they’d be ready for the new school year, but as I’ve told you before, things happen in their own time here in Lesotho.

9 Finally, my visit to Washington and California was wonderful!  I enjoyed being with my children and grandchildren and learned that I am ready to settle in a warm climate when I return to the U.S.A.

 

My new home is bigger than the last mokhoro, so there’s plenty of room for guests!  If you are up to a real adventure on an incredible continent, come visit!!!  I’d love to see you.  ‘Till next time, Rusty    

If you do not feel yourself growing in your work and your life broadening and deepening, if your task is not a perpetual tonic to you, you have not found your place. --Orison Swett Marden, American writer

I once thought that defining myself through my career in healthcare would be deeply fulfilling. I thought I’d feel like Dorothy returning home to Auntie Em and the farm in Kansas after a long, winding expedition through Oz (or grad school). But I don’t. Everyday my career twists me in a thousand directions, none of which direct me toward my sanity, friends, home, husband, our dogs, health, or well-being. I haven’t found my place in my career.

Being on the mat, as it turns out, feels an awful lot like my place. To me, yoga is how I grow. It’s how I feel my life broadening and deepening. Yoga is that perpetual tonic. Through the practice of yoga, I can move out of my head – slow the racing thoughts and mute those nagging, self-critical voices – and tune into my body.

I also think that yoga helps me play with my edge, moving past fear and trepidation and into uncharted territory. Last March, I resigned from my job and took a one-week vacation to California before starting my next position. My confidence had bottomed out and I needed yoga to pick me back up, so I dropped in on a Strong Vinyasa class at Smiling Dog Yoga Studio in San Luis Obispo, California. My teacher, quite unpredictably, pulled me up into a handstand in the middle of class, held me there for a good 30 seconds, and commanded me to squeeze.

At first I panicked: What the f---! GET ME DOWN!!! I didn’t know what part of me to squeeze and I was sure I’d tumble backwards. When he promised that he wouldn’t drop me, I thanked him quietly and felt the fear morph into complete awareness of the grip my hands had on the floor, the core, thighs and glutes tightening, my shoulders and triceps engaging, and then my breath. It was exhilarating to explore this new challenge and to begin conquering the trepidation.

So, I suppose yoga isn’t just a series of poses, but a process. It’s a process that quiets the mind, nourishes the body, heals the spirit, and guides me to my place. Oh sure, Dorothy said “there’s no place like home,” but I’d say there’s no place like on my mat.

On Wednesday I attended my first yoga teacher training class and walked into a room with 31 women and 2 men. If I thought healthcare was dominated by women, yoga teacher training takes the female-to-male ratio to the next power. It heightens my feelings of insecurity and that nagging voice in my head suddenly takes center stage and hijacks a megaphone:

• Check out all that back fat in the mirror, honey. When are you gonna

lose those ten pounds?

• Paint your damn toenails!

• Get some new yoga clothes – you look like a bum!

• Get some sleep – you look like a zombie from Thriller!

• You’re almost 35. Don’t you think it’s time you got your acne under control?

• This is a class for yogis. Babe, you can’t do headstand or sidecrow.

What are you doing here?

All I can do is take a few deep breaths and trust that the next eight weeks will be a helluva lot more than who looks hottest in their Lululemons and who’s yoga practice is more perfect. This isn’t high school. It’s a room full of people who, for one reason or another, came together on February 15, 2012 to commit to an eight-week yoga teacher training class at CorePower Yoga. Surely, we have more than enough sense, strength, and support to lift each other up.

Putting that nagging voice on mute and breaking out of my introverted shell may be the biggest challenges I’ll have to overcome over the next eight weeks. It certainly helps, though, when the training expectations implore every one of us to practice non-judgment, let go of our expectations, and – for the love – be humble and learn from ourselves. Let’s see where the next eight weeks take us.

Yoga on, my friends.

As ex-patriots enduring hardships, as fish out of water, as people trying to stay sane- as Peace Corps volunteers- we tell ourselves a lot of lies. We tell other people lies: Lies to get through the week, the day, the meal (do fried pig intestines count as a meal?).

But which is it? Do we tell little lies to make the day easier? Or do we forget who we are?

We talk in the Peace Corps about adjusting your standards as a volunteer and living with an altered set of expectations. For example, if I walk into my new site expecting a ceramic bathtub and air conditioning, I may be disappointed. If I walk into my new site expecting to bucket bathe and live without the luxury of a fan, the fact that I have hot running water becomes the highlight of the month. Lower your standards, raise your average. However, that little tactic for staying happy and sane can quickly become a slippery slope of floppy moral values and self-efficacy. "I could go without running water," becomes, "I never really liked deodorant anyway," which becomes, "It's alright if he doesn't have teeth- he speaks spanish." Hake! Now we're fishing low. But how do you ensure you're traveling far enough down the path of alternate expectations without slipping down the landslide?

Like Roxette said, listen to you heart?

(insert <3 emoticons, wink wink, smiley face, exclamation point!)

Maybe.

Listen- if I told the truth about everything to the people I live with I would have no friends. Having no friends in Paraguay means you also don't have any coworkers. No separation exists between work and home, between family and business friends, between peluqueria and class time (wait... what?). This is why we spend the first three months in site not doing anything. Anything, of course, being the very American notion of shuffling papers, sending emails and producing tangible, touchable evidence of our labors. What we are actually doing in those three "idle" months is making friends - which can be a heady task- and hopefully making people love and trust us, thus enabling a work environment.

Would people love me if I told them I was of the (shhhh) Judaic persuasion? Supported (quiet!) same-sex civil unions? Didn't like (what?!) beans?!?! Meat?!?!?! Paraguayan men climbing through my window at night?!?!?! Shut up! Of course none of that's true!

So we make tiny little concessions to sneak stealthily into this very contradictory but navigable culture- if you've got the right compass. And once we are established- once someone loves us- once we find our mother number two, father number 3, indispensable next-door neighbor señora- then we can start leaking out whole-truths, big juicy life secrets instead of the watered down half pint we've been feeding people.

That's how it was for me. And now? Now I laugh and tell people that beans and I are not friends, that I don't like to eat a lot of red meat because it's bad for the heart and that I don't dig on the overwhelming culture of infidelity spread among Paraguayan men (and women). And people get it. Because they're humans and so am I and it's hard to hold yourself back for so long and present an altered version of your personality just to please other people.

BUT- am I 100% here? Bragging about my political stances on medical coverage and welfare?

Hell. No.

That would be a social and professional death sentence. Even though we've been here a year now and myself I feel integrated into my community- I have people I genuinely trust, feel relaxed, at home- I still do and say things that do not reflect the person I believe I truly am. This weighs on me.

But it's not possible for most of us to do otherwise.

Four days ago I was walking with a friend on an isolated dirt road, no one around, no traffic, no houses, no nada, and we threw an empty cardboard chocolate milk container into the bushes (guilt of physical tossing of container will remain unplaced). Neither of us said anything for a moment. Why? Because throwing sick trash into a lush green ambiance of tropical plants and fauna is normal. Then she laughed and so did I. Who are we?!?!

I've always been one to vilipend littering. Fiercely so and to the irritation of most everyone around me apart from my tree-hugging sister (hug on, Jin). But look around us. Imagine the image we are trapped inside of- and not just physically but culturally. We have just passed by a series of burn piles dotting the side of the road, still smoldering and letting off just a wee bit of toxic gas into the air we breathe. The flora is already scattered with plastic bottles and used diapers. Pieces of flip flops have been ground into the road, half buried under packed red dirt.

What are we doing throwing trash into the bushes? Integrating.

What am I doing eating more chipa so'o then is healthy for me (that equals one piece by the way)? I'm looking normal.

And what the hell am I doing peeing into a plastic bag on a campo bus full of strangers? What my mama told me to do. Relax.

We adapt. We figure out what things we can do without comprising our morality and what pleasantries have to be sacrificed to maintain our dignity. We lay down. Or we fight. But the choice is singular to each of us and the results may define our service. Or we may define it ourselves regardless of our circumstances.

Some volunteers worry they won't be able to find the road back to their starting point, their embarkation, their arrival gate- back to their original self- when service is over. What if you can't recover the parts of yourself that you sacrificed to get the job done? To get through the day. To finish the meal.

Sometimes it's hard to pull back the oppressed parts of my personality. Sometimes I feel so myself that I'm suddenly weightless and the world is good. And sometimes I can't remember who I used to be so how do I know which rope to grab on to anyway?

Well, so what if you arrive in a different place than that from which you began? So what? If you strayed from the path of yourself? If you picked.... the road less-traveled?

I think that's called finding yourself.

Just don't go crazy, lose yourself completely and kill a cow for eating your last pair of underwear.

Frantically adding songs and creating playlists for my iPod. Then I head home.My dear friends Lyndsey Chaille and Jessalynne Howard are waiting for me at my house. We will eat dinner and then leave my house early because we are going to CAPE TOWN!!!! Cannot believe it?! We have been planning this trip since we were all lil trainees back in June.

Giant packs full of clothes and NYE worthy outfits and tummies full of breakfast-we head out! We meet two other volunteers in Mafetang, a border town, so we can enter South Africa.

Our AMAZZZING ride to S.A.'s border

Our driver-who thought we were crazy :)

Yep, this bad boy again

Where we bought our ticket to take us from the border into Bloem

Once in South Africa, Bloemfontein, we head to the most important spot: McDonald’s!! We eat our weight in fries and burgers-it’s good to be an American.

It even had oreos! Good Lawd, America is awesome ;)

Village girl gone wild ;)

I had to get a happy meal!

After our McFlurries, we head to the bus station where we will catch our bus to Cape Town, only a 12 hour ride, should be a piece of cake, right? If you guessed yes, you would be wrong. The bus was humid and Kelly’s long legs make sleep impossible-we toss and turn all night. We sit on the top decker of the two-decker bus and we just so happen to be in the second row-able to see then entire ride-it’s beautiful J The morning comes for me when Kelly is shaking me awake. Why? Because our bus was slowing down because a group of baboons were crossing the street!!! Can you believe it?! I flip out and won’t shut up about how much I wish my baby sister, nephew, and nieces could see it! We FINALLY arrive in CT, Kelly rushes off the airport to pick up her best friend, Chris, he’s visiting from that magical place called: AMERICA J the rest of our group checks into our hostel on Long Street. Still dressed in my polka dot pj pants I sit on Long Street and enjoy a cig while I take in the sights, sounds, and people in Cape Town-I can’t wait to explore! I hop in the shower, yep, this lil village lady got to take a bona fide hot shower-dreams do come true. I blow-dry my hair, electricity really is the bee’s knees, and we head out to do some shopping! I don’t find much, but I do stumble upon a pretty lady with a clean American boy drinking some Guinness in a pub. We all end up sitting around talking with our backpackers next door. I’m sitting in a place where I can see outside and notice some smoke. Then I hear someone shout, “fire!” Yep, that’s right, our backpackers is on fire.

Yep, haven’t been in the country for 24 hours and we already have our first hiccup. Kelly and I realize our friend, Ariana, is inside so, what else do we do other than run into the building? All ended up ok-don’t fret.

NYE NIGHT: I apply my thick black eyeliner and bright red lipstick. My black halter-top is low-leaving my back tattoo exposed. After I fix Kelly’s suspenders and spray us both down with perfume (thanks Mama Anderson) we head out for the night! The bar we go to isn’t very far from our hostel. We get our free drink and begin dancing!10…9…8…7…6...5…4…3…2…1…HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!! We share a sweet kiss and hug everyone. It’s such a great moment to bring in 2012 with some of the people who have been with me on the wildest journey of my life (so far of course…I have plenty more planned) With empty drinks, no more cigs, and sore legs Kelly and I head to…..wait for it….McDonalds!!! ye know, for a 2am snack J We hafta seize the opportunity for this late night food, right?

Enjoying our gin and tonics on the balcony

sweet photo op :)

with our boy, Tommy

Carolina Girls!!

:)

The next few days are a whirlwind. Tons of deelish food, market shopping, and dancing all night. We are truly living the dream. One day we go on an amazing wine tour. 8a-6p.http://www.wineflies.co.za/We try every kind of wine, learn lots, and wear ridiculous hats!

We really get to explore South Africa, and the best part-they love my accent! Once the tour is over, our guides take us to a local bar and we have real calamari and a few white Russians! Kelly and I devour our food and drink our drinks so fast we simply must order another J We also spend a day at the waterfront park. It’s beautiful and we are glad we took the time to go. We window shop at the mall and walk along the water. We even see a movie in 3D J Puss in Boots is hilarious and Kelly has yet another alter ego. Humpty.

First Vacay: HUGE SUCCESS J

Picture it: two girls running, ok, more like waddling quickly, towards one another on the side of the road somewhere in sub-Saharan Africa. One dark skinned with wild curly hair and an overfull red daypack, the other with super blonde hair, freckles, and a green pack just as full, if not more. This reunion was a glitter twin reunion. My fellow diva, a girly girl trying to survive in rural Lesotho, Jessalynne and I have obviously missed each other. This wildly strange and comical (hey, you try running with 15lbs on your back- I bet you’d look ridiculous too) reunion was also the beginning of some of the best days I’ve had in Lesotho so far. It’s called and All Vol. It’s a time when All (most) of the VOLunteers in country get together, hence the name. Yes, we have sessions of training and venting about our sites, but we also have evenings free to socialize. Let’s just say this Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday end up being delightful and dehydrating. When we arrive in Mazenod, right outside of the capital, we wait for the other volunteers. This is also a time for us CHED ‘11’s (my group) to meet the rest of volunteers in country. We all arrive, hug, kiss, and probably a lil too much squealing. We watch a touching video commemorating the 50th anniversary of Peace Corps. Then, we eat dinner and begin socializing. Let’s just say we reconnect and I smoke entirely too many cigs. I meet tons of people, and a very important person, who redeems her first impression by being genuinely interested on the meaning of my ink-Yep, Kelly listened to my whole rant about my back piece. The next morning comes too quickly, and we are at breakfast by 7am-far too early for me. I did, however, get the chance to take an EARLY morning HOT shower and even did my hair!! No more nappy dirty hair for Cassie. We have a few morning sessions and then we head off to the ceremony. Men in jackets and ties while the ladies are in our best dresses from ‘Merica. We clean up nice if I do say so myself ;) Amanda dubs my taupe pencil skirt, black turtleneck, and leopard print scarf, Business safari-BAM!

The morija museum is small, but pretty and the grounds are completely covered in red, white, and blue decorations. The ambassador and the king are present, so we begin the show. Many people speak ,a nd the camera guy for whatever tv station, how would I know I don’t have a tv, is working real hard to get everything-especially when two groups from a local school perform traditional dances.

www.youtube.com/watch?v=-KBXOg7pbKA

Then comes the good stuff-no not food, I’m offended-it’s time for us new volunteers to Swear-in (again!) My group, which I lead, alphabetical, while we take the oath-the same oath that the president of the United States takes-serious stuff. Then, we shake the hands of the ambassador and the king. Exciting right?! I totes touched a king-My grandbabies will hafta hear this story more times than they will ever care to hear it ;) Once the ceremony concludes, we feast! In true PCV fashion we overeat and enjoy every bite. We dance, laugh, and a few people don’t mind sneaking off with me while I sneak a cig or two ;) We head back to our “hotel” which is more like a mental hospital converted over and the rooms are at best, TINY. We begin to All Vol Talent show. Hot damn, Peace Corps Volunteers are talented! Poetry, singing, dancing-we have it all. My good friend, Tara Daggum Hughes, preforms a song written by her in honor of my upcoming birthday. It’s amazing and makes me laugh-HARD. As a finale of the talent show, a group of volunteers preform a well choreographed dance to the “hit” Friday by Rebecca Black. It’s on youtube under Friday dance Peace Corps Lesotho. Yep, I live, work, and love these crazy people. DISCLAIMER: To do PC you kinda sorta definitely have to be a little unstable and totally okay with regular humiliation. It’s in the fine print of the application.

www.youtube.com/watch?v=QJyo9vzNepo

After the talent show, we feast! Yeh, starving in PC just doesn’t happen. Anywho, the priest who lives on the compound donates a few boxes of beverages and our last night begins. The best part of these few days was the last night. We literally had a dance party, remnant of my ATL days, with a bunch of people. Granted it has its PC flair, but goodness it was fun. The Basotho can dance, and I’m pretty sure we all learned a few new dance moves. It was epic to say the least. I did the salsa all night with Jessalynne and someone even did the worm. A few boys shaved their heads and I got to talk about my fave show, The L Word, with a few new friends. The nights ends with Tara and I singing Dixie Chicks in the bathroom while our friends shower. Idk why this always happens, but our southern root betray us at times and this is what happens. I teach Kelly how to shag, and I’m off to sleep. The next morning comes too quickly-4 hours of sleep just isn’t enough. I bask in one more long shower and head off for a few last sessions. These few days make me realize that PC is exactly where I am supposed to be. While I may miss my family and friends immensely-I do have a family here. And well, that’s just the beginning of why I love my PC family.

You know you are a Peace Corps Volunteer when:

Not "showering" for 3 (or more) days doesn't bother you and you are completely comfortable talking about it

The ability to get a good radio station at your house incites jealousy (same can be said with a good cell phone/internet signal)

9pm is a late night

You are in your twenties (or older) and you aren't allowed to drive

Happy Valentines Day Everyone!To celebrate I'd like to share a poem I wrote with you all -

We've been together for many yearsWe are such a good fitI wasn't sure about you when we first metNow time has passed and I know we'll be together until the endAlways together - always on a new adventureWith miles of road, layers of dust, even by air and water we've enduredMeeting new people and learning togetherAs we age, we stay together, accepting and going onWith memories behind us and possibilities before usMy friend, helper and lifeline - My backpack

I've titled that one - Ode to my backpackShane liked it and was convinced it should go on the blog - and I'm sure it is appropriate for today!

Today is also my Grandma Fox's birthday, I'm so excited that she gets to celebrate another year and our thoughts are with her. Also, we just got a Valentines day card and two other treats in the mail. the card was sent at the begining of January! We've got big plans to celebrate with a bottle of bubbly Rosé wine, the movie Date Night and we are even splurging on take out pizza! This is big stuff for a Peace Corps date:-) We still aren't sure what to do for Shane's birthday which is coming up on Sunday. However, he's very happy because his Ju jit su classes are starting tomorrow.

We spent last week both at a Peace Corps training and I got to go to one of the big water project dams in Lesotho called Mohale Dam for the WFP staff retreat. I'll post a few more photos on the "Real Thing" page. We had several days of heavy rain at the end of the week so the photos at Mohale show that. We came back on Saturday via the bus. Please keep in mind that there is pretty much one road that goes through all of the districts in the north and one other that goes through all of the districts in the south -let's talk about infrastructure. We live in the highlands, as a result we have to pass through several districts to get out to ours - we are pretty much at the end of the road. There is one spot on our main road where, I think last summer, a large gully formed from eroding soil, washing out that portion of the tar road. To go around they made a dirt road going down and around and coming back up to the main road. Well, we were on the bus going along, when it stopped - and all of the people started getting off pretty much in the middle of nowhere. We were confused and of course everything was in Sesotho, so we followed people over to look at the road, and the dirt road bypass had been partly washed out from all of the rain we'd had. It was too narrow and fragile for the bus to go across, and there wasn't any way around it! - This was a bit crazy after we had been talking about Disaster Risk Reduction and preparedness at the WFP meeting! Fortunately a few men went down and started piling up stones (of course some decided to watch instead, along with all of the women) but the photo above is of them working together - Shane is standing next to the guy on top of the culvert and his superviosr is wearing black to the right of the bush. It ended up being a successful endeavor but it was another wake up call of how lucky we are in the states, even with the flooding in ND the infrastructure was there to make it possible to go around even if it was inconvinient, and how vulnerable you can be without alternatives. The WFP trucks can't pass either if the bus can't... Also, I was really glad we are here with Peace Corps because if we wouldn't have been able to get back to our house, I'm sure we would have had their support.

Another interesting tidbit, is that Shane had his first experience with BEDBUGS! He picked them up from the place we usually stay in Maseru - he counted and had more than 45 bites on one leg! Fortunately, one of the things that was not on the packing list for Lesotho that we brought was part of our collection of homeopathic remedies - we had one for bug bites and it really helped especially when combined with the anti-itch stuff fromt he Med kit. I did ask him to always remember who still loved him when he was covered in bedbug bites.

So, I'll write a little bit about our diet here, but will do a to be continued next time (again)...You can see from the pictures that we are enjoying the challenge presented to us by the limitations of availability. We do what we can though, finding a lot in our village and in town, but also knowing what we need to get when we go to Maseru (wine) and even from S.A. if possible. Also, we love the infusions from our care packages of things we just can't get at all here. One of our biggest challenges is protein, we aren't very comfortable eating meat here - not just because of our usual reasons (industrial animal farming is present is S.A. and most of the meat comes from there) but other, general food safety reasons - such as consistency of refrigeration and other things. So, fortunately we are accustomed to getting protein from other sources. Unfortunately, without a refrig and because, again of cost and availability we aren't able to get as much variety of protein from things like nuts and seeds, yogurt, cheese and quinoa as we did in America. So, we eat a lot of dry legumes pinto beans and peas we can get here and we found a store in Maseru that even has chickpeas, we've even been eating lentils too, but we can't buy them locally - we sometimes sprout them for extra deliciousness. We also eat a lot of eggs, like, we buy them in trays of 30 and usually finish that in a week and a half! Same goes with peanut butter, we've eaten something like 15kgs of PB since being at site. We also buy the boxed UHT milk in .5L boxes in packs of ten, again lasting about a week and a half. I liked Central America because you could get chocolate UHT milk and the chocolate would cover up the wierd UHT taste. I've thought about trying to make cheese here with the funny tasting milk, but still not sure how that would work out especially with culturing it.

I can see that this has gotten a bit long, so we'll leave off here. I promise we'll wrap up this subject in the next post, so we can talk more and show more pictures of our projects!

Lots of love and happiness to you today,Shane and Carol

Well, Hello there fellow followers :)

Here's a lil update on my lil life in Africa....

SEPTEMBER: So, after the chaos of "All Vol" (a meeting for ALL the VOLunteers in country-I'll post about that lata) I settle back in at my site. It's my birthday month, and I am forced to stay at home-PC rules...BLERG.

It's al ok because on my birthday I have tons of princess wrapping paper covered presents from the fam, and we Skype as I open them-How fab is that?! It was so wonderful I even get to watch my family sing to me via a FB video...I love my fam. I get things I need plus a few frivolous items too :)

Kelly comes to visit the weekend after my birthday and showers me with hand-me down gifts-it's all very thoughtful and makes me feel special. She even offers me a plastic flower on bended knee-ahhh the romance.

Kelly has the idea to mark my height on a doorway in my kitchen-which has since become a tradition for every person who visits my house-I'm seriously accumulating quite a few marks ;)

OCTOBER: It starts out a slow month but then it all changes. Lesotho Durham LINK (LDL), my host organization-google it, has a huge celebration. I get all dressed up and even end up on TV. Yay! I'm totes famous in a country that happens to be smaller than most lakes in America. Baha. Don;t believe me you say, Google it :)

There is a huge group of people from Durham and they want to visit LDL's community outreach centre (my village). I even wash my hair that morning and prepare for the busy day. we clean the school and set up for our guests. We take them on a tour of the school, and the kids perform traditional dances. it's a blast-I couldn't be more proud. Once the sun starts to set they depart, ad I run home for a nap-after smooshing and chatting it up all day this lil lady is exhausted,

NOVEMBER: I am beginning to feel like a Peace Corps Volunteer-at least every once in awhile. I still can't travel for the first few weeks, and then BAM-i can leave my district! Woot! I spend my first weekend in Mohale's Hoek (south of the country). Kelly is much more rural than I am, but we have a great weekend! Her cat, Winnie, has 2 kittens, one of which I claim, and we go for a lil walk around her village. As November nears its end, I am busy planning to host Thanksgiving and 15+ PCVs in my house. Because of schedules, we are unable to celebrate on Thursday-but who says the Saturday after doesn't count? Thanks to some amazing chefs, my real stove and oven, and some generous care packages from Mama's back home-Thanksgiving is a HUGE success! We eat too much, drink, and we talk abut football-can't take the American outta us, eh?

My PC Family :) We are a beautiful lil bunch, eh?Sun worshippers...and notice those Christmas lights...HOW RAD?!

DECEMBER: School is out for the summer!!! I spend my days in Maseru working with host org and of course Kelly. We catch up on sleep and travel lots :) Simple living because we are saving every penny because we are heading to Cape Town for New Year's Eve :)

We have BIG plans for Christmas, but on its Eve I become very sick and we are forced to cancel. A dear friend, Courtney, visits and Kelly balances being a caring gf for me and a hostess for Courtney. The next morning I feel stronger and keep down food-yay! We play aggravation ALL day and I eat crackers. It's all so exciting. Kelly renames the sparkle spaces the Sparkle Highway, for those of you who know this game understand.

Next post: New year's events in Cape Town, South Africa :)

What are examples of Peace Corps Volunteer housing?

See three examples of Volunteer housing and the wide variety of scenarios, ranging from a rural hut surrounded by nature to living with a host family. Volunteer housing accommodations vary greatly but all must meet the Peace Corps' standards for safety and suitability. From: peacecorps Views: 2 0 ratings Time: 01:34 More in Nonprofits & Activism

Here's an update since the last time I posted...

AUGUST -School Starts. August 11th - my centre takes a school trip to Maseru (the capital) and TY (in the north) to visit other training centres and to observe what each are doing. My centre visits Cassie's training centre (most of you know who she is) and meet her for the first time (she's a current & new volunteer in the CHED 2011 group - she arrived to Lesotho during my one year mark). This trip just so happens to be undeniable my WORST day in Lesotho during my service. Apparently my first impression was not exactly amiable.

SEPTEMBER - All Vol - A conference during the 14th through the 16th for all the volunteers (hence the name) in country. Well, during said conference I redeemed my less-than-perfect first impression with Cassie. During the conference, we celebrated Peace Corp's 50th Anniversary. The King attended the celebration, and the new CHEDs got to swear in - which the King helped to conduct. The rest of Septemeber proved exciting - winky emoticon!

OCTOBER - I start visiting TY almost every weekend. The month goes by without much fanfare - my training centre has its midterm break and I get a week off. Sleep was caught up with. Weather is warmer, spring is definitely here. Take Halloween weekend to sleep some more. I guess you could consider my costume the all mighty hibernating bear.

NOVEMBER - Funding at my school has halted and dried up. We are left with almost no more materials - no gas or food for cooking class, no wood for carpentry, no metal for welding, and the solar equipment for training was stolen a year ago. I mainly spend this time at my centre hangin' with coworkers or teaching life skills. Spend Thanksgiving in TY with a bunch of volunteers (you may have seen photos on Facebook). Also, I find out that the mysterious stomach pains that have plagued me since last Decemeber (yes, as in 2010) have been caused by an ulcer. I was rushed to a private hospital in Maseru after a night of extreme pain and nausea. After a comprehensive ultrasound, it was determined that the pain, loss of appetite, and rapid weight loss (about 40 lbs) have all been casued by this ulcer. I was given about five different pills to take for a week & everything clears up. Luckily, I get my appetite back for Thanksgiving. My centre closes a week earlier than normal (schools close in the beginning of Deceember for holidy and harvest).

DECEMBER -Desperately saving & penny pinching for my New Years trip to Cape Town. Because of the healed ulcer, I NEED to eat regularly, several times a day, but because of my lack of money, this proves difficult. I notice some weight gain (this is a very good thing). Spend Christmas in TY with some friends. Still strange to have a sunny and extremely hot Christmas. Summer now is in full force.

Cape Town - take a 12 hour overnight bus from Bloemfontein, SA to Cape Town. Bodily discomfort ensues & I hope the bus back to Lesotho is more comfortable. It isn't. Anyways, Christopher William McMillan, my hero, flies into Cape Town the day we all arrive. We have a (explicit) blast. I miss his face. Cape Town rocks, NYE rocks, Mexican food still rocks. Afterwarsds, I notice even more weight gain - even better. I have gain 10 lbs since my ulcer healed. YAY.

JANUARY - Return to Lesotho, with Chris, on the 5th. after another terrible bus ride. I already miss Cape Town. Chris spends a night and a day at my site and does his own laundry by hand. Cassie and I try recovering from the travel and our general denial of returning to village. Chris, Cassie, Ariana, and I travel South (4 hours) to visit a volunteer who has left since. Chris crashes "Ladies Night." We return the following day to Ariana's house. We spend several days there and are sick of travelling, the thought of it makes us cry. Well, not really. I already relish the electricity, running water, and shower at Ariana's house. Afterwards, we travel North (3 hours) to Cassie's house. Chris, unfortunately, leaves the 12th, and Cassie and I travel with him to Johannesburg. We arrange private transport (i.e. Cassie's coworker) to drive us. This costs me way too much money, for which I'm still paying off to this day.

School Opens the 16th. Come to find out, someone broke into our woodshop, took out the battery from our pickup truck, took apart the solar equipment, and used the wires from the solar panels to try to recharge the car battery. Now, since car batteries have nothing to stop them from overcharging, it explodes, ruining the solar equipment and spraying battery acid everywhere. We are without electricity for our computer class, capentry, and welding. Plus, our solar equipment - the last of which is left from theft is damaged. I basically spend my following days at my centre doing nothing. I must therefore have to spend my time and energy on secondary projects. My centre's director is unhappy about this, and Peace Corps has to intervene.

FEBRUARY - Start planning for Valentine's Day and realize that my originality for gifts is lacking. Plus, I'm in Africa. I start reading books again for the first time in months. I have also realized that I've been trying to read all them "thinking" books and actively find ones you don't need a bedside dicitnonary for. Also, I don't have TB. My heavy cough remains a mystery...

UPCOMING EVENTS - Vday & Anniversary in Ladybrand, SA. Just a day for good ol' food and relaxation.

Plan on updating to a Blackberry. So, anyone who has one can message me with BBM for free. Even though I'm in Africa.

For my 26th birthday in March, a couple friends and I intend to spend a weekend in South Africa to celebrate.

EXTENDING A THIRD YEAR -That's right people, I'm intending to extend for a full third year. I will definitely be extending elsewhere at a different site and a different job, which is very common for third year extensions. Also, I am going up for the PCVL position (Peace Corps Volunteer Leader) - a third year position, which is based outside of Maseru (the capital). In addition of working for the Peace Corps office on various assignments, the PCVL has a part time "regular" job and acts as a liason between current volunteers and the staff. If I don't receive this post, I will definitely extend as a normal third year volunteer. FYI - I'm only looking at sites for third year that include running water and/or electricity. And a bathtub wouldn't hurt. The good news about extending - I will have madatory home leave for a month (probably in July). So you will be able to see me then!

- Kelly

P.S. I didn't have time to reread this post, so I hope there's no typos...

I often tell myself that if I had a trust fund, I’d be a yoga instructor and a travel writer. Although I titter and quickly change the subject when I tell practical folks about my less-than-lucrative calling in life, it’s true. I think I’d make a decent travel writer, even though a handful of obligated family members, a well-intentioned friend or two, and an odd stalker-type ex-boyfriend might be the only people to read my work. I have no idea whether I’d be an inspiring yoga teacher or not, or if I would accidentally break someone’s spine.

Basically, had been born with a silver spoon rather than to divorced parents who struggled to pay the rent, I’d be way more Type B than my current corporate job and focus on maxing out my Roth IRA contributions and employer 401k match might suggest. I would have moved to Boulder to flit about in a drum circle on Pearl Street Mall. Maybe I’d be writing about life force rather than how too many nonprofit workplaces resemble Milgram experiments. Instead of looking to Suze Orman and The Harvard Business Review for sage wisdom, I’d sign up for a retreat with Deepak Chopra.

I know this all sounds awfully cheeky, but it’s not too far from the truth. I spent the first 30 years of my life constantly broke, either because my family was living on the financial edge, I was in college or grad school or serving as a Peace Corps Volunteer in Southern Africa, or I was travelling around the world with little more than a passport and a backpack.

Over the past five years, though, I’ve settled into a comfortable, practical, lovely life in South Minneapolis. I love my husband, our two dogs, my job, and being financially stable. We shop at a local food co-op and go to the gym together after work. Last month we started experimenting with a Breville juicer and we recently purchased a new memory foam mattress during a Macy’s sale. Cruising to Home Depot in our Ford Focus station wagon, we wonder when we should replace the windows in our house and whether to paint our new front door plantation brown or shaker red.

Things feel a bit too vanilla lately (or heron plume, as they might say at Sherwin-Williams), but my supportive, non-yogi husband wants me to be happy. Not too long ago, he sent me a Star Tribune article about an unlikely CorePower Yoga instructor named Ken and asked me to think about signing up for yoga teacher training.

Ken is a retired corporate executive who found yoga and later became a yoga instructor. I know I’m not Ken, but next week I’m starting an eight-week, 200-hour Vinyasa Flow Teacher Training course at CorePower Yoga. While I’m not about to quit my day job, I think it’s time to pursue the path I’ve been tittering about for the past three years. Oh sure, I’m not the best yogi in Lululemons, but why not put myself out there? Give it a go. If teaching yoga doesn’t feel like a good fit, then at least I tried. And who knows? Maybe I’ll connect with other people pursuing a life of balance, health, and wellness, too.

What are examples of Peace Corps Volunteer housing?

See three examples of Volunteer housing and the wide variety of scenarios, ranging from rural hut surrounded by nature to living with a host family. Volunteer housing accommodations vary greatly but all must meet the Peace Corps' standards for safety and suitability. From: peacecorps Views: 6 0 ratings Time: 01:37 More in Nonprofits & Activism

My hunch is that Montessori rocks.

9-12 months

Socialize with waving hi/bye

peekaboo

rolling a ball song: roll, roll, roll the ball...

hide a toy

"the purpose of the place mat is to show the child where and when to pay attention. the place mat is a visible, concrete cue that you want your child to pay attention to the work(it's play) that you are doing together. Consistently using the mat eventually teaches a young child how to direct his attention

cherrios on a cherrio book

scoop game- model scooping. say watch.

take cherrios and scoop them into different containers

hand over spoon encourage attempts to scoop

"I'm gonna getcha" (children calculate, predict the next movement you will make, awesome)

read a photo album of faces you want the baby to be comfortable around

discuss details of the faces, stories associated with each person

put down place mat. take six to eight colored links, mix say "watch"

slowly, quietly deliberately match links by color

mix and say "your turn"

coach, help repeat

personalize nursery rimes

"little "name of child" lost her/his sheep..."

reading no more than 5 minutes at a time, give interaction, ask questions, point to words or vocabulary, be expressive

use real objects for dramatic play.

ex. use pots and pans to pretend to cook

Jill Stamm Bright from the Start

William Martha Robert James Sears Baby Book

*teach child to take off other people's hats

*start to teach them to do laundry

always talk through actions, describe surroundings

I cried a little at school today. Not because of anything bad though. At the beginning and end of the day, the students and teachers gather together for assembly. There, we make announcements, pray (my school’s Catholic), and often, the students will sing. Today, it was raining a little, so we all gathered in a classroom after school. There are only about 40 students total, so this was easy to do. The students organized themselves according to how they sing (soprano, tenor, etc). Today, they sang for about an hour. I don’t know how they know so many songs. I suppose they have been singing them since they were small children, but what comes out of their mouths is something that would take Americans weeks of practice. These teenagers, who are normally so obedient and quiet and call me “madame,” finally come alive when they are singing together. The boys, some of whom never make a peep in class, are singing and dancing with smiles on their faces. It’s hard to describe how beautiful it is when the Basotho sing. Like today, it often makes me tear up. I have never in my life encountered a culture in which every single person can sing and harmonize so well. And they all know the same songs! Maybe I will know some once I leave here. I can sing the Lesotho National Anthem, but that’s all. Anyway, it’s a wonderful way to end the day. I think people all over the world would be a lot happier if they sang all the time like people do here.I’ve really started to enjoy teaching. I think the students are now finding out that, no, I am not going to beat them with a stick. Therefore, they’ve been more receptive to my Q&A style. But they still can’t get the idea of positive and negative numbers, especially adding and subtracting them. I’ve probably explained it in five different ways. I’m always asking them questions, trying to get them to think rather than simply memorize, especially in science. Critical thinking skills aren’t as well developed in children here, it seems. Also, teachers can be mean! Corporal punishment is everywhere. I personally haven’t seen a beating yet, but other volunteers have, and I see the teachers carry their sticks to class most days. I also hear them yelling at the students, calling them lazy and scolding them all the time for things that seem so insignificant to me. And they aren’t sympathetic at all. For example, teachers will yell at them for being late.Ok, fine, but some of the students have a 1-2 hour walk through the mountains and over the river every morning. I understand if they can’t make it to school exactly by 7 AM for “study hour” before school. I also understand that the teachers want these students to be disciplined, but I prefer to use other strategies, like positive reinforcement. That’s what really motivates them to do well, I’ve found. Even when they get answers wrong, I think its important to encourage them to work hard and keep trying, they’re on the right track, etc. I always give them a huge smile when I walk into class. I want to show them that school can be a nice place to be and that I am happy to have them there.I just ate way too much chocolate while I was writing this. I got two packages the other day, one of which was from Adrian. Of course, it contained quite a few of those lovely square bars of Ritter Sport dark chocolate with hazelnuts, my favorite chocolate from Germany. When you haven’t eaten chocolate in a couple of months and you finally get a substantial supply of your favorite kind, it’s a bit dangerous. My grandmother sent me something called "cuddl duds" which is a silly name for what is basically nice long underwear. I looked at the tags and they were made in Lesotho! I thought that was interesting that they ended up back in Lesotho. I also got some books, an Indy, some magazines, socks, a new coat, warm boots, and other good stuff. Thanks y'all! It felt like Christmas again.So, I know that my family is probably reading this and some of them are going to visit me within the next two years. Therefore I thought I should show you what my village looks like.The view from my house is in the picture below. That tin structure on the left is my latrine.I can barely fit inside it. It also belonged to the volunteer before me, who is at least 6 feet tall. I can’t imagine what he went through every time he needed to poop. So, that stone thing to the right of it is the beginning of my new latrine…yay! The picture below that one is the house that I share with my host family. My little section of the house is on the left, where there are bars on the door. It’s a nice house by Lesotho standards. I certainly enjoy it. And in the picture below that, there are some of the girls that I teach. They are standing in front of my house in their school uniforms. Some days they just show up and demand “Madame! Please take the photos!”I usually have nothing better to do, so we go outside and have a photo shoot. Some look a little angry or unpleasant, but most Basotho don’t smile when they pose for photos. In their opinion, this makes them look more professional. Also, all of the school children shave their heads here.I’m not really sure why, but I think maybe it sort of goes along with the uniform thing. So yeah, they are all girls.

Because this was once a British colony, they call chalkboard erasers 'dusters' and because this is Lesotho, mine is a piece of sheep hide. I have just completed my third week as a high school teacher in Lesotho.Sekonyela High School My school consists of a smattering of buildings clustered on a hill above the Senqu River, at the base of the mountain, Thaba Popa. The horizon in every direction is formed by the jagged peaks of Lesotho's Maloti mountain range. Every morning the students gather for outside assembly in a sort of courtyard, where they sing hymns and the national anthem and say the Lord's Prayer. After hearing the day's announcements, the students all go to their classes. Each grade has their own room, which they stay in all day while the teachers move from room to room. There are 6 classrooms in 2 buildings, but there are 7 classes of kids. So right now one class is in the assembly hall. There will also be one more class in a week or so, but I'm not sure where they are going to fit. The classes range in size from 30 to around 60 students. When the teacher enters the room, all of the 'learners' usually stand and say, “good morning sir.” This is a little off-putting at first, but one gets used to being addressed as 'sir' pretty quickly! During class, the students are usually quite well behaved. No one has yet to talk back or be rude in any way. The most disobedience I get are kids who don't pay attention or don't take notes. This deference and subdued behavior are likely due to the use of corporal punishment at school. The tradition of caning students persists here, though it is regulated by the government. They have rules set out for the size and weight of sticks used as well as how and why a student may be hit. As stated, this makes for polite and well-behaved students, but it also causes them to be very cautious in class and often reluctant to answer questions. Personally, it is also very difficult to stand by as the kids are beaten. The students must purchase their own books and materials. After school fees, uniform fees, and buying notebooks and pencils, many students do not have money left for books. Because of this, teachers must write everything on the board; all notes, assignments, everything the student needs to read. This makes teaching math and physics a little cumbersome, as one can't assign book problems or reading, but it must be a nightmare in English and Sesotho literature classes. We do have a science laboratory, stocked with a scant assortment of physics and chemistry equipment. Science demos are very difficult to acquire here. There is one such company in the country, located in the capital city. One must travel there to purchase what items they happen to have in stock. I have a few physics demos I would like to do over the year and will probably have to take a few trips to the local hardware stores to build them from scratch. I am lucky enough to be at a relatively new school, built in 2005. I also have one of the few staff rooms witch not only electricity, but a few computers to boot! These old PC's have loads of viruses among other problems, but at least they give me a little project here and there. Other than teaching and lesson planning, the bulk of teachers' time is spent in the staff room gossiping or watching movies, which isn't a bad existence at all. So far I like my job here a lot. The kids seem to like me and are quite nice to teach to. By this point they are also becoming less nervous and will stop me to ask questions if they don't understand something. I also like my little village up here in the mountains. It's peaceful and quiet and gives a person time and space to think. There is also the camp town near enough, so I an always stop in for a little bit of excitement and a cold beer. Oh, and that sheep-skin chalkboard eraser I mentioned earlier, it works way better than any eraser I've used in my life! Hopefully things stay this good through the cold, long winter here!Part of my walk home from school

Hello,

We've been keeping busy now that we are back in Lesotho, but we were just able to finish posting the glut of pics from our wonderful trip to Cape Town. We hope you enjoyed seeing some of the things we found interesting while we were there, and us being able to talk about the vacation mostly in photos was fun. Just wanted to let you know that you can check out the Cape Town page now for the full story. We will not be around really next week, so we won't be doing any posts but when we get back maybe I'll finish up the food conversation. In the meantime please just click a button to vote on the poll of what we should talk about next and we'll go back to "The real thing" page to post pics of our normal life again.

As always our best to all, and we hope you enjoyed the photos.

Love from Lesotho,

Shane and Carol

You can only ride that wave for so long I guess and then it crashes.

There are some things happening here. I mean, mostly inside my head. Outwardly summer drags on, men continue to be pitifully machismo and projects develop. But in there.... in my cabezita I am moving slowly but surely toward insanity. I am feeling lethargic and anti-social. I feel the overwhelming and yet I know dangerous urge to explore medical schools online and fantasize about what my life will be like there- IT'S TOO EARLY!!

This dangerous endeavor causes a discontinuity in my space-time relationshipper and I am unable to focus on the present- Paraguay: heat; poverty; beasts and children everywhere; people thinking I'm a spy; over abundance of starches and animal fats- and I walk around in a haze. Mentally I've been transported to the beautiful lush campus of the Medical University of South Carolina or MSU: The lawns are well-tended, ethnic food is nearby and the educational material is peer-reviewed and open to everyone. But physically. Oh boy. Physically I'm sitting at Ña Jacinta's house discussing the logistics of getting them a fogon so she can stop breathing in so much smoke every time she cooks while five barefoot little boys run around making toys out of empty pop bottles and sand from the road. I love them. And I love my work. But I have hit my wall.

We are careful to emphasize in the Peace Corps that every volunteer will have a distinct experience, even if they serve in the same sector in the same country in similar towns. It depends. That's the catch all answer/advice for everything. But in spite of that, most volunteers follow a very similar path in emotional adjustment.

Observe.

Month 6 was no fun whatsoever. Month 7 or 8 we received this little gem that- if nothing else- justified the struggles I had been through in month 6. Little late. But okay.

The last week or so I've been 'struggling' again- that's putting it lightly- and last night I found myself desperately searching through my gmail for the copy of this chart to justify my feelings (I'm not crazy, right?!) and when I couldn't find it I resorted to typing things into Google Image like, "emotional progress of peace corps volunteers". Oh, it was a sad night.

What's wrong Carly?

Is it the refusal of new people to speak directly to you but instead pretend you're deaf/incoherent/invisible/can't speak spanish/can't understand Guarani and ask everyone sitting next you personal questions about your life and then refuse to listen to the answer I give?

No.

Is the almost physically painful loneliness brought on by an emotionally and physically trying and particularly solitary year without the tiniest hint of romance due to geographical isolation and incredible male/female ratio in Peace Corps-Paraguay which is about 1:5, the majority of males being either married or otherwise sexually inclined?

No.

So then maybe the language thing? The 5000 miles from home thing? The 'no one understands me!' thing? The where is my life going thing? No, no, no. You know what?

I think it's the Paraguayan government in conjunction with 1-year blues.

Two nights ago I went with the host family to a wedding, first time. I tried, I tried, I tried to focus on the joyous event but every thought I had spun around and turned bitter in my mouth. The dresses- the cheap material, the low quality of products in Paraguay and the fact that no one cares enough to improve the market. The groom- what were the chances he would actually be monogamous? In this country- almost zero. The food at the reception- four starches and two kinds of meat. Zero vegetables, zero fruits. We couldn't get water served to us - the waiters were baffled. The bathrooms- I asked my mom where they were. She asked the woman next to us who asked the woman next to her. I stood up and said I would ask someone who worked here and everyone had little spaz attacks in their seats at the inherent danger presented by that proposition. Similarly, our table was given one too few plates when the food was served so my mom said she'd would stop a waiter when he walked by. One walks by. She starts at him anxiously but says nothing. Two walk by. She and my sister stare anxiously. My brother smacks my mom's arm over and over but again - no one says anything. Well, I gave them their chance so I stand up, find a waiter and ask for another plate. Everyone at the table and in the near vicinity is shocked by my outward behavior, having tiny chisme seizures in their plastic chairs. They would have gone hungry.

I unknowingly hold my breath.

I get stuck inside my own head.

The passing of time warps with every day.

The customs of the culture here are alternatively endearing and infuriating and after a year their intimacy makes them issues not easily brushed off. These things are integral, inescapable parts of life. As volunteers we're forced to stare down their throats and love it or hate it but rarely can we accomplish a point of view that isn't totally ethnocentric. Every single day we confront the absence of women's rights and male domination both inside the home and out. Every single day we see the consequences of a post-dictatorial culture that is terrified to confront any issue head-on and so goes on, day after day, week after week, year after year, lacking basic human rights and unable to ask for the things they need and want, both from each other and from their government. Every. Single. Day. The overbearing integration of superstition and myths restricts activity keeps peoples minds small and their presence limited.

But the very worst of all are the people who want to learn and are denied the resources. People who tell me openly that their culture is "low" and their people are ignorant and they don't understand how it happened. And that's the most frustrating part of all. Never at any point is it the people who are irritating. You can't be upset with Ña Fulana or her seven illegitimate, parasite-ridden children who want to steal your clothes and tell everyone you're there to steal the aquifer. I want to be mad at them but I can't- my anger would be completely small-minded and ill-placed because it's the government that keeps them intentionally in the dark, fostering their ignorance, ensuring that a threat can never materialize. And the government isn't something I can beat as a Peace Corps volunteer.

If we try really really really hard maybe in another 50 years we can beat illiteracy or malnutrition in children. It's highly unlikely but hopefully we can at least reduce the numbers. But corruption in the government which ultimately is the bedrock and the potential solution to every problem the country has? That's not something we're allowed to affect.

So we trudge on against the unbeatable opponent, sweating it out, falling into poop holes, pulling 12-inch worms out of our butts and having our reputations destroyed for having more than one boyfriend in a year, among other travesties.

Sometimes I get stuck thinking about all the unbeatable obstacles in these dog days of summer when my temper, one year in and feeling the weight, is dangerously paired with a thin store of patience and sharp pangs of homesickness. And I think.... What the f@#$ are we doing here?
Two years of your life so people can accuse you of being a spy and spread rumors about you. Two yours of your life so people can tell you, You would have quit by now if they'd put you in the campo. Two yours of your life so people can cancel meeting after meeting or just never show up at all after you worked all night to prepare.

Remember, remember, remember- there's a point. Change one life and it's worth it. Improve one life and it's worth it. And like I've said before, I've already changed and improved my own if no one else's so it's got to be worth it already right....? Those were the honey moon days!

Oh, JFK, give me strength.

"Life in the Peace Corps will not be easy. There will be no salary and allowances will be at a level sufficient only to maintain health and meet basic needs. Men and women will be expected to work and live alongside the nationals of the country in which they are stationed—doing the same work, eating the same food, talking the same language.But if the life will not be easy, it will be rich and satisfying. For every young American who participates in the Peace Corps—who works in a foreign land—will know that he or she is sharing in the great common task of bringing to man that decent way of life which is the foundation of freedom and a condition of peace."John F. Kennedy1961 - 1963

Ah, gawd. Perhaps we think we’ve run out of things to share?  Yes. I do believe that’s what I’m doing now.  I’m sure I’ll start feeling guilty about that soon. When I do, does anybody have any requests?  ~k8g

Today marks the halfway point of the Central American adventure; we are having a grand time. This news was pointed out by K.F.A. circa 4:30 in the morning. I guess now instead of counting up, we are counting down.

Either way... we travel on.

We get to read a lot in our line of work. In a place where meetings usually run about two hours behind schedule or where video games seem like a fabled pastime, a good book is definitely a must-have companion. Most books are passed from one volunteer to the next, creating a sort of informal reading circle; in fact, one of the first things we do when visiting a friend’s site is raid their personal stack, in search of the next page-turner. It’s actually been really educational and provoking to read books that I may have never had the time to pick up otherwise; on my list are so many great books that I’ll always associate with my time here. But every now and then I stumble upon a book that totally stands above the rest, gets seared into my mind, and blows me away as I close the back cover. It’s bittersweet to finish a book like that - it feels like you’re parting with a good friend just as you’re really getting to know one another.  Here’s the book. I don’t know if I’ve posted any other recommendations on this blog, but this one warrants a first. Coincidentally, I hear it’s abuzz in pop culture right now because it’s been made in to an Oscar-nominated movie (and much debated, at that). I had no idea it was even a film when I picked it up and still have no idea if the movie is worthwhile or not. But …the book …is …phenomenal.  I’m not much for official reviews or literary criticism. Suffice it to say, I got lost in this book and was moved by Foer’s fantastic ability to weave a story. This definitely ranks in my top 5 books read in Peace Corps. Pick it up and enjoy.

During training, we received a list of our potential sites, and we all got the chance to “apply” for a site in our program. There are only four secondary math education volunteers, and I was one of them. The four … Continue reading →

I just had to post this. A Form D student named Fule asked me to look over her collection of poetry she has written (what do I look like, the poetry lady?) and maybe help her make a book. Of … Continue reading →

… guy that I just met driving my taxi. … guy ringing me up at the grocery store with no teeth. … crazy drunk 60-year-old that won’t let go of my hand.  Seriously, what do they think we are going … Continue reading →

There is a girl at school named Evelyn (this is her Christian name—more on Basotho naming traditions to come!) and she is a Form B student which is the American equivalent of 9th grade. She asked me to read and edit … Continue reading →

Over Christmas I got in this hitch with a more “well-to-do” Basotho couple and their beautiful newborn baby. As usual with hitches, you try to make conversation any way you can (in Sesotho, and if you’re lucky, in English) and … Continue reading →

The first day, and the rest of the week at Mabuleng Secondary School were not at all what I expected. I guess I should have anticipated what happened – there were signs all around. My supervisor (the principal of the school) had only been around for two days out of the entire summer break from December to January. On Monday January 16, the first day of school, we had a total of 3 teachers (I think there are supposed to be 5), my supervisor was still MIA, and approximately 10 students showed up. I’m pretty sure everyone has known for at least three or four months that the other science/maths teacher left and we need to hire a new one, but that hasn’t happened yet either (no, I didn’t make a mistake, they really call it “maths” here, short for mathematics). I know we have a small school, but I was told “small” meant we have around 50 students enrolled each year. I guess I really did expect those 50 students to show up at 8 AM in their bright blue uniforms on the first day of school. Silly Caitlin! The few that came trickled in gradually between 9 and 11 AM. I did see one at 8 AM, when I arrived, but she wandered off somewhere. We ended up letting them out early at 3 PM. Maybe you’re curious as to what I did during those 7 hours on the first day of school? Sure didn’t teach. A better question is: what are the students doing for those 7 hours? Sitting in the classroom. Not only is that pitiful, but it’s a waste of time and money, especially when these kids barely have the money to pay for school. Apparently the teachers at my school never teach on the first day of school here…they just can’t get organized enough. Initially I thought it was related to the principal being out of town, but it’s not. On the first day of school, half the teachers were absent and we still hadn’t created a timetable or confirmed what classes we’d be teaching exactly. Also, many of the students come from poor families in the surrounding rural villages. Many still haven’t gotten together the funds for school fees, books, and uniforms (only primary education is free in Lesotho unfortunately) by the first day of school. So, I did what the other teachers did: I sat in the teacher’s room. I read an entire novel. A great novel it was, but I couldn’t help but feel as if this situation could have been avoided. I walked home for my hour-long lunch break at 1, called my mom on her birthday, and returned to be told I could go home again. On the second day of school, I was still sitting in the teacher’s room, but I at least planned out the tentative first quarter for each of the three classes I’m projected to teach. I went home early again and made chicken soup. This whole thing has reinforced what I already know and am still trying to get used to: in Africa, things go slowly. There are very few things that run efficiently, but no one seems to mind. It’s important to exercise a lot of patience here; otherwise people from Western cultures will go crazy. To an American, it seems like an awful lot of time is wasted. But the Basotho see it differently. It’s just life and that’s how things go. They never rush themselves or anyone else, which is honestly kind of nice – you never have to worry about being late every once in a while, hell, or even showing up (probably not going to try that one). They seem to have a different concept of time. It is absolutely fascinating to me. So far, I’ve adapted in that I now know how to sit for hours on end. In my three months here, I’ve read 12 books so far (who’s the bookworm now, mom?). I’ve never read much for pleasure because I’ve always felt that I was wasting time – I was somehow never caught up with readings for my classes at my university. But now, I’ve graduated, I’m in Africa, and can read as much as I want. It’s lovely. I never knew how much I enjoyed it. There are some amazing authors out there. Some books I’ve read recently that I recommend include: -The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks (a good story whether you’re into science or not) -The Corrections (about a dysfunctional Midwestern family – I laughed out loud) -The Vegetarian Myth (debunks a lot of veg. arguments and makes you think) -Fall on Your Knees (an international bestseller in Oprah’s book club!) -The Poisonwood Bible (about a missionary family meddling in the Congo) Anyway, I finally started teaching on Friday. I’ve got two science classes and a math class. I’m not a big fan of math, but the math is basic enough and I try to make it fun with games…and minor bribes. “Whoever gets the problem right first gets a sticker!” Kids here will do anything for a sticker. Never underestimate the power of the sticker in Lesotho schools. I certainly have challenges. Right now I’m wondering how the hell I’m supposed to teach the use and parts of a microscope to my science class when we don’t have a science lab or a microscope…this is going be bo-ring! Poor kids. They don’t get to experience the burning and blowing up stuff that made me love science so much. The 5 students in Form A today looked at me like a crazy person when I spoke, even though I do my best to speak as slow as I can and enunciate every single word (we volunteers call this the “box talk”). Almost all of the subjects are taught in English at the secondary level, but out in these parts the English skills ain’t so great. Science presents a double challenge: not only are the students trying to grasp the main concept, but they’re also trying to remember (and pronounce) terms like “mitochondria” and “chloroplasts.” Things are going to go pretty slow! Anyway, I’m finally having fun doing what I came here to do.

Up at 5:00--before the birdies began their tweeting--in pitch black K.F.A. and I executed departure. It was not until the screeching of the gate I was fully awake. The noise mocking my cries--I was not ready to leave Uvita, but we had already extended our stay by a day... and now we are on more stringent deadline since our Nicaragua tickets have a date (in addition to being paid for). So we waddled the half mile to the bus stop to catch the six o´clock bus to San Isidro, arriving just in time for breakfast. Gallo pinto con huevos, anyone? We had planned to make a stop at the post office before catching the bus to San Gerardo, but the best laid plans do not always pan out. In Costa Rica a meal is meant to be enjoyed, therefore if you do not ask for your bill, it will not come. You could look at this as a lot of wasted time, or prime opportunity to allow my cafe negro (black coffee) to cool to a drinkable--not scold my mouth--temperature. During this time I wrote the two postcards I had purchased.

Next we found a bank to restock on funds before heading to the Central Market. The market revealed solely meat, so I was quite happy with our decision to dine elsewhere before this exploration. Bus number two departed at 9:30 for the hour and a half ride to Casa Mariposa (Butterfly House). There is nothing better than a music session in route to each destination with the Costa Rican backdrop, where green-ness travels for miles. At the end of the road we had an estimated kilometer walk--straight uphill with heavy packs. The temperature in the mountains, however, was significantly more welcoming than stale beach air. Somehow we still managed to show up drenched from head-to-toe... and continued on, evading cold mountains showers throughout our this getaway. A tour of the hostel, a brief hammock session, and a sandwich later, we were off to The Cloud Bridge for hiking. The afternoon hike lead us to four distinct waterfalls along the way. The continuous up-and-down was another signal we were at the base of Chirripo, the highest peak in Central America. It was a physically exhausting hike, one though that made you crave more.

On the way home, I stopped to scale a lime tree, capturing four, despite the doubting from my travel-mate. Fun fact: In Costa Rica limes have an orange-like appearance.

Once settled in our comfy cottage, I found a table for journaling--overlooking unbeatable views--with a cup of coffee, courtesy of the hostel. The temperature continued to drop throughout the night, ¨forcing¨ me to bundle up in my fleece. I wish I could convey how wonderful that was.

Dinner was cooked by K.F.A. while I wrapped up my thoughts. The menu for the night: a vegetable medley over couscous. And for our first dessert, K.F.A. fried a plantain and cut up a mango... that rocked. Things got really wild when post-dinner tea was offered(!!!). The rhythm of our travel has found its beat, and while I am grateful to have this much time, as we settle in this routine... I am more and more aware of each minute we have, dreading the fact this excursion too will come to an end.

Day 16, obnoxious afternoon and all, might have been a trip peak. At 6:12 am I heard the first screams of the howler monkeys, later than normal and no less annoying than the repetitive tick of my alarm clock. This was as good a time as any to lace up my running shoes for a jog on the rocky back roads of Uvita, Costa Rica. The run commenced on the beach with stretching before a short walk back to Flutterby, our 'hostel by the sea.' Deciding to be extra hydrated or competitive, K.F.A. and I chugged down full Naglenes. The hostel chef had breakfast waiting, as if he was working directly for us. Our plates did not stay loaded long--this was some of the best gallo pinto con huevos (rice and beans with eggs) to date! And the switch from scrambled to fried egg was a nice touch. Yes, on Day 16 we decided we could not concoct a better breakfast, nor will we tire of this combination. For three dollars this trifecta of food wards off hunger until dinner, not only is this fabulous for the travelers budget, the bikini body appreciates this too.

Following breakfast, we walked to the supermarket for dinner supplies, officially committing to cooking from here on out. Fresh vegetables (cabbage, squash, tomatoes, onion, and garlic) and noodles in hand, we checked out and began the venture home. The groceries were labeled and unloaded. This left us with enough time to catch the (natural) 'Whale Tale' on Playa Uvita, an hour round-trip walk from our temporary home, at low tide. Returning after 11 am, my feet let me know rest time was in order. Wouldn´t you know... the tree house we were sleepìng in had hammocks tied up just below. The plan was to finish Into Thin Air by Jon Krakauer but instead the hour was spent with shut eyes. To recover from the intense nap, we had lunch. I realize 1000 words ago, I mentioned gallo pinto usually tides us over until dinner, meaning the midday meal is skipped, however, a fruit and veggie truck stopped by the hostel seconds after we got back from the supermarket... and sold us on a pineapple for a dollar and change. Enough on being cheap and eating, except I am almost certain this remark is premature because dinner will work its way into being covered--it was spectacular(!!!). So if pineapple is considered lunch, we lunched.

On second thought, lets continue with budget travel. Part of traveling on what I have identified as the ´student´s budget´ means asking plenty of questions--to Ticos (a person of native to Costa Rica) in broken Spanish, to hostel owners, to your guide book, to various travelers along the way--and sufficiently researching. Onwards. K.F.A.´s previous jaunt to the supermarket led to the dicovery of a Tico Bus ticket counter... which we seeked out after lunch. When I say ´seeked out´ I mean we walked there to ask questions about bus tickets to Nicaragua with nothing in hand. To our delight--this was a place for purchasing the advanced tickets we needed. Since we had no money, we quickly walked back to the hostel to collect credit cards... only to return and discover we needed passports. Had this information been distributed prior--say when we mentioned we were going to collect money--that would have have been nice. Each leg of the journey is 12 minutes, 30 minutes roundtrip when you include time to dig through oversized backpacks, fill up water bottles, and use the bathroom. My watch read 3:06 pm when we arrived at The Whale Statue (Yes, the ticket counter was inside a foam-ish whale. Definitely not strange.) on our third attempt. Following the business model of the developing world, the one worker had mysteriously disappeared. Our avid interest in these tickets, coupled with the comment, ¨We will be right back; how late are you open?¨ apparently meant nothing. You can only laught in these situations. After 40 minutes, we gave up.

On rented bikes we took off to further explore Uvita. The problem being these bikes were priced at two dollars per hour for a reason; one bike had you so hunched over the lower back went immediately numb while the other bike I could only picture my 76-year-old grandmother cruising the beach on--this bike did NOT do inclines of any sort. The Whale Statue was a good turn around spot... and luck would have ´our girl´ back--working. The agonizingly slow process of securing tickets flew by, simply because we did not have to ride those bikes. Knowing we have seats on a bus to Nicaragua is a great feeling, days later. The remaining hour of ´bike time´ took us directly back to the hostel, with 20 minutes to spare before our last beach sunset for quite sometime. The sun set well--it did not disappoint.

K.F.A. prepared an epic meal; I watched. We make an incredible team... but I will save those details for another post. (I had to hand-draft this post, making me acutely aware of how obnoxiously long this ramble is. In addition, I am paying money to upload this post. Now I am not only not getting paid to write, I am actually being charged. What happened to ¨free¨ speech?) Luckily after dinner, the typical night--as was the case in Day 16--caps off with dish clean-up, shower, more reading, and bed.

¨We need the possibility of escape as surely as we need hope.¨ (Edward Abbey)

Facebook. I love it, usually. Yes, it is the ultimate time suck, but how else could I maintain connections with so many friends spread out around the world in real time? We can reaffirm that we share the same likes and dislikes, share pictures, and know what’s on each other’s minds. Perhaps Facebook is somewhat superficial, but I love connecting with friends in South Africa, Lesotho, Zimbabwe, New Zealand, France, the Yukon and all across the United States, especially during the World Cup and UEFA Championships.

Except when you find out, through friends of friends who you’ve friended on Facebook, that a new friend is a friend of a really lousy ex-boyfriend who you’ve spent the past 10 years erasing from your brain. Why I dated that bipolar with a drinking problem who was searching for religion but found a girl named Kristjan instead I’ll never know. At first he was that awesome guy at the party that everyone adored, but after the party, he turned into a depressive drunk and shrewd manipulator.

I can deal with the fact that he can google my name all he wants, but to be linked via Facebook is annoying. It means that we could show up at the same party someday through mutual friends, which means small talk, awkward silences, and probably some explanation of why I refused his Friend Request. Oh, and he will ask me why we can’t be friends and insist, in a socially polite manner, that I’m the one with the problem.

How do you tell someone politely that, even after 10 years, he still makes your skin crawl and stomach heave? Trust me, no one wants to get Status Updates from a lousy ex, unless the updates indicate that he’s losing his hair, bouncing checks at Pamida, and has a colonoscopy scheduled for tomorrow morning. Then I would friend him.

I suppose one option for me is not to listen to the signals my body is giving me and pretend that I can transcend these visceral feelings of disgust that scream “Get the hell away from him!” But why live incongruently? It’s perfectly OK by me that he’s not on my greeting card list. Another option could be to friend the sorry schmuck and leave status updates that indicate that everything about me is going swimmingly – you know, like Everyday my career gets better and better! or I just don’t know what to do with all this excess money in my bank accounts! or Losing those last 10 pounds was so easy! Then I could photo shop all of my pictures, removing any acne, wrinkles, or flub.

Or I could just blog it all out of my system and move on with my life. Which is what I’m doing now. Thank you. Carry on.

Digging through my hotmail account this morning, I found an email from 1999 that I wrote to my brother Bjorn, who was about the age I am now when I wrote to him. In August 1999, I was three months out of college – a 22-year-old living abroad in Scotland, working in the Human Resources Department of Standard Life Bank. Even then, I was tortured soul when it came to the workplace. But at least I was funny about it.

***

Date: Sat, 28 Aug 1999 08:48:32 PDT

Okay, BJ, is it just me or does Macalester have little in common with the real world? Did I spend my time in Saint Paul living in a bubble? It may be a tinge of college sickness, but I miss the atmosphere of Macalester. The real world, I find, is filled with far too many non-thinking, dull and routine people who actually enjoy seeking careers in middle management of large corporations.

I think I'll go be a hippi now - or an academic. Fluorescent lighting, pastel & grey office decor, and inefficiency are not my ultimate priorities in life. Oh, the torture! But it pays the bills, right? Maybe I'll look into sustainable agriculture. Organic farming? Dog grooming? Gimme some career ideas, PUH-LEASE!!! Tell me I haven’t spent the first 22 of my life preparing for lifetime of monotonous paperwork and coffee breaks! Reality is so cruel. I think I'll go back to school and suspend reality for a wee bit longer.

Perhaps mom isn't so insane after all – at least being an artist is inspiring. Broke, yes, but also inspiring. Do you know anything more about mom’s career search? I think we should label her experience "Mom in search of self." It is true that working for people who value your work and what drives you is much better than working for people like, oh say, Larry Rehfield.

Offices suck monkey scrotums. Great visual there, eh?

Aside from corporate Scotland, things are alright. Nothing too amazing is happening. Actually, I take that back. I am studying for my GREs. Bummer that I have to spend time learning how to take standardized tests rather than exploring memory research in psychology - something actually pertinent to what I want to do.

On Wednesday I attended a television filming of Top of the Pops, which is the British equivalent to American Bandstand. I saw plenty of bands. I taped the program and you can see the back of my head bouncing up and down in a few shots. Obviously, I'm famous now AND soon I'll be able to live off the royalties of all the re-runs.

The highlight of my week happened yesterday when I discovered a small Mexican-American grocery store about a half mile from my flat. I found black beans, salsa, blue corn ships, cajun sauces, tortillas, guacamole, ben & jerry's ice cream, and hershey's chocolate syrup! What a dream!! Due to the low to non-existent Latino population in Scotland, as one might imagine, there is a definite shortage of Mexican food items. Heck, I have yet to meet anyone who’s heard of Tex-Mex food.

Well, I gotta dash. I hope all is going well at the Fort. Hey - I changed my return ticket from September 1st to December 11th...the next three months had better damn well be worth it!! Cross your fingers for me.

I'll talk to you later!

Love,

Sarah Kristjan

Over the weekend I listened to Freakonomics’ Radio Show on The Upside of Quitting. Quitting has evoked such traumatic responses from me, which often involve too many glasses of wine or gin & tonics as I slowly arrive at the self-pitying conclusion that I can’t hack it. So many people are then forced to endure my lesser qualities, like insecurity, denial, and humorless diatribes for months on end. What’s usually been the case, though, is that I’ve landed in unhealthy work environments, surrounded by insecure, incompetent leaders and catty colleagues whispering about one another in cubicles.

Why I invested even more time and energy in those work places, rather than sprinting out the nearest exit, is beyond me. I suppose I felt that quitting meant failure. Winners never quit and quitters never win, right?

Well, Freakonomics suggests that, if you do want to quit, do so quickly and don’t look back. Don’t worry about what economists call sunk costs, or all the time, money, and emotion one has invested in a losing endeavor. Two years ago, my husband gave me the same advice as I tortured everyone around me about whether or not to leave the community clinic where I had invested four years of my life and way too much of my self-worth. But, for whatever reason, I needed a radio show to validate what my nearest & dearest friends had been telling me all along.

Unfortunately, this clinic was the Vietnam War of community clinics and my supervisor was its Ngo Dinh Diem. Pulling out should have been a no-brainer, but instead I rationalized why I should invest even more of my career and myself into that clinic. I’ve since watched two close colleagues go through the same internal conflicts and wage the same tortured arguments with their husbands, eventually making the decision to leave.

I’m not sure if we were too entrenched to let go. Maybe we felt that, if we allowed our marriages and families to come first (for once), we would be bailing on the patients and clinic’s mission. As hardworking Idealists, we each felt doubly lousy about quitting.

About three years ago, I put in so many hours at that clinic that an endless cold morphed into pneumonia. I was sick for three months because I couldn’t use any sick time to recuperate. There were too many grants to write, data queries to design, projects to manage, and reports to write. Around this time a close friend, probably watching my descent into the never-ending workload abyss, emailed a quote by Thomas Merton, a Trappist monk of the Abbey of Gethsemani in Kentucky.

“There is a pervasive form of contemporary violence to which the idealist fighting for peace most easily succumbs: activism and over-work. The rush and pressure of modern life are a form, perhaps the most common form, of innate violence. To allow oneself to be carried away by a multitude of conflicting concerns, to surrender to too many demands to commit oneself to too many projects, to want to help everyone and everything is to succumb to violence. The frenzy of the activist neutralizes work for peace. It destroys the fruitfulness of the work because it kills the root of inner wisdom which makes the work fruitful.”

I really like this quote. It gets right to the heart – and the heartache - of my internal struggle. I loved my job at that community clinic. I loved the mission. I loved the patients. I loved so many of my colleagues. I loved that I could combine my analytical, writing, and project management skills to make people’s lives better. But I also love my husband. I love being healthy. I love being sane. I love being able to look to my director and other leaders and know that both the patients’ needs and my personal life are in good hands.

So I left. And, when the next job didn’t pan out in the Competent Leadership & Healthy Workplace Departments, I left again – only this time I left much more quickly. Now I find myself on a sharp, dedicated team with a dynamic, highly-effective director who isn’t threatened by me when I do a damn fine job. Don’t get me wrong - the Idealist in me still yearns to be back in a community health clinic.

I’ll get back to community health: it’s in my DNA. But no more sunk costs or contemporary violence, please. When I return to community health, I’ll be a much stronger, healthier leader for having quit in October 2009 to find stronger leadership and healthier role models. My future is bright.

Over the past two weeks work has become much more manageable, mostly because my big “first 90 day” project is finally smooth and everyone is calm. The nursing team that I supervise connected with the project lead (an MD) and got their long list of clinical questions answered. Then I worked with the nursing team to adjust their workflows and with the project lead to send out organization-wide status updates on the project.

On Monday, we even trained another RN joining the project. I was amazed how easily this training went. At 4:15 I checked in with the team to see if anyone had any questions and concerns. Everyone was fine. Everyone knew exactly what to do; everyone except me because I had grown accustomed to being needed until 6:30 in the evening. It took me about 15 minutes to realize that I could go home.

This past week I made headway on so much other work that had piled up, and I was able to arrive at the office by 8:15 and leave by 4:45 each day, without any struggles. It was the most unfamiliar feeling. The sky was not falling in. No one was bailing on the project. No one was complaining. No one was lost, dazed, or confused.

A girl could get used to this.

Nine days ago I experienced a rough patch at work. Okay, perhaps it was more of a meltdown. After five intense weeks of ten-hour days and taking work home with me on weekends, I cracked. Cracked looks like me slumped over my desk whimpering, writing down everything that needs to be done on small yellow post-it notes, chunking the notes into increasingly overwhelming to-do categories on flip-chart paper, highlighting the ten tasks that must be done in the next three days, while colleagues drift by to encourage me to take better care of myself.

“No shit,” I thought.

The truth of the matter is that, two weeks into my new gig, I inherited the responsibility of cleaning up a one-year, enterprise-wide project that had gone awry months ago – well before I was even interviewing for my current position. The planning phase was delayed. One of the project leaders bailed. The project had cycled through two previous project managers, who had each gone one maternity leave. The testing and pilot phases weren’t completed adequately before spreading the new tools and workflows throughout the organization and there was a huge glitch in the data required for public reporting.

So there I was with a highly visible project to clean up and an email from the CEO, along with other C-Suite staff, that urged “Let’s go!” I had one month to establish a project goal, secure budgets, staffing, and resources, chart a project plan, assemble a new project team, develop new workflows and training, and figure out what on earth was going on with our reporting data. Then I was given until June 30th to get results.

No pressure, right?

I’ve since made a lot of magic happen – a lot more magic than anyone thought possible by surpassing the project goal two weeks ago – and we still have four weeks to go. I’ve experienced some substantial hurdles as new employee: delayed access to the data and operation systems that form the foundation of the new workflows; unfamiliarity with the organizational structure and culture; and the inability to access my email and computer files from off-site until six month into my employment.

But, despite these setbacks, I’m still hauling ass and will make the organization look damn good when it comes time to publicly report their progress in July. When I step back, the Achiever in me beams about the accomplishments I’ve made during the first 90 days on the job.

Unfortunately, there’s a downside. I’m exhausted. I’ve pulled out of the activities that I love: I cancelled my yoga membership because I can’t make it to any classes and I’ve missed my weekly German class three times in the past 90 days because I’m too brain dead to function auf Deutsch. What they don’t tell you about big successes during the first 90 days on the job is that the side effects may include frustration, stress, anxiety, insomnia, irritability, and lack of perspective.

I think what eats most at me is an impending sense of failure. By failure, I mean my inability to perform extremely well at my job, hold onto my personal life, and retain my sanity at the same time. I just don’t think this is possible in America, where we work long hours and are allotted two to three weeks off a year. Four weeks, if we’re lucky. I can’t even imagine how my colleagues, friends and family juggle all of this and raise children. I doubt that I could.

This past week I slowed down. I worked 8-9 hour days and even found time to take a one-hour lunch break on Thursday. I’m not exactly where I want to be, but I took some baby steps towards that fuzzy, potentially nonexistent notion called work-life balance. I squeezed in a yoga class, completed a couple of five-mile runs, attended my German class and went out for drinks afterwards. It was nice and I hope to have many more weeks like this.

I accepted a new job almost three months ago. I had good vibes about my director and team and, on the whole, I still do. What happened, though, is that I’m now in way over my head with project-related work. I’m so far under water that I don’t know where to start or what to do anymore. I pretty much feel like a complete failure. I don’t know if any of you have ever had the involuntary phrase, YOU ARE A FAILURE, as your mantra of the week, but it sucks. Totally sucks.

For a while I thought, “I’m new – it will take time to get up to speed.” The problem is that I have no time to get-up-to-speed because there are so many things to fix NOW. “Now now” as the Basotho would say. But, when I’m two months into a new job immersed in 6-8 projects, working 10 hour days and bringing work home over the weekend, time isn’t what I have. Insecurity and insomnia I have in spades, but time – not so much. I even cancelled my yoga membership because I can’t make it to any classes. Work just keeps proliferating.

This is not what I intended. I came to this new position, treating it as a litmus test for my career in health care. If I can succeed in this job and remain sane, I’ll stay in healthcare. If I can’t succeed or maintain my sanity, then it’s time for some major self-evaluation and a career change. It’s looking like a career change might be in my future. Probably not in my immediate future, but somewhere in the next 2-4 years, or until my director asks me to leave, whichever comes first.

A friend of mine recently posted a Facebook status wishing something along the lines of wanting to go back five years in time and choosing the other career path instead of the one she’s on now. I feel the same, wishing I could have gone back to the summer of 2007 to stack my odds differently. Then again, by returning to Minnesota I met my wonderful husband, who has helped me through all my tumultuous work situations and feelings of professional inadequacy.

Maybe for both my friend and me, we should keep plugging away with an eye on a better destination. Maybe we slow down just a little bit and start to correct our course, adjusting our sails and crossing our fingers for less stormy seas. And, until then, we find a life preserver and hang on for dear life.

This week I’ve been vacillating between feeling that everything will be OK and we’re all free to be you and me, and feeling that people behave in the oddest, most inaccessible ways and it’s a wonder that we’re not all in court-mandated mental health rehabilitation, myself included. I can’t tell if I’m awkwardly self-aware or painfully self-absorbed: mostly, it depends on whether I’ve been talking with colleagues in my current work place or people from my previous work places.

This may have an awful lot to do with the fact that I’m five weeks into my new job, operating at a higher level of responsibility among directors, vice presidents, senior vice presidents, and C-level leaders. Being politically, culturally and emotionally astute is so vital at this level, so I feel like I’m exploring some deep, dark jungle rife with jackals, gorillas and leopards. In the past these explorations have been organizational manifestations of Heart of Darkness or the all-female casting of Lord of the Flies, so, as you can imagine I’m a bit circumspect about my new employer.

Still, despite my previous encounters with bullies, gossip, and duplicity, my new organization is feeling a bit more Jane Goodall. Which is a relief. I’m impressed by my director and team and their focus on healthy workplace behavior, but I’m worried that I’ve picked up some really bad, unhealthy behaviors from my previous positions and that these behaviors may bite me in the ass. I’m just not sure.

Last month I wrote an entry about handstands in yoga class and how I yearned for a new director who would be like my yoga teacher in San Luis Obispo: someone who leads me into challenging new territory and promises not to let me fall. Someone who can bring out the best in me and guides me from trepidation into exploration and discovery. I’ve found this person in my new director - it feels like I’ve won the lottery. Like my first reactions in that yoga studio, I’ve felt panicked and unsure of myself. Slowly, though, I’ll figure it out, calm down, engage the right skills and move with more grace. It will simply take time and practice and tumbling over a few times.

There is so much to learn.

Joe and I are now back on the frozen tundra. I’m not sure why we felt compelled to book a return flight to Minnesota, but walking home from the VA Light Rail Station in 16 degrees with 18 mile-per-hour winds out of the north at six in the morning screamed the vacation is over! O-V-E-R. Over!

Looking outside our bedroom window I still see 20 inches of snow on the ground. I can also hear our neighbor, Tim, chipping away at ice dams on his roof and cranking up the ol’ snow blower to clear his walkways again. Despite the twenty-degree weather this mid-March weekend, folks are excited because we have a "warm week ahead of us" with highs in the 40s - possibly in the low 50s, which means we will get rain instead of snow this week.

Minnesota sure has a way of humbling a person. I'm trying to stay strong, but I’m reminiscing about the taste the fresh, ripe strawberries from Santa Maria while our washing machine removes the last grains of California sand from my clothes downstairs.

With a glimmer of hope in my mind’s California-honed eye, I peeked online for apartments near Santa Monica and jobs at UCLA this afternoon. There is an opening for a Senior Fund Manager at the UCLA Program in Global Health. It totally has my name on it and it’s located five miles from the Pacific Ocean. And I’m sure that Joe and I could shell out $2200/month for a small rental in Westwood, within walking distance to UCLA, or a “spacious” 826 square feet apartment located 2 blocks from the Santa Monica Beach. I could do good work by day and, by night or weekend, we could take our dogs to the Santa Monica Pier and learn how to swing around adult-sized jungle gyms with the Trapeze School of New York-Los Angeles.

Or, you know, I could humbly and diligently focus on my New Employee Orientation at HealthPartners, which starts tomorrow at 8:30am and remain in our 1,400 square feet home with a huge backyard that costs considerably less that $2,200/month to own. Yes, I hear wonderful things about working at HealthPartners and I’ll only have a 10 minute commute to work each day via light rail. But, you see, HealthPartners and our home are located 1,900 miles away from the Santa Monica Pier, which is a mega drawback to residing in Minnesota.

Yesterday I dropped in on a Strong Vinyasa class at Smiling Dog Yoga Studio in San Luis Obispo, California. The teacher was a Hare Krishna dude with a shaved head and good sense of humor. He howled in Warrior II pose. And, due to restricting bread, dairy and beer from his diet, he’s lost 67 pounds and still has about 10 more pounds to go to get to his goal weight. What I liked most about him, though, is that he - quite unpredictably - pulled me up into a handstand in the middle of class and held me there for a good 30 seconds and commanded me to squeeze.

At first I panicked: What the fuck! GET ME DOWN!!! I didn’t know what part of me to squeeze and I was sure I’d tumble backwards. When he promised that he wouldn’t drop me, I thanked him quietly and felt the fear morph into complete awareness of the grip my hands had on the floor, the tightening of my core, thighs and glutes, and the total need for me to continue building strength in my shoulders and triceps. Later we practiced kicking up into a handstand on the wall. I wasn’t able to kick-up yesterday, but I started to get the gist of what I’ll need to do. It was exhilarating to explore this new challenge and to begin conquering the trepidation!

I’m not one to indulge in fate and I don’t usually subscribe to some universe-inspired notion that I am exactly where I need to be right now. Mostly I tend to think that life is a matter of showing up, hauling ass, and surrounding yourself with kind, witty, sharp people who can remind you to stop hauling ass every once in a while and to start smelling the roses.

Still, Mr. Hare Krishna Yoga Teacher, with all his humor and howling, also offered some much-needed reflections in his class yesterday. The universe doesn’t really care if I can kick up into a handstand or not. The universe also doesn’t care if I fall over or not. It matters not. Just like it really doesn’t matter if I succeeded at my last job. Pretty much the only person who cares about my status at my last job is me. My husband doesn’t think less of me just because my former colleagues held me in such low regard. My parents still love me. My friends still love me. The people (and dogs) who matter most to me still love me even though my former colleagues don’t think I’ll all that and a bag of chips.

He reminded us that every one of us has been hurt deeply and that we all have some dark moments, thoughts, and behaviors that we may not be so proud of. Every single one of us. But it doesn’t do us any good to succumb to those dark aspects of ourselves or to let how we’ve been wounded define ourselves. Dogs do an excellent job of getting over pain. If you accidentally step on their tail, a dog will yip one second and then start licking you the next second. Dogs don’t hole themselves up for a week crying over someone stepping on their tail.

Our pain may be temporary or fleeting and each day offers a new chance to strip ourselves of bad behaviors. During some final stretches in class, the teacher asked us to think about where we are today and whether this place is the hill that we want to die on. In my mind’s eye, of course, I’m reeling from the pain of leaving a job in such a tumultuous way as well as coming to grips with some less-than-graceful behaviors I perpetrated before I left. During my last six months on the job, I gossiped rampantly and grew impatient and condescending towards my colleagues. I knew the position was a poor fit for me long ago and yet I still wasn’t able to let go in a healthy way that fostered grace and compassion towards my colleagues. I’m not very proud of my own behavior.

I’ll admit, after I left my job on Friday, I had what felt like an insurmountable fear about starting my next job. I worried about feelings of failure and falling into the same negative patterns of gossip and impatience. Fortunately, though, today is a new day and Monday offers a fresh start at a new job. We’ll see if my next director is like my yoga instructor - someone who leads me into challenging new territory and promises not to let me fall. Someone who can bring out the best in me and guides me from trepidation into exploration and discovery. I really hope she is.

I don’t recall crying this much after I left my last job, a job that I absolutely loved and was completely conflicted over leaving, except for the fact that I was completely burnt out. Non-profit work can do that do a girl. Tonight, though, I came home after a lovely, small happy hour and just sobbed uncontrollably for about an hour.

Never before have I been so disliked by so many of my colleagues. It does make me take pause, wondering if I really am the biggest asshole in the room and whether everyone would be better off if I just overdosed on sleeping pills right now. And, while that could be true, I don’t think that’s an ideal solution. I know I morphed into an impatient, frustrated jerk after one year on the job, but this was after one year of a colleague consistently holding court with both my manager and director, oh-so-very concerned that I wasn’t able to provide clear instruction and direction for a major project.

Nevermind the fact that I walked into the project without much documentation about what was done in the past or that the project was a complete mess years before I even accepted the job offer. Or the fact that, over the past 5-10 years, no one has been able to last in my role for longer than two years or that I took that project further than it has ever been in that organization. Still, she spent so much time talking up her concerns and anxiety about my work to my manager and director that, no matter what I did or didn’t do, I just looked bad and was disregarded at every single meeting. EVERY...SINGLE...MEETING. This colleague took over my meetings and their agendas and took over the direction of the project. For some reason she expected me to be grateful for her initiative.

Today, on my last day with this organization, she decided to stop talking to me altogether because I got upset with her for messing up the work that I was trying to wrap up before I left. And, of course, she made sure to complain about me and the status of the project to my director and then made sure that folks in another department sent me emails with the work-language equivalent of “kiss off” on my last day.

It was swell. Really f-ing swell.

I’ve come to accept that I will be blamed for everything that goes wrong with this project and that my colleague will be esteemed with anything that goes right with this project. I get it. That’s how they all roll, but I don’t think I can go through this again, at least not in the next 2-3 years. This was so senselessly brutal. It was so high school.

Fortunately, Joe and I are heading to California tomorrow. I’ll have one week in sixty degree weather to rejuvenate and turn over a new leaf. So, if anyone has anything nice or remotely supportive to say about me, now would be an excellent time to tell me.

Yes, I think it would kill them to say thank you. I bet, too, if they forced themselves to think upstream – just the tiniest little bit upstream - that their heads would explode, which (of course) would necessitate closed-casket funerals. So it’s no wonder that thanking me for thinking so far upstream so often, in a way that makes everyone’s work downstream so much quicker & smoother, is so risky. God forbid I get recognition for going above and beyond in my work, translating into potentially millions of dollars for the organization without requiring any additional budget lines, staffing, or schmoozing. God forbid.

Perhaps it is better just to think small, concrete, and last-minute. React to fires. Be a hero for actions that shouldn’t have required heroism in the first place.

I think I’m a little edgy today. After a meeting with a colleague whom I’ve nicknamed “Debbie Downer,” I posted a Facebook status update that read Sometimes, like today, I feel like kicking someone so hard. You see, Debbie Downer took over my meeting, focusing on a tiny piece of the picture (the tiny piece that just so happens to be hers). She focused on that task because it is also a very concrete task with well-defined turnaround times and expectations. Unfortunately, there are a lot of fluid, critical, abstract tasks that must be executed elegantly in order for her concrete task to be neat and tidy…or even feasible.

And whose been working on all of those never-before-seen, fluid, abstract tasks over the past three months? Me. And whose questions didn’t get addressed during the meeting? Yep, mine.

I know I’m a pretty sharp gal. I also know that I’m having a really hard time selling people on the importance of planning, thinking upstream, and seeing the big picture along with its requisite detailed components. Of course, I only have seven more work days with this work team, so I won’t have to sell these folks on my skill set for much longer.

But, what if I get to my next workplace and they decide that these skills aren’t very valuable either? Or, what if I really am the condescending know-it-all jerk that my current colleagues, manager, and director think I am? Oh my. Well, then I suppose I get serious about becoming a yoga instructor and a travel writer after all.

I have over-shared my honest-to-God diaphragm experience with two trusted individuals in my life. Both have indicated a strong desire to share this story with others, so I thought I’d be the first to over-share this experience with my blog audience. Warning: Ew factor ahead.

On Christmas Day, the day Christians around the world celebrate the birth of the sweet baby Jesus, I stopped using the birth control pill. No longer could I tolerate the side effects, like DD boobs, acne flair ups, irregular periods, yeast infections, flattening emotion, and water retention. I was just done with it, despite the fact that Joe is still not ready to let go of my DD breasts (quite literally).

Don't worry – I’m not pregnant.

So, earlier this month I went into my primary care provider, a former hippie wearing brown Dansko clogs, who finally convinced me to switch to a diaphragm. Yep, that's right, Kristjan is going old school.

Have you ever experienced inserting and removing a silicon diaphragm multiple times in front of a health care professional? It's a bit awkward, but being the go-getter than I am, I hopped to it. Hand me a silicone object that looks like Yakama for Jewish gnome and an ounce of lube and I shift into over-achiever gear. In fact, it turns out that I’m an old pro at removing and inserting a diaphragm thanks to my experience in college with a disposable DivaCup-like feminine hygiene product that I purchased at Target. The other women on my floor even christened me with the nickname "Cup Girl.”

Standing in front of my doctor with the paper gown falling to the floor beneath me, I inserted the diaphragm for the first time in less than two minutes. Two minutes! Other novices take up to 45 minutes. A+ for Special K (another college nickname of mine).

I proudly strutted out of Dr. Erhardt’s office with my new 65mm diaphragm prescription. What I didn't realize is that obtaining a diaphragm and an inexpensive spermicidal lubricant in a simple 3.8 ounce tube takes a lot of searching in the Twin Cities Metro Area. Not to mention complete unflappability. My health insurance plan doesn't cover a prescription for the device and, apparently, Walgreen’s Pharmacy doesn't stock diaphragms or spermicidal lubricants in simple 3.8 ounce tubes. But they do have the Sponge in stock. Also, the pharmacists I talked to tend to think that diaphragms don't exist anymore. This is somewhat true, considering that only 0.2% of American women use a diaphragm. However, after an extensive web search on the topic, I learned that several reputable feminist contraceptive organizations are all about the diaphragm. It appears to be the next best thing to speculums & self exams.

Anyway, so I went to my local Walgreen’s Pharmacy with my prescription in hand thinking this will all be really quick. In and out in less than five minutes, just like my practice sessions in front of Dr. Erhardt. Nope. The pharmacist called their supplier on speaker phone, but thankfully used the National Drug Code (NDC) number instead of repeating, "Diaphragm. Yes, I said, Diaphragm. DI-A-PHRA-MMMM." That was kind. So Walgreen’s ordered my 65mm diaphragm and asked me to return the next day to retrieve it.

When I returned, however, the Walgreen's pharmacists knew that the diaphragm was in stock, but no one knew where the supplier had put it. I had a few ideas about where they could put it, but I didn't share my comments aloud. All I wanted was to go home and have uber-protected, non-baby-making sex with my condom-wearing husband. But no dice.

So I returned last night for a second time. I again searched the shelves for spermicidal lubricant and got in the pharmacy line with my big box of spermicide that comes in individual applicators, waiting for my turn at the Walgreen’s Pharmacy counter. And I kid you not, but right when it was my turn to approach the counter, a pharmacist called out over the loud speaker, "Mr. Sieman, your prescription is ready."

Seconds later, Mr. Sieman tapped me on my shoulder and cut ahead of me in line, "I'm Tim Sieman. I was paged over the loud speaker."

And I muttered, my arms brimming with spermicide, "Go ahead. I can wait." Mr. Sieman raised an eyebrow.

Then it was my turn to approach the pharmacist for my prescription, with my arms loaded with applicators full of spermicidal lubricant. I sighed to the man behind the counter, "The irony of this situation is not lost on me. I’m Kristjan Selvig and I’m here to pick up my prescription."

The pharmacist retrieved my prescription, raised an eyebrow, rung me up at the cash register, and then said, "Have a good one."

"I always do," I responded.

Today, focus is not in my vocabulary. I am trying to get my act together, but this one woman show is in intermission. Yesterday was productive and I’m sure tomorrow will be productive, too. Just not today. So I thought I’d type up a little blog about my experience with job interviewing, from my recent perspective as an interviewee.

Interviewing feels an awful lot like dating, with LinkedIn being the professional equivalent of eHarmony. You make a date with a prospective employer, do a bit of googling, ransack your closet for the right outfit that communicates the appropriate physical message, draft a list of conversation topics, and show up still not knowing if you have prepared enough, revealed too much or too little, appeared overly eager, or will be invited back for a second date or to meet the family.

And, ever so gingerly, you have to address why things haven’t worked out in previous relationships without implying that any of it was ever your fault. “I’m looking for more work/life balance,” might gloss over the fact that your current director is a compensatory narcissist with Attention Deficit Disorder. “I’m looking to take on more professional responsibility” could either indicate that you’re sick of being a professional meeting scheduler, ego stroker, and ass coverer in your current role or it might mean that you are a power-hungry megalomaniac. On the one hand, you do want to move up in this world. On the other hand, the person interviewing you probably doesn’t want your next move to be his/her position in the company. At least not until s/he has figured out how to take over their supervisor’s position.

Then you leave the interview and you wait by the phone and check your email ten times each hour to see if the department’s executive assistant is trying to contact you for another date with the director or the team, or perhaps to take a psychometric assessment in Human Resources. Your confidence bangs and crashes around as your heart rate and blood pressure rise and self-esteem plummets with each passing hour. How could they not want me? Of course they want me! Why haven’t they called yet? Screw them - I’m too good for them anyway! Omigod, I will be stuck in this dead-end job for the rest of my life ‘cuz lord knows Social Security and my 401(k) will probably shrivel up when I retire. Maybe it’s time to explore a life of travel writing, yoga instruction, and poverty. Damn it! I missed their call because I left my cell phone on Silent.”

Actually, I think my job search & interview experience is far less dramatic for me than it is for a lot of talented people out there because I have been fortunate enough to search for other positions while being employed. I am lucky to have a safety net called a steady paycheck, even though those paychecks have needed approvals from a compensatory narcissist or department director bolting around with undiagnosed ADD.

Interviewing is tough. Finding the right career fit is even tougher. But I’m going to keep putting myself out there. In fact, a department’s executive assistant called me up yesterday to “meet the team” at the end of this month. Last week, I met with the director of that department and we dorked out on healthcare quality indicator data and graphs for 90 minutes. She had me hooked at the end of the interview when she said, "You have to be able to build relationships. If you can't build relationships, you can't do this job." I nearly dropped to one knee and proposed to her right then. All of it was music to my ears and, as I drove home, I felt like Julie Andrews in The Sound of Music.

So if you’re looking for a job or need a stiff drink after a bizarre interview, send me an email. We’ll talk. We’ll commiserate. And, eventually, we’ll soon be on better, saner, more passionate career paths. We just have to learn how to be ourselves. Well, maybe just 80% of ourselves on the first date.

This weekend is an excellent time for hibernating in Minnesota. About 8-10 inches of snow has already fallen, another six inches is on the way, and then the strong winds and arctic cold blast will soon swoop into the Twin Cities. So, if you didn’t stock up on beer, carbs, and coffee last night at your local grocery store, chances are that you are S.O.L. for a few days until all the snow plows, snow blowers, and snow shovelers have restored order to the white washed chaos outside.

Moroho refuses to spend much time outdoors and I’m not sure if he can lift his leg high enough to pee on the snowbanks. The snowbanks are very, very high and getting higher by the minute. I’m even less sure how he’ll negotiate a number two. Somedays it just sucks to be a transplant from Africa, even though Minnesota is a land of milk and honey (ie, Chuck n Don’s Pet Store). Right now he’s curled up by my feet, snoring. Cozy. Dreading the implications of a full bladder.

I’m also curled up with my laptop, wondering if I should blog about workplace dynamics or finding my professional self. I think an awful lot about who I am professionally and where I want to go professionally and it consumes so much of me. I hardly think the worry and panic is worth the energy, mostly because I’m unconvinced that being a Miz Big Shot equates to being a good person. Also, I don’t think that measuring myself by a series of job titles or performance reviews is indicative of whether or not I’m accomplishing meaningful life goals. Sometimes I think I get bit off-track by comparing myself to others’ achievements and waiting around for my professional peers to validate me.

What I’m trying to do is find a few good hobbies. I definitely have two hobbies that have developed recently: practicing Yoga and learning German. Perhaps this seems like an odd combination, but it works for me. Both keep me active - one physically and one mentally - and both help me filter out all sorts of insecure noise so that I can focus on one thing in the present moment. When I was younger, I used to get the same feeling from drawing still lifes: it was just me, a pad of paper and a graphite pencil, and my hand and eyes tracing the lines of the objects before me. Everything else vanished for an hour.

Quieting my mind is bliss. I don’t know if you’ve tried to kick up into a headstand with grace and ease, but I’ve found that I need to be fully immersed in the moment when I do. My mind and body sync together, scanning my forearms, head, shoulders, core, hips, and legs to make sure I’m balanced. I don’t think about anything else other than breathe. I don’t know if you’ve tried to learn a new language either, but I also find that I need to be awfully focused in order to figure out where Bitte bleiben Sie am Apparat fits into a telephone conversation.

The freedom to make lots of mistakes while learning something new is also bliss. Like a baby taking its first steps or learning its first words, I am constantly toppling over in yoga or mispronouncing or misspelling words in German. Yet no tells me to stop trying; my yoga instructor will simply adjust my pose or friends will correct my German. And, as far as I can tell, nobody is jealous when I do succeed. I’m pretty sure my ability to do a headstand or say “Please hold” in German doesn’t threaten anyone. In fact, most people probably consider these accomplishments nice party tricks. I love it.

So that’s my Saturday for you. Shoveling. Hibernating. Ruminating. Rubbing my dog’s belly. Heading back outdoors to shovel again. And again. And again. It’s actually quite nice to be stuck in the house, unable to go anywhere. Like my hobbies, this weather is also creating a place of stillness, where my dog and I can curl up together and enjoy the moment. Fortunately, Joe ran to the store last night to stock up on food and drink, so we are totally set for the weekend. I hope you are able to savor your weekend, too.

I’m not sure how to approach this blog posting without offending women. Still, I’m driven to explore how competent, articulate, thoughtful women can transcend other women who feel threatened by these qualities in the workplace. Surviving the sisterhood of workplace infighting is what Peggy Klaus, a leadership coach in Berkeley, CA, refers to as the “the pink elephant in the room.” Throughout my professional journey through college, graduate school, internships, fellowships, U.S. Peace Corps service, and my career in healthcare quality improvement, I’ve forged strong, supportive friendships with an amazing group of brilliant, driven women in their late 20’s and early 30’s. In my most recent professional positions, however, I’ve run into a female bully for a supervisor and now a team of five women, four of whom spent the first six to twelve months of my employment ostracizing me. My female manager and director continue to isolate and sabotage me in other indirect ways, too.

I’m a competent, sharp, articulate, mindful, dedicated employee who is really good at her job. So what gives? Why can women be our own worst enemies at work?

Klaus presents a few theories explaining why the women’s movement didn’t remove the very real barrier of how badly women can treat one another in the workplace. Perhaps the scarcity of senior level positions drives women to obstruct other women who could potentially replace them. A very likely consequence is that women bully other women who threaten their ascent to the top. I’m 80% sure this is why a former female supervisor spent over a year bullying me. No matter what kind of challenge she threw at me, I maintained collegial, collaborative working relationships with diverse staff throughout the organization, learned how to use the organization’s business analytics tools without any training whatsoever, and successfully fulfilled an intense schedule of annual grant writing and reporting deadlines. I was excellent at my job and I was getting many compliments from senior leadership. However, the more I achieved and the more attention I received, the worse her bullying became.

Other people posit that women may feel that no one helped them get to where they are and insist that other women pull themselves up by their own bootstraps, too. Similarly, women may fear being accused of showing favoritism, and so they inadvertently undermine one another. Then there are explanations that center on women’s hyper-emotionality or assert that women haven’t been socialized to compete in the workplace in a healthy way. Another phenomenon I’ve witnessed is a codependent, mother-daughter-like bond that forms between an incompetent senior leader in her mid to late fifties and an incompetent manager in her early to mid thirties. The manager shields her senior leader from any criticism, either constructive or negative, while the senior leader protects her manager from the destructive consequences of her actions. It seems that these women need their alliance to remain in their positions of power.

Whatever the reason may be, transcending the pink elephant in the room requires a keen insight into gender office politics and being an introspective, discerning employee who can stay focused on her job, form strategic alliances, find a mentor, and refuse to participate in triangulation and gossip. As an INTJ female, thriving in a blame-oriented hierarchical work culture comprised of insecure female managers and directors, talking around the issues, and trying not to offend female colleagues threatened by other women isn’t my strong suit. Yet this is exactly where I find myself today. Operating in this culture chips away at my self-confidence and repeats all of the negative labels that family members and colleagues have attributed to me over the years; that is, that I’m too aloof, direct, argumentative, detached, and intimidating.

Yes, of course, I’m far from perfect and I have plenty of opportunities for improvement, as we like to say in the quality industry. But wallowing over my female colleagues’ snide 360 review comments such as “Kristjan tries too hard to appear competent...” doesn’t help in the long term. For whatever reason, I think my female colleagues would prefer that I be less competent or, at the very least, appear less competent than what I am. I’m not sure that forgoing competence in order to fit in is worth the sacrifice, though. I simply love to problem-solve, communicate complicated regulations and information in a concise, easy-to-understand manner, develop proactive, creative solutions to challenging problems, and be mindful of other departments’ and colleagues’ time, processes, and priorities. It’s the way I’m built.

Recently, I related my pink elephant challenges to a former Peace Corps colleague who initially intimidated me. She’s driven, competent, hardworking, articulate, and dedicated; I remember pegging her as a show off and worrying that she would compete with me when I first met her. Still, I dug deep and admitted that my own insecurities were the real issue - not my colleague’s brilliance. So, during the first week of our Peace Corps training, I deliberately spent more time getting to know her. I figured it would be really hard to be jealous or insecure if I learned that she was human. I’m so glad that I made the effort; as it turns out, she’s one of the most deeply caring and concerned women I’ve ever known. The reason she works so damn hard is because she truly cares about improving the health and welfare of others. Plus, it’s simply her nature to strive for excellence, which I can totally understand.

We became good friends who provided invaluable support to one another throughout our difficult service. Her work and dedication continue to inspire to me. Unfortunately, other women in her professional life continue to ostracize and sabotage her. “There are women - always women - who I feel hate me for no good reason.  I've never (to my knowledge) said anything mean about them, kicked their puppy, put salt in their sugar dish or put them down in front of a superior.” Like me, this eats away at her self-confidence and she spends a disproportionate amount of energy complimenting other women, giving credit for major accomplishments to other colleagues, and figuring out how to change herself so that other women will like her. “No dice,” she reports, many women still won’t give her a chance.

Clearly, I’m not alone. I don’t feel that my former Peace Corps colleague should change one thing about herself. Trust me - she’s amazing. So what can women do to support each other? I suppose we could start by recognizing that the pink elephant exists and addressing female bullying and sabotage in seminars on women’s leadership. I also think we need to figure out, on a personal level, how to move past our own jealousies and insecurities so that we can form wonderful, mutually supportive relationships with other women. For myself, more specifically, I need to take responsibility for my own bad behavior in my current work situation. That is, I need to focus more on what I love about my job, form constructive alliances and relationships with others, find a professional mentor, and stop participating in workplace gossip and triangulation.

Sometimes I feel like I need to make a silly choice between beating other women or joining other women in bad workplace behavior, but this seems like a rather false, lose-lose dichotomy. Instead, I want it all. I want to be an ethical, supportive, healthy woman who does good work and forms strong professional bonds with other women so that we can all support one another and do good work. Maybe this sounds very pie-in-the-sky or too impossible, but this is what I hope to develop in my professional life over the next 30-40 years.

I read an article recently that thanked bad management because, without it, so few people would strike out to become entrepreneurs. Natalie Clifford Barney, an American playwright, poet, and novelist, also added, “Entrepreneurship is the last refuge of the trouble making individual.” Right now I am definitely acquiring the adjective of trouble making. Or analytical female with a dry sense of humor, whatever.

Sometimes I wonder if I should blame my parents for both being self-employed entrepreneurs because I think their example ruined me for any and all jobs that require me to answer to someone else, especially if that someone is one item short of an agenda. My parents have certainly called their own shots, but they have also been B-R-O-K-E.

When I think back to the third grade and what I wanted to be when I grew up, I clearly remember wanting to be a poet, or Albert Einstein. I am a long, long way from being a poet laureate anytime soon, or Einstein. In fact, I seem to have gotten sidetracked by statistics, economics, psychology, community health, and project management over the years. The upshot is that these interests happen to come with a decent pay check and health insurance. Then again, too frequently they have also come with a whole host of narcissistic and insecure supervisors.

Following up on my last posting, it turns out that I’m not the Jolly Green Giant of Peter’s Principle - that is, in a hierarchy every employee tends to rise to their level of incompetence. I’m not $10,000 richer today, but I did get a $4500 increase in salary and reclassified. This is really swell, especially in this employment market, but I think the bump up was bestowed upon me more out of fear than recognition. You see, two of my more competent colleagues are leaving our five person team next month and I don’t think losing one more person at this time is feasible for my manager. So, I represent more of the garden-gnome scale of Peter’s Principle. It’s not exactly an honor, but I can live with that until I find my next job.

I don’t know why I’m not happy with empty status and unearned raises; it would be so much easier to get by in this world if I could be. I think it would give me a capacity for bullshit, a much needed attribute in the work place. Unfortunately, I was raised by two parents who have zero tolerance for bullshit and, as much as it pains me to admit, I have inherited this and many other traits from my parents.

Like my parents, my head and heart also need more fulfillment than my bank account: I find this aspect of my personality totally annoying, and not exactly lucrative. It’s the kind of thing that launches me into non-profit job searches or dreams of entrepreneuralism, knowing full well that I won’t be raking in the cash. So we’ll see where I go next. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I've got to get back to re-writing those resumes and cover letters.

I am restricting access to my blog. This sucks. This totally sucks. Well, maybe I should take that back. I’m pretty sure no one is sitting on the edge of his ergonomic chair, biting his finger nails to the quick, wondering aloud, “What will Kristjan post next? Like, will she regain her sense of humor...ever???” Probably not, so I doubt I’m letting anyone down.

Mostly, I’m restricting my blog because reflecting on the absurdity of being a working professional in America will get me really, really unemployed. In fact, I have a cousin who has, on more than one occasion, reminded me that all of my potential future employers can read what I’m thinking. What I’m thinking, I’m afraid, isn’t all that impressive. Or pertinent. Or desirable.

My ramblings are not what every manager or director or human resources specialist would consider appropriate. I feel badly about this - I do, but it is taking ever more glasses of red wine to help me cope with each and every passing day. Plus, I’m trying to find a new employer while hanging on to some semblance of sanity about working for my current employer. The odds that I’ll be able to hold it together aren’t exactly in my favor.

Today was definitely a red wine day: I received comments back from my 360 review. In theory, I understand the value of a 360. In practice, I work for an organization that is 75% female and all of my working relationships are with women. Women from Minnesota. Nice, passive aggressive women from Minnesota who prefer to avoid conflict, unless they are de-identified on Survey Monkey.

I’m unconvinced that the Survey Monkey 360 is a constructive feedback tool for Minnesotan women. What you get are a series of nebulous jabs about your work style being too direct/not direct enough, over-communicating/not communicating enough, and proactive/not proactive enough without any context whatsoever. So, I tried to tease out who said what and in which context and it just drives me to drink. I can tell that my director is not impressed with me, so I suppose our feelings about one another are mutual. But, hey, look on the bright side: at least we finally have one thing in common.

Overall, though, I had a good Annual Review: I’m being re-classified one level higher than what I am and I’m getting a raise on top of it all for meeting my performance goals and expectations. In total, this may amount to a $10,000 salary increase starting this week. It just seems so odd that my colleagues, including my director, can say so many vaguely disheartening things about me and I still get $10,000 richer. Am I now Peter’s Principle personified? Oh God, what a dubious honor!

The irony is that I’m applying for a position at a non-profit organization that does really meaningful work and has a really good, competent staff, but I would make $15,000-$25,000 less than my current salary if they consider me for the position. But somehow the pay cut would seem worth a few trips to the Democratic Republic of Congo to support dedicated staff working with torture victims.

Really, what is the price of losing my perspective, humor, feelings of competency, and sense of meaning? Is it worth $15,000-$25,000 per year? Right now I'd rather have my sanity back. Of course, right now is two o’clock in the morning after a day that involved leaving work early to hyperventilate in my car for five minutes due to a series of snarky 360 comments from my colleagues.

More updates to come, I’m sure. In the meantime, I need to drag my sorry self back to bed and, now that I’ve gotten a few matters off my chest, get some shut eye. Good night!