For anyone confused about what I have in mind, this post over at startuplessonslearned.com may provide some insight (& humor).

Rock it.

http://www.startuplessonslearned.com/2011/11/startup-is-vision.html#links

Some of my choices have been less than beneficial toward any kind of corporate career. I took a semester off of college to work and hang-out with friends, one result of which was some five years passing before I got around to making up the missed credits and gaining my BA. In 2007, I left a high-level job in D.C. in order to move to a place I had no business in (Oregon), for reasons, at best, rather vague ("Cause it's green there?"). In 2010, having paid-off my debts, I joined the Peace Corps. Just as they often had when commenting on my choices, my friends & family fell into two camps (or three if you count "Don't Give a Shit What Scott Does" as a group).

On the one hand, were those who chose to view my decisions from a corporate or career value-set, which they ominously referred to as "the real world" (read: the world of florescent lights, high-blood pressure and the other mental/physical consequences of the Standard American Diet). On this occasion, they said: "Yes, excellent. What doors Peace Corps will open for you! Companies everywhere know the value of a Peace Corps volunteer!" (I would add: "Except for those in the actual countries where they are serving," but that's another matter.) Oh how I cheered alongside them.

On the other hand, there were those who reacted as they often did when hearing of the latest development in my plot: "There goes Scott. Off again on some romantic idea of adventure," then added after another moment of thought, "At least this time he's got funding." (Hey, I never said it was particularly romantic, that was you.)

Once again, the plot thickens. This time, the latest development is in pursuit of opening a brewery in New Haven, Ct. I've never honestly considered myself in pursuit of adventure (be it romantic or otherwise). However, I suppose now there'll be no denying it.

What business have I opening a community brewery in New Haven? I've never lived there. I've never brewed beer. (Cider? yes. Tea? yes. Ale? No. A storm? Apparently, yes.) Here's another one: what business had I moving to D.C. to take up a job as a Director of Operations? (None.) What business had I moving to Oregon to see what life may be like in another part of the country? (None.) What business had I joining Peace Corps to work in small business development among a people and culture with whom I shared very little in common? (You have one guess.)

Then again, anyone who ever asked themselves what business they have doing something, probably wouldn't have gotten very far if they had heeded the answer. Some examples of activities you yourself may have/had no business engaging in: teaching, parenthood, working a job in a field you've never been in before, going to school for something you've no history with, taking someone out on a date after just meeting, consoling someone with seemingly irreconcilable problems, joining Peace Corps, making a joke to a complete stranger, the list goes on.

Perhaps to endeavor to live beyond the beyond the present boundaries, to find a life different from any you've ever known, you must cast aside the critics and rationalism and put yourself in situations which you, frankly, have no business being in. The best of life seems to come from pursuits we have no business engaging in. It seems so at least a little bit, doesn't it?

In amonth, Jancy will return to the U.S., her two years of Peace Corps servicecompleted. She is the last of the Environment volunteers serving in the TazakaPark Region. My two new site-mates, individuals who know even less of Taza’sPeace Corps past than I, represent the changing face of Peace Corps Morocco.They both volunteer in the Youth Development sector, soon the only one inMorocco. I myself am a Small Business Development volunteer—one of the twenty-fourremaining. Given this change, I find myself taking a moment to contemplatethose often ill-fated Environment volunteers and the lives they led in themountains of the nearby park.

I’ve heardit recounted from several sources that the Taza region used to be one of themost depressing. The people who served here engaged in all manner ofdestructive habits (drugs, sex with locals & each other, over-drinkingshitty alcohol: the usual sins committed in the usual sorts of ways). No oneblames them for succumbing to such depravity—except, perhaps, themselves. They livedin a region of shoddy electricity, no running water, no telecommunicationsservice, and sure as hell no heating. That is all to say, they lived in the park. Never missing a shudder oran ominous tone, Jancy referred to it as “living in a cloud”.

If youare enjoying a heated room with a warm cup of a deliciousness beside you, theidea of living in a cloud may sound like an adventure involving bails of cottonand fluffy teddy bears floating around—if those fabric softener commercials areto be believed. Perhaps you imagine exchanges with Superman on Sunday mornings overcoffee and spending afternoons caring for a family of chicks. When you becometired of it, or perhaps for work, you’d simply pull your car out of its mistygarage and drop into town for a Starbucks before returning to your heavenlyabode.

For all Iknow, I have described a reasonable facsimile of life in an American cloud. However, here inMorocco, deprived of such simple amenities as working lights when it precipitatesand a functioning telecommunications network, and with neighbors sporting aneducation peaking at the equivalent of elementary school, life is ratherdifferent.

I do notknow whether it was the hours of bitter cold or the society of fellow semi-alcoholicand/or drug-addled volunteers which most contributed to the slow erosion of theemotional health of the individuals who served in the park. What I can say isthat, for many years, the park has been a dark province riddled withindividuals slowly succumbing to the corrosion of their sanity. In brief:hardly a fluffy fantasy fit for a detergent commercial.

It’s notoften I read in a newspaper or online source of some change—especially onedecided by a government agency—being an improvement. I realize positive changemust happen often enough, because, despite the innumerable obstacles, we stillseem to progress, even if in a stunted or lop-sided manner. Here in Morocco,the staff at Peace Corps made a solid decision. They cut—not one, butthree—programs which were difficult to hold accountable or clearly demonstratethe benefits of.When Jancy returns to the U.S. in April, there will be anotheryear before the final environment volunteers complete their service. Myself andmy fellow SBD volunteers will have departed half-a-year before, and with luck,the dark memories will have gone with me—all of that suffering forgotten, saveby perhaps the semi-literate locals who invoke their memory on dark nights whentelling tales of the American that once upon a time came to live in the parkwith them for reasons they still are unsure of.I don’t know how much I’ll care about all this then, butat least, I won’t have to. That will fall unto the shoulders and billed hoursshared between the ex-environment volunteers and their therapists.

Disgrace by J. M. Coetzee

Penguin Group, 1999.

220 Pages, 24 Chapters.

I almost didn't read Disgrace. I had brought it home from the only library I have access to, a six hours away by train, believing it would be a fine novel. My inspiration to read it came during a Teaching Company lecture in which the first few chapters of the novel were used as example. I had listened to the lecture some months back, however the desire remained. The back cover, written by someone semi-literate at best, entices the would-be reader by making the book seem far more dramatic and narrow than do justice to the work's grand scope. This same back cover inspired me to replace the novel on the shelf and to neglect it indefinitely. However, some deeper desire, the one earlier planted, prevailed.

The aforementioned lecture, focused on the novel's theme of age. The work's first sentence sets it in motion: "For a man of his age, fifty-two, divorced, he has, to his mind, solved the problem of sex rather well." The "problem" of sex, another theme, also resounds throughout the work—sometimes, rather violently. And then there is this notion of what is forgivable and what is not, and whether or not it all hinges on whether or not an individual is able to, perhaps first, forgive themselves. Notions strung right from Milton's "Paradise Lost" seem to rise and fall throughout. Much of the novel centers of David Lurie, the protaganist, staying with his daughter in farm country, and these scenes often reminded me of similar tones set in Steinbeck's Grapes of Wrath.

What I enjoyed most about the work was how it handily survived a close reading. The book uses these six-chapter cycles, and after chapter eight, I predicted the work would finish on Chapter 23, if it were a sad ending, and 24 if it ended hopefully (it does). I enjoyed using a reading diary and recording my thoughts and observations as I read the work, and I was reminded how enriching it is to, not simply read, but to read with attention to the layers and subtleties not entirely apparent to the reader, but which come forth readily when one's mind & focus are applied. I've not quite settled on my next read, but I'm hopeful.

I am distracted. Or, perhaps, I am a distractible person. What’s the difference when the act of prolonged focus seems akin to running long distances: requiring training and a bit of luck—for example, in not having achy knees. Not content with my lot, I have, on several occasions commanded myself: “Damn the knees, full speed ahead”. Only to later lose momentum on account of some other distraction—my knees, none the worse for wear.

I realize I am not alone when it comes to the challenge of maintaining focus, willpower, and diligence in the face of pretty much everything. I suppose it only logical to believe the prevalence of distraction is due to some commonality among us. Modern science promotes the likelihood that if there is something from which we all suffer, it may be the fault of something to which we are all exposed.

Cue the familiar rant against digital devices: the mobiles always in signal range, the laptops with nearly limitless access to images and information, the ubiquitous 24-hour news cycles, and the Apps—the sweet, wonderful Apps. Perhaps these inventions do have more to do with this distracted age than we will ever decisively know, and that year after year, we sink deeper into some morass from which there is decreasingly chance of escape. The authorities themselves—academics, pundits, and figures of various cultural establishments, hardly seem to know on what to agree: for each voice decrying this digital age, and especially e-books, there are just as many—if not more—who shrug the matter away or indicate plenty of contrary evidence.

However, the whole situation seems more complicated—and somehow less dire—than all that. Especially since we also share this both paradoxical and beautiful force called human nature.

I have been living in Africa for over a year now, and I have lately discerned that what is often call

ed “this distracted age”, is really“my distracted age”. The schismwithin myself—demonstrated outwardly by what I manage (and don’t manage) to dowith my time, seems to have been present long before the advent of the digitalera in its current, and somewhat errant, form. The disparity between my desire to seek new obstacles and the will to surmount them has been a problem since long beforeanyone bothered to sign two years of their life to the stresses incumbent in acellular phone contract[1].

However, whileI cannot reasonably blame my internal dysfunction on new and exciting devicesor inventions neither are they completely absolved. My plight may be my own, butthe devices play their part as much now as twenty years ago. Television, oncemy preferred object of procrastination, now finds itself replaced by an iPodTouch—is there a difference to my brain? What does it matter whether it’s anApp or sitcom if, in the end, both take hours from my life in exchange forthrills I didn’t particularly want in the first place?

I cannot blamethe apps or shows for being attractive; it’s intrinsic to them and has been honedthrough an evolutionary process analogous to our own—even if on a much shortertime-scale. What are we, or rather, what am I to do in the face of such abarrage of attractive baubles (and individuals)? I believe I have but twodefenses: one involves rather invasive surgery, and the other, practicing alittle more self-discipline.

The choiceseems clear. So the only remaining question is, anyone know a good surgeon?

[1] I readrecently that a survey was taken whereby individuals were asked to name theirfavorite digital device, and then, separately, the device they most detested.The cell-phone won first place in both cases. I have enjoyed imagining that itwas the same group of individuals who both loved and hated their phones.

I'm rebooting this newspaper & the twitter account tied with it. Please stay tuned & thank you for your patience.

~M.E. Scott

The people of Morocco--and, as I understand it, of Muslim countries world over--have a word for "thank god": "le-hem-doo-lah". It is so a part of the vernacular that one cannot go very long into any conversation without hearing its repetitions.

It seems logical that any belief system relying on a divinity as the source of all good or unfortunate, then having a thankful tone for any "good" thing may not be a bad idea. If I was absolutely convinced that at some point or another, likely after death, I would meet my maker, I too might desire a record of having thanked him/her for every little nice thing that came my way--even if it only appeared to come my way, but rather had only happened to be in front of me.

In the here and now, I'm living in and among a foreign culture: both in customs and beliefs. Undertaking life here has included acculturating to Moroccan norms and, for better or worse, taking on some of the local customs and sayings: "lehemdoolah" being one of them. I've been content to go along with everyone in saying my "thank god" and my "god bless this" (another popular one). However, after consideration, I believe it's time I gently put this practice aside.

So how is it that I was lulled into this habit? There's a swift answer to this question which is always the same: ease. My desire to appease Moroccans who tell me to say 'thank god' is one which makes my day easier. Easier to say something like: "My bad for neglecting to say 'thank god' after saying 'I'm fine'. I'll say 'thank god' from now on," rather than: "I prefer not to say 'thank god' because I don't believe in a divinity which has taken a special part in my day and my dealings with the people in my life. Additionally, I am uninterested in perpetuating beliefs which I myself do not hold, since doing so only further obstructs others' understanding of reality." Truth be told, if I do find myself in a situations requiring me to say all that using my Arabic, I'm not sure how up to the task my language will be.

Recalling some world history, I fail to place any occasion when a people or a culture progressed through appeasement. To the contrary, I can mention several occasions when appeasement led to rather dire consequences. And anyway, my lack of present linguistic ability is a poor excuse to prefer the path of fewer obstacles--and fewer rewards.

Far be it for me to recommend a path which seems lacking humility. My purpose in writing is neither to propose nor recommend to anyone who doesn't feel some kinship with my words. And in the end, if I am held to account one day for any of this--be it by a divine being or some person, I prefer to stand by genuine choices rather than false attestations, especially since the latter serve no one but myself.

Onward.

PEACE Corps: the romance, the adventure, the experience of alifetime.

If only this were the whole story, the true story. Unfortunately,the reality for Peace Corps Volunteers (PCVs) is a little different.Peace Corps can be some or even all of those things, but for mostPCVs, this is simply not the case. Not that it’s anyone’s fault.The organization of Peace Corps does a remarkable job for one withlittle resources working with peoples in countries with scarce wealthand initiative of their own. Peace Corps sends Americans (86% about ayear out of undergrad) to countries and cultures thousands of milesfrom American shores, to muddle through obscure languages and helppeople far removed from their own near and dear.

In these circumstances, some PCVs bloom and succeed in waysotherwise unimaginable. However, for most it’s a daily struggle,the aggregate of which alters a PCV’s personality. Many become aperson they never thought they would or ever could be—for some it’san improvement, for others not so much. I intend to discuss fourgeneral categories that seem to encapsulate almost all PCVs. Thesecategories come from my experiences in Morocco—where I myself am aPCV, and as a result of discussions I’ve had with other PCVs and PCStaff. It is not my intention to judge which category is best orworst, or what PCVs should aspire to become, only to shed some lighton the world of PCVs—both for other PCVs and for my wider audience.After this entry, there will come four entries each detailing, atgreater length, the categories. After those, I’ll likely post anentry regarding how Peace Corps actively engages with the four typesand how it organizes itself around them. Finally, a kind ofconclusion or response to feedback will come.

Finally, before the list, a disclaimer. Life is unwieldy whenforced into categories. Therefore, I hope that the following will beenjoyed humorously, rather than accepted as an identifacation system.Most PCVs change categories, often without realizing it. To invent asystem of typology is to encourage discussion, not seek animosity.However, if the reader should feel agitated, perhaps he or she mightconsider the source of his or her tender feelings, before sending offan angry e-mail. (That being said, I’ve learned to enjoyangry letters.)

The Quitter. The one category of PCVs containing non-PCVs. PCVs find themselves in this category by taking a single particular action during their service: quitting (called an “early termination of service” by Peace Corps). The reasons for quitting are as multitudinous as the PCVs who quit. Here are a few I’ve encountered: starting grad school, wanting to marry a Host-Country National, inability to cope with foreign lifestyle, wanting to return to America, and, my favorite, desire to live on a yoga commune (begging the question as to whether or not Peace Corps was hippy enough).The Absentee. The individual in this category demonstrates one behavior above any other: being absent—big surprise I know. The absence can take any number of forms: sitting alone in their houses for weeks or months on end, leaving site for weeks or months at a time, and generally being disengaged from his or her service and productive life. The Absentee is often associated with partying and alcohol abuse, but it should be noted that PCVs from any of the categories may engage in these behaviors.

The Super-Volunteer. I’d change the title if I could, however, PCVs everywhere seem to know intuitively what a Super-Volunteer looks like, not to mention immediately understanding its connotations. Not to be confused with some idea of the “best” sort of PCV, it more accurately pertains to that PCV who has drunk the proverbial Kool-Aid (and managed to keep it down). To an outsider it means over-integration with the local culture, engaging in projects irrespective of the counterparts’ ability to understand or complete the work on their own, and leaving some rather questionable and large projects behind for the next PCV to complete. Oh, and they tend to emanate the belief that they are doing God’s Work (at least, when it comes to Peace Corps).

The Volunteer. This category easily forms the silent majority of Peace Corps. These individuals spend most of their time and energy in and on their community and generally focus on projects which, on balance, seem to accomplish Peace Corps’s stated goals without going overboard. These folks may become frustrated with Peace Corps Staff or HCNs from time-to-time, but are generally healthy in their complaining. Individuals tend to intuitively know what members of the other three groups look like, something which often sets them apart.

Next Entry: The Quitter.

Thank you for your patience. Since last I wrote, I have had several varied experiences in Peace Corps Morocco. Those experiences have come to me under that new-found "zen" which some of my dear readers commented on a few months ago.

Currently, I'm working on a line of posts which will discuss these experiences. These entries focus on Peace Corps Volunteers rather than HCNs. That is, what sorts of individuals these, often young, Americans become while they are living here. I believe volunteers from other countries will be able to relate to the observations I make, however, because I've not visited or communicated much with them, I do not presume so. I hope you find these enjoyable or at least informative.

The first will come Wednesday.

Onward.

This morning, at six a.m. local, I spoke live via VoIP (in this case, Skype) with a friend of mine in Eugene, Oregon. Afterwards, as I reflected on my friendship with him, and the sort of person he is (the best sort), I also considered how for so long--not just in human history, but specifically, for Peace Corps volunteers, being in touch with America was never so easy (and still isn't for a majority methinks).

Andrew personifies positivity. When I discussed with Jancy-Morgan how he was laid-off a few years back, it sparked a thought: I have never once heard him speak negatively of the company that laid him off. For the first six months after he was out of work, it could perhaps be attributed to an agreement he made upon his severance, but in the years since? When I think of Andrew, I am inspired to consider he has handled so many difficulties gracefully. (He went back to school for graphic design and is now again, gainfully employed on a career path much better, in my humble opinion, then the bookstore where he had worked.)

Here in Morocco, living so many thousands of miles away from my family, most of my friends, and a culture I feel deeply connected to, the benefits of having not only Andrew as my friend, but also of having the opportunity to hear his voice and have a conversation with him seem immeasurable. A key to stressful moments in life is perspective, and talking to a friend with no personal interest is a great source of that perspective.

As I continue my path of personal development, of moving from negativity to positivity, I must give thanks... to Skype! And for all the souls (mostly in America?) who have worked so hard over the last one-hundred years to create and develop the telecommunications network that enables these sorts of connections.

Many of my latest personal efforts have focused on emotional intelligence and an increased focus on my self-awareness and methods and modes of communication. I've considered in what ways my life would have been altered had I began this practice ten years ago, when I was twenty, rather than now aged thirty. It's not so much thoughts of regret I feel, so much as curiosity at how I would have behaved and acted, and how my failures in this lead me to where I am today: a Peace Corps volunteer living out two precious years of his life in Morocco undertaking what could arguably called the mother of all Sisyphean tasks. In many ways, my Peace Corps service seems to be a crucible of commitment in which I might alter several habits that have made my life more difficult (read: self-destructive).

I imagine returning to the U.S. and my friends and loved-ones finding me to be an easier and gentler soul. I look forward to untangling much of the emotional knotting which I increasingly suspect to be a heritage of my past. I recently learned on a Radiolab podcast that men bequeath to their sons a nearly identical Y-chromosome. This means I possess the same Y-chromosome as my brother, my father, my uncles, my grandfather, and so on--excepting the odd mutation here and there.

As I consider my relationship to my emotions and toward the world around me, I reckon that while my genes didn't create any of it, they did probably granted me certain predispositions which I now find myself living. I consider what liberation from some of these predispositions will look like. Might I find strengths not yet known to me but which have always been present--also bequeathed but as yet untapped? The knowledge of this heritage inspires thoughts of a kind of immortality--I am part of a continuing story, but also, of caution. There are certain mistakes which We (the royal we) have made and which I may also be disposed to make. How many of them have I thought my own but which were placed before me to spring unaware?

Onward.

This morning I wrote in my journal: “The longer I’m here, the more I see the negative impacts of doing the work for the host country nationals.” Yesterday, during a meeting with my counter-part, I discovered that absent the leadership of a volunteer (in this case, myself), the Cooperative hasn’t done much in the way of new projects in the past six months. They said they were waiting for me to tell them what to make by researching online for them, what designs look good and don’t, and for me to post their stuff online to get them more sales. I informed them of the following: I am not a product designer nor a web programmer, nor can I do product research for them. I said I could help them think about their business and give them a space for discussing problems they have and nudging them toward solutions which they could themselves enact. Working with a translator, I was asked why I hadn’t gotten them stuff like the previous volunteer. I replied that I am not here to get them things or do things for them, but to help them—mostly through advice and discussion. They again spoke highly of the previous volunteer, and my translator pointed out that however great he was, he left them “blocked” and unable to push forward without him. She said that whereas the last volunteer worked for the moment, the new volunteer (me) is working for the good of their future. (The best part of this is that this exchange took place without my input. She related it to me afterward.) This gave them pause. And shortly thereafter, the meeting ended for the day. It felt great. It was the first time that I seemed to have succeeded as a volunteer working in a way that would benefit my counterpart in the long run—even if by only getting them to think of me in new terms—not as a rich American here to throw money at problems, but as a kind of advisor or educator. (I cannot help but consider how much easier this would be for me to accomplish if the volunteer three or four volunteers ago had begun in the same way.) Over the last seven months, I’ve come through a lot of mental work and emotional distress in order to understand what I am not. I’ve written extensively on the “aid worker mentality” that so many volunteers exhibit and how detrimental it is to the progress of this country and to those who want to make a better life for themselves. At one point, I told my translator that I could of course just do the work for them. I could make them brochures, put their rugs online, and whatever else they wanted or needed. While I don’t know how to do a lot of that stuff now, I could teach myself and then do it for them—like so many other volunteers. However, by refusing, I am forcing the locus of power to remain with the host-country nationals (my counterparts). Is my way the easy way? Hell, no. But it’s the way all of the evidence points to as the most beneficial. Over the last week or three, the distress of my first six months began to transform into a realm of possibility. Having worked through my differences with the path most-often-taken by so many other aid worker-types, I’ve begun to operate in a realm. It’s like, Hegel. At first there was the thesis: I am a PCV; it is my job. Then came antithesis: PCVs are often destructive, and it’s not a real job anyway. Now there is synthesis: I am a PCV, but I must be mindful of my path and the impacts of my choices. This morning I wrote something else. I wrote that being a Peace Corps Volunteer is a practice. It’s something you know only by doing mindfully or artfully. As I have shed the layers of “shoulds” and “oughts”, I’ve begun to see with greater definition the actors at play and the nature of this stage: who the Moroccans are, who the volunteers are, what each thinks of themselves, and what each thinks of the other, and how much influence all this has upon everything. Certainly, many other volunteers have also attained a similar serenity. Why none of them bothered to write a pamphlet or something escapes me. Technorati Tags: Hegel,Development,Peace Corps

Here’s one that’s come up a few times: am I a consultant working with my counterpart or am I more akin to an aid worker? It depends on the point of view really, and for my part, I’ve oscillated from one side to the other. I’m currently returning to the “consultant” side. Here’s why. Some volunteers are adamant that we (SBD PCVs) are not consultants. They say that consultants are hired for specific purposes or that consultants don’t have the same interest in helping their partners. They also believe that consultants work in strict terms, such as only with hard business factors (say, sales analysis or marketing strategies). The naysayers maintain that consultants are uninterested in developing so called “soft” business skills or factors (i.e. how to hold a meeting, how to discuss a problem or an opportunity, etc.). Even if you buy these arguments, and no one who has any understanding or experience with an actual business consultant would, there’s still the question of what makes an aid worker so different, since the things I listed a consultant doing are similar to hose we SBD volunteers do? I’ll answer it in one word: money. Aid workers typically channel funds or grants to whomever it is that they are supposedly “aiding”. Common misperception on the part of PCVs: Peace Corps is an Aid Agency, we are agents of that agency, therefor, we are aid workers. However, Peace Corps is not and was not designed to be an aid agency. Of it’s three stated goals, two are cultural exchange. The other, “providing trained personnel” is vague enough to mean just about anything (enter: those who believe it means providing aid). The Peace Corps staff I interact with seem to understand the limitations and strengths of what Peace Corps is and can do, and what it can not do well. At the same time, they work to allow PCVs who want it be an aid agency to function—albeit in a limited way—in that capacity. Kudos to them for understanding that, at times, a volunteer or two may find a way to succeed in this manner, and for providing the means for them to seize this opportunity. At the end of the day, though, there are the PCVs that get it and those that don’t. Those that want Peace Corps to be an aid agency—and act like it is—haven’t done the research to function in this way, aren’t familiar with how success is measured here (for example, not by amount of $ funneled, but by lives which are altered in such a way such that they are able to change other’s lives without further aid), and also, expect other PCVs to act and behave in the same way. The tricky thing about being a PCV is that no one volunteer can say definitively what it means or entails, though everyone tries. Like many things, the definition and meaning are understood only through the practice, and for each individual there’s a unique practice reflecting a unique set of challenges and conditions. For my part, framing my service by measuring myself as a kind of consultant (where my counterparts are concerned) forces me to evaluate needs against what I can provide: thoughtful questions and a pair of hands mostly. The easy (and ineffective) road lies in throwing money at problems. There is this sense that it is the better choice, that money is somehow the source of good and happiness, and if we could only get just a little more, we’d be happy and able to do great world-changing work. Sound familiar? **** Wondering what’s wrong with throwing aid at developing countries? Consider reading one of the following. They will offer a different perspective with plenty of data to boot. Poor Economics: A Radical Rethinking of the Way to Fight Global Poverty. By Abhijit Banerjee and Esther Duflo. The White Man’s Burden: Why the West’s Efforts to Aid the Rest Have Done So Much Ill and So Little Good. By William Easterly.

There are now three cafes, that I know of in Taza which have Wi-Fi Internet access. The one I'm sitting at exhibits a typical Moroccan feature: a 100% male clientele and a staff that's also of the less-fair sex. The men range from early 30s to 50s. These men are likely unemployed. Their prospects for earning income are undoubtedly very low. They trade newspapers, chat, and smoke, while each day brings them closer to the Summer, and the interminable heat, and a possible vote on constitution reform (see: recent Moroccan politics). There are perhaps twenty or thirty more cafés just like this one (without the Wi-Fi) within a ten minute walk. The men seem calm, if not listless. When you (American readers) read about the clashes in the Middle East and the unrest and discontent, often you are reading about the plight of folks like the ones I'm sitting among at this very moment. In America, we take our Constitutional Republic (read: Democracy) for granted. Sure there is an American willing to blame just about anyone anywhere for anything. But for the most part, we view government as a source of certain goods and services (military, diplomacy) and not others (jobs). In fact, I think that for most Americans, the answer to more jobs in the U.S. is for the government to either do nothing or less than nothing. In Morocco, it's the exact opposite. Here, the common belief is that the government is the source of jobs and the answer to the many social and economic issues confronting Morocco today. Asking any Moroccan about these things only confirms this. Consider: in America, if we have an issue with the government (be it the local, state, or federal one) we have any number of outlets: from contacting such and such a person, to simply voting for someone different. We can protest in any number of manners (often through the use of where and how we spend out money), and do so without worry that the government will retaliate. In Morocco, this is simply not the case. There are no outlets (besides these small protests, which seem to take place daily). While there are elections for Parliament, they are essentially meaningless because Parliament has little or no real power. A government which is not a democracy or republic is not held responsible to its people. And so, acting to ensure that society progresses or to safeguard the well-being of its people is, at best, a service given through words, not actions. Curiously, it seems as if the people act as if they are not responsible to themselves either. Entrepreneurship is not a facet of Moroccan life. For one example, take the "Hanoot" which is a small counter-service only convenience-type store. In other words, you walk up to the counter, ask if the owner has this or that thing you want, and if he (it's almost always a he) does, then you can buy it. If not, you have to find another hanoot. In my neck of the words, there are more hanoots than I care to count, and they are all nearly identical. Why doesn't one of them operate a little differently or offer a different kind of service? I don't know. It would be like if every cafe in the US was simply called "Starbucks", and even if they weren't a Starbucks, they offered the same goods, services, and environment that any Starbucks has. Within a short time, some one or other would open a cafe that was different. For whatever reason, Moroccans aren't able to make this leap--though it's more of a step then a leap. From time to time, a Moroccan will ask why Americans (or the West) is so rich. It's difficult to explain all the reasons, but that many of the reasons stem from simply one thing: the willingness to at least try to do things differently.

It has been a terribly long time since last I wrote here. My apologies to any of my readers who may have become impatient or tired of reading old posts. My last two posts were from a rather dark place. Since then, I’ve recovered from my cold (the symptoms which remain I believe now, are do to a resurgent case of allergies—long absent from my life since puberty).

Much has happened since I last wrote. It all began a few weeks ago when the APM* came to my site. We had a long discussion about what SBD** does here and what sustainable development means to her. It was very useful to hear the point of view of a HCN*** who has witnessed a lot of SBD’s work.

Also, I had Inter-Service Training last week. I took particular pleasure in a difference from my last training in February. On this occasion, instead of [my] questions of sustainability being shunted to the side, it seemed everyone’s favorite word. (See: my program’s termination above). One of the PCVs, expressing frustration asked about how we could be expected to turn certain large projects into something that didn’t rely on future volunteers to maintain. The Country Director was right on with her response, which I paraphrase below:

“Peace Corps’s emphasis or mission has never been to initiate projects that require future volunteers to continue or to be successful. In fact, there’s never been any kind of guarantee that any volunteer would be replaced or have the necessary skills to continue a project which they might inherit from a previous volunteer.”

In other words: you’re here to evaluate your site, and initiate and complete your own projects with the Moroccans, not to design projects for future volunteers to take over.

I mean, I want to say: that’s what I’ve been trying to tell you [people]. But really, the messenger is less important than the message.

On another occasion, a presenting volunteer said, “As you know we have a problem: the end of SBD.” To which, a volunteer a few seats away from myself whispered, “I don’t see why this is a problem.”

I agree. And am so delighted I’m not alone in my thinking.

More soon, promise.

*Assistant Programming Manager**Small Business Development***Host-Country National

I'm discovering that when I'm sick, my mind wonders to Social Networking (via the Internets of course). I awoke this morning considering how negative my last blog post was. I suppose I ought to refrain from posting while feeling icky, because I end up complaining.

I know that somewhere, deep down inside, I'm happy. The feelings are simply obstructed by this infernal cold. Anyhow, for those of you who read yesterday's post and were angry: good, I'm happy I made you angry. For those of you that read yesterday's post and were like, "Aww poor Scottie" or "Scottie's a little crabbie today", thank you for your sympathies. I'm sure that soon enough I'll be right as rain and all that jazz.

I actually do have a few interesting posts brewing in my head, and they'll come out sooner or later.

Next week I have training, so probably not too much posting then, and this weekend I'm going to Madrid, Spain. Once there, look for updates of pictures and cool stuff on my tumblr page.

Also, in case anyone forgot: I love beer.

(Shout-out to my Auntie Noelle who sent me beers via the mail. BEERS IN THE MAIL. I need to start a business when I get home: Mail-Order-Beer.)

'nuff said.

Perhaps a month after I arrived in Taza as a sworn-in Peace Corps Volunteer (PCV), I had the fortune of listening to two PCVs from the stage before me grumbling about cultural differences and how difficult those differences could make life. They weren't so much talkdiscussing their opinions of Moroccan culture, as they were about how the differences could wear on you after a while. After listening them for a short bit, I spoke my mind and told them they obviously had some misconceptions about what life was going to be like in PC Morocco and how I would never feel that way, blah blah blah...

Now, I myself am about six months in to service (that's eight-and-a-half since first arriving in Morocco), and I admit: We are not amused.

Here's a recent news item in the life de Scottie: I have a stalker!

He's called about a dozen times over the last two days. The first time he called me two days ago, I was just beginning to come down with this cold, so I said to myself, I'm not gonna pick up right now, I'll just call him back in a few days when I'm feeling better. Then he called again, and again and again. And that, frankly, kind'a pissed me off a little.

But we've gotta give to him, the bastard managed to actually get me on the phone today when he called from an unknown number. Actually, he called last night at half-past-midnight from the unknown number, but I figured it was an American, and I was asleep (see: sick above). This morning, I thought the call may have been someone back in America calling me for an emergency reason. Anyhow, after he called me a few times this morning, he used the unknown number trick, and I picked up. Bastard! I almost said aloud. Not that he would've understood. The whole call I was so mad at myself, as if I had somehow let myself down and let him win. I told him to try me again after next week. This week I'm too sick with a cold to deal with this sort'a thing. But once I'm better, believe me when I tell you I intend to have the closest translation of What the fuck is your problem? armed and ready to unleash on this son of a gun.

Which brings me back to We are not amused. Believe me when I tell you that not most, all, PCVs are not amused at some point or other during their service, some more than others. One of the things we aren't amused about is how little capability Moroccans seem to have in considering the other person's point of view. I mean, this guy calls me because he wants to get together for coffee. Have any of you ever called someone at midnight (after calling six or seven times that day) to arrange a coffee date?

I have to laugh while writing this. Yep, that's my excitement in Peace Corps: some guy named Mohamed that apparently got my phone number and is one of the few cell-phone users in Taza with enough credits on his phone to call me non-stop (most people don't seem to keep much money on their pre-pay phones, and pre-pay, is pretty much all that anyone has here). Normally, I don't think I would care, honestly. This sort of bologna happens regularly. Being in Morocco is like being the cool teenager in a room full of 4th or 5th graders: they all want to be your friend and hang-out with you all the time. At first, the teen is like, look at all these adorers! But then, s/he realizes that it will never end. At least, not until they escape.

Anyhow, I've been trying to keep my place clean. I absolutely despise being at home sick in a messy house, but I've barely got the energy. I did clean the sink a little while ago. Included below is a picture.

Isn't it nice and shiny?

Also, I'm figuring out my blogging life and may keep the longer blogs here, and the shorter stuff and photos on my other. Be sure to check it out! (If you have nothing better to do and are between making your stalker phone calls.) It's called: Monkey's Repose.

The following link is to a recent Boston Globe article about the Peace Corps. I highly encourage the read.

http://www.boston.com/bostonglobe/ideas/articles/2011/05/15/the_peace_corps_what_is_it_for/?page=1

I just reposted a few entries with some editorial changes. Their titles, with their links are below. Enjoy. On Work: Different Sectors On Work: Solutions in a Developing Country On Work: Prelude Oh, and in case you were wondering, there are some Disclaimers that I put up recently too.

I'm currently developing a bold new face to my digital life. A new blog that will be better than my blogspot. But why am I moving?

Mostly because blogger.com is rather boring. It doesn't have a particularly great interface, and the new space that I'm moving to does. I'll keep you updated, with the necessary links.

Thx.

Scott

Some thoughts for my most honored readership to consider—should they so choose. It’s been an interesting past week, and to be honest, I was intent on completely abandoning this web-log. Then I had a conversation with one of my truest friends, and after some thoughtful consideration, I’ve begun to piece together my next five-hundred or so words for my dear readers, many of whom, I’m certain, would have been rather crestfallen to learn of the demise of Pensive Kid, Inc. Pensive Kid, Incorporated isn’t folding. In fact, it’s not going anywhere (Google willing). There are however, some matters which need to be gotten straight. They are as follows: First, in regards to my “On Work” entries. The purpose of these entries was and remains to illustrate my reflections on the nature and difficulties of my work here (please note italics). My intentions were not and have never been to speak ill of any other Peace Corps Volunteer or his or her efforts, other than perhaps my own. If any of my readers have ever felt offended because they thought I was speaking of their work—and I admit that in off-handed ways I did—I apologize, but I apologize only because it was not my intention. I intend to continue my discussion (or monologue: this is a blog, after all, not a forum) on the nature of my efforts here. Those blog posts have been taken down—temporarily—to be edited to ensure that no one is singled out, they will then be re-posted. Secondly, hard questions are called that for a reason. Personally, I would prefer not to feel the need to ask them or see their need. My life would certainly be more easier if I could simply sit back and accept what comes unquestioningly. However, that’s not how I feel, and it’s not what I do. I have been sent to Morocco by Peace Corps, a U.S. government agency, for a specific purpose. I am a volunteer. I do not work for this agency. I am not employed by this agency. I am, in fact, completely unemployed. That being said, I enjoy the endeavors I pursue here and find them meaningful. I believe this agency means well. I believe that its mission is beneficial to Humanity. I believe those who exchange two years of their lives to make this commitment are people worthy of some admiration. Though let’s not get ahead of ourselves: simply because certain efforts or a particular goal is difficult, doesn’t mean that it’s worth any effort or being pursued. (I must admit, I didn’t come up with this idea.) Finally, simply believing any of this will not prevent me from asking why I believe it. Perhaps from time to time, I’ll pull a one-eighty thinking one thing one day, and something completely different the next. Rilke wrote, “Everything is gestation and then bringing forth.” This blog is not sacrosanct. This blog is not the be-all end-all of anything. It is a place of my process. Keep that in mind, dear reader. I am but one small man in an awfully wide world. Onward.

I'm doing it. I'm taking the dive: I'm going to learn Arabic Script. Why? Mainly for one reason: to learn the language.

I've discovered that in order for me to remember words, I need to see them in my head. Like, I need to imagine them written. When I do this with Arabic words, I get the spelling wrong and, inevitably, the pronunciation and can't barely even get to the meaning.

Jancy, a site-mate, has taken the time to learn script, and her language is through the roof. (Apparently her tutor told her recently that she knows Darija because she can tell stories in it.) So, today while I was discussing with her why I have such difficulty remembering the language, I came to realize that my chief obstacle was that I couldn't imagine the words like I do when I learn new Italian or French words. I said to her that if I had been also working on French, I would be nearly conversant by now. She acknowledged this.

In the silence that followed though, I thought over learning French in an Arab country, and how it seems to bespeak a kind of retreat if I put my energy to that before really giving Darija the chance I need to. All volunteers must deal with this: we come here to work, and how work is hampered by our language. Sure, some PCVs do great with limited language, but that doesn't mean it's no obstacle. So, today I decided that if I need to imagine words in order to learn them, then I may as well begin building the synapses to make this happen. So, here goes nothin'....

Onward.

“No where in Peace Corps’s mission does it say anything about changing people.”

In Peace Corps Morocco there are presently four sectors: Youth Development (YD), Small Business Development (SBD), Community-Based Environmental Education (Environment), and Community-Based Health Education (Health).

Let’s begin with some clarifications as to the nature of the work that Health & Environment volunteers perform and or are encouraged to perform. It can be summed up as follows: change people’s (read: Moroccan’s) behavior regarding their use of the environment and their habits pertaining to their health and the health of the individuals in their society. Simply enough.

However, consider the American government and the various NGOs which work toward these goals and in what ways they are and are not successful—in an educated society. Consider your own attitudes toward these groups when they try to tell you how to best use your land or what you should or shouldn’t eat, drink, or smoke. (Also consider their oscillating evidence: a new study shows coffee is bad, another shows it’s quite healthy, and so on and so forth.)

Also, consider the many people you may know who have some curious ideas about life: politics, economics, the environment, what is healthy, etc. Now ask yourself: how many of those people have at least a Bachelor’s degree? Probably more than half. In Morocco, the literacy rate—people aged 15 and over who can read and write—is 52.3%. So any kind of educational work we volunteers do here, in no matter what sector, is going to be among people of whom half cannot read or write (to say nothing of having so much as a high school equivalent level of education).

Which brings us to SBD. I’ve already mentioned that my counter-part cannot read or write, and yet, my assignment here is to do the same kind of “changing” work that Environment and Health volunteers perform, only my focus is on business arts.

In the first two cases, volunteers are trying to encourage people to change their habits in regards to their personal health (example: brush your teeth twice a day) or to the environment (don’t let the sheep eat everything, because that will only further erode the land). We’re not talking controversial climate change or getting more Omega-3’s in your diet, just straight-up stuff that most educated people would probably agree on.

Staff here encourages changing behaviors in the HCNs (Host Country Nationals), and providing solutions which we know they cannot maintain on their own. Meanwhile, the nuts-and-bolts know-how of business, the kinds of things we ought to be teaching and training them on? We receive little to none in the way of materials and sessions on this sort of thing. Of course, we’re here to do this on our own, not have Peace Corps Staff tell us how and when we should do something. But the fact is, they force us into their training anyway. I’m not laying blame, I’m only pointing out that if you are going to go through the trouble of encouraging your volunteers to do some kind of training, why not make it the kind that develops Morocco’s capacity to grow, not increase its dependence on Western volunteers?

All of which brings me to YD. Their job? Hang out with kids and teenagers and teach English and maybe engage in some culture sharing. Sounds exactly like what PC ought to be doing here. Which, coincidentally, they seem to have realized. Last week, we received an e-mail from the Country Director which said that SBD, Environment, and Health were all being phased out in exchange for only one sector: YD. Great idea! But I couldn’t help but think of all my fellow SBD volunteers working on projects that no future volunteer will be able to maintain or sustain.

For my part, I knew the changes were in the pipes already. And thank god I knew, because if I hadn’t, I may have had some kind of nervous break-down.

Disclaimer Review: The opinions expressed on this web-site are mine and in no way represent (or necessarily correspond to) those of the Peace Corps, the U.S. Government, the Moroccan Government, or really, any entity beside myself (and even then, I’m not always inclined to agree with them).

I’ve updated my web-site with a tab that quotes, word for word, the Mission of the Peace Corps as they set forth on their web-site. (I’ve also included a link to the same.) Over the last week, as I’ve mulled over the nature of this mission, sometimes with other PCVs, sometimes reflecting on what other PCVs have said or done, I’ve come up with a great deal to write about. I believe this subject will take some time to get through, and will be something I will return to repeatedly.

I offer one more disclaimer about the subject today: I’ve never studied development work. I’ve never done any previous kind of work in or studying of developing countries and what helps or hinders their growth. I have, however, been hired by the Peace Corps to come to Morocco to do this very thing. Or at least, that’s what I thought (see: the mission, see anything about development work overtly there?).

Shortly, after I arrived, I came up with a phrase to guide my work here. I’m not sure where I first coined it, or how I arrived at it. I suppose it must’ve been inspired from all the talk about sustainable solutions. Well, there was never really a lot of talk, but I have caught the word a few times on some of the training materials. Here it is:

Don’t be the solution. In only four-and-a-half (nearly) months of service, this one phrase has made me question some of the choices PCVs make. Some real examples include anything from creating a digital catalog to selling the organization’s products to other PCVs or friends and family in America. The first is something that few organizations here could maintain on their own and the latter is an income source that is completely inaccessible without a volunteer. If a PCV believes this is the best use of their time and resources, that’s not for me to judge. However, providing temporary solutions of the kind which rely on the continued presence of an American Volunteer, isn’t the sort of thing which seems to aid countries in their development or in the development of their human capital, in both individual and broad cases.

Why does this happen? Someone knows, I’m sure. Perhaps it’s because we are Americans, so naturally, we think of American solutions. In the U.S., I did some small business consulting, and one of my lines of inquiry: “What is your web presence?” fit and made sense for all the obvious reasons. Here in Morocco, I don’t quite see the reasoning behind it.

My counter-part asked me to help her find clients over-seas, especially through the Internet. I responded to her that I would be happy to work with someone on a web-site, providing they hired a web-developer. Additionally, it would be only after discussing the strategy and reasons for the choice. After all, those are necessary and beneficial conversations to have with a business that is about to spend a lot of money. She said it would be too expensive, and for her purposes, it probably is. No worries though, there are many other solutions we can find together.

This is a reposting of an entry from a few weeks ago, with some changes in the final paragraph. It has occurred to me recently that I’ve not discussed my work in Morocco to any significant degree. Last Sunday, my father called from the States, and I mentioned some progress with my Counterpart. To which he responded: “What’s a Counterpart?” This will not do. Therefor, my aim in my coming entries is to acquaint my American audience with my work here. The nature of it—from Peace Corps’s stand point, the challenges I face in working with Moroccans, and the kind of analysis I engage with in order to conduct my work. However, before I get into the details, I want to mention a word: sustainability. You will hear me use this word frequently and, such questions as what it means, how it applies, how it does not apply, how it is or isn’t being applied, are important ones and not ones not easily answered. I’ll be exploring them as I move through. In fact, it’s going to come up, in one moment, so read on. Peace Corps has recently informed the PCVs here that they will be ending all the programs except Youth Development. This means, among other things, the Cooperative I work with will not be receiving a volunteer after myself (there was one before me and would ostensibly be another after me). What is the significance of this? Here’s one example. Let’s suppose you own a small business that makes and sells traditional hand-woven rugs. Let’s also say you want a web-site and or to be exporting your products overseas. Along comes a volunteer. He says to you he can set all those things up for you, and he does. He makes over-seas contacts, develops a web-site, and even expedites a few sales for you. Then one day he leaves, never to return. So far, so good? Now let’s add a few more hypothetical facts: you cannot read or write, your spoken language isn’t shared beyond your country’s borders, and you don’t know how to use a computer let alone the Internet. The individual business owner I’ve described above isn’t a hypothetical person; it is, in fact, the woman with whom I work: my Counter-part, and also describes many other counter-parts that PCVs in all sectors work with here in Morocco. Knowing this, the question as to the kind of work and what sorts of projects one might pursue becomes somewhat more difficult to ascertain. Also, consider a phrase such as “environmentally sustainable” or “ecologically sustainable”, what would these phrases mean to you if you had barely any education? As I mull over being a Volunteer, these are the kinds of questions I will be asking.

It all happened when I was walking from the pharmacy toward the center of town. Jancy was with me. It was the middle of the afternoon, with the sun lending the city the first cool Spring day of the year. Jancy was talking to me about something or other, and along he came.

He walked alongside us and asked for some money. He asked politely. Jancy didn’t bother to look in his direction. In this country, Jancy, and every other female American Volunteer I know of, ignores any nearby Moroccan male, because they harass women all the time. But I digress.

I said, “No, go away.”

He said, “God bless your parents. Please give me money.”

I repeated my instructions.

He then showed me that he had a kitchen knife in his front pocket.

I told him to go away and didn’t quite know what to make of the knife. I remember thinking, Was that a knife? What’s he going to do with that? I looked away and kept walking. Jancy hadn’t noticed and only looked forward. She had commented at some point that she wanted him to go away. I kind’a did too.

A moment later, I looked over and he was waving the knife around. I didn’t know what to do. I mean, how much did I have on me anyway? Was it worth it? We were still walking, but I took a menacing step toward the perp. Let me take a moment to describe what a menacing step is when it is performed by me. I take a step and glare with my eyes.

He took a step back but waved the knife around more. I was starting to panic. He had seen through my menacing step, had realized that it was as thin as I am.

Then, with all options exhausted and nowhere left to escape, another Moroccan man came along. He told the knife-wielder to “Go home to his mother” or some such. Apparently, it worked because off the little tyrant ran. The man hadn’t even slowed down to shoo him away. I yelled a thank you after him, but he either didn’t hear or didn’t care because he simply kept walking.

I had survived, but am forever scarred. I’ll always remember the glint of evil in his eyes and the stature that brought my courage to its knees. In fact, I’ll describe him for you: he stood three maybe three-and-a-half feet off the ground, weighed around sixty pounds, and was probably seven years old, eight tops.

But my god, could he strike fear into the hearts of men!

(Or some men anyway.)

(And not women: Jancy had barely taken note of the exchange and seemed only mildly surprised that it happened at all.)

Every now and then, while going about my daily business, I will come across a Moroccan (Male) relieving himself well within public view—during daylight hours. I’ll do one of those double-takes: “Hey, a guy staring at the wall. Oh wait, is he? Dear god, he is.” Yes, men all around the world find places in public space that is as good as, if not better than, private urinals. However, perhaps I am ignorant to suppose that most of these men will seek cover or prefer their public urinations to the hours during which the sun is not directly overhead. In Morocco, this is decidedly not the case. I’ve been surprised at the audacity with which men will piss, for example, on the side of a busy road against a wall—not even in a corner. While they do this, they generally will be looking around with an expression mixing daring and conflated innocence. It is as if they are saying: “What? Something wrong?” or “What are you gonna say?” I don’t believe that I’ll say anything. In fact, I’m going to help. Clearly these men want everyone to know what they are up to, and I see no reason to not lend a Peace Corps hand. I’m going to keep my camera with me at all times and when I come upon a man pissing in a open space during the day, I will snap a picture and post it on this web-site on the “Fotos from the Field” page. Public space is for public use; they want to piss, and I want to take pictures, why not do us both a favor? They will add to my web-site’s humor, and I will help the world take note of their inability to find proper places to relieve themselves.

I was reviewing some of my Blog’s statistics. The hits are rather abysmal. As I reviewed my statistics, I couldn’t help but notice that my most frequent referring site was Facebook—this is no longer the case because I’ve closed my Facebook account. As I reflected on this, I asked myself: What is the importance of numbers? I’d like to say the answer hardly matters, but if that is true, why did I check my numbers to start? Facebook’s revenge is exacted by the atrophy of my Internet popularity. ~ This weekend I began a Teaching Company lecture series titled “The Art of Reading”. It brings me back to my salad days at UMass when I majored in English Lit. I’ve not read very much fiction over the last few years, preferring instead non-fiction. I sometimes consider how art was among the first activities our ancient ancestors engaged in, and despite the few arguments for getting rid of it (particularly from oppressive governments), I believe that maintaining a section of my life for it is important. At the moment, I’m in the middle of The Bridge: The Life and Rise of Barack Obama. Hardly a work of fiction, it reads like a really long New Yorker article. For fiction, I recently began The Shadow of the Wind. Any readers of feelings on me beginning a review of books section on this web-log? Next: How Peace Corps & Grad School are the same.

I recently had something of an internal discovery with the aid of my EQ Mentor. The revelation focuses on an aspect of myself which has been a primary contributor (or the primary contributor) to the stress I’ve been internally dealing with for many, many years now. For most of you, the term which would describe this figure would be the “internal judge”, but for me he goes by the name of “Unrealistic Expectations Scott” or U.E. Scott for short. U.E. Scott is the voice in my head that hasn’t so much judged my products as my efforts. For example, it’s not my writing that’s bad, it’s how much of it I do, or for another example what I should be reading, say, or how often. The result has been, more often than not, that I have lived this life of unceasing distraction. (I shudder to think that if I had gone to a psychiatrist, he’d’ve prescribed me Adderall or some such and washed his hands of the matter. All well and dandy for modern medicine except that matter would have been me.) To combat these incessant shoulds and oughts my EQ Mentor suggested a question: “What do I find in myself?” The question serves as a way to mark my inspiration or necessitation and to function from it, rather than via some top-down authority. My first concern “What if I find I wish to do nothing?” was quelled with the a reminder of a Zen saying: “Don’t just do something, sit there!” I concluded, therefor, that if doing nothing is good enough for Zen Monks, I’ll probably come out alright too. The most curious thing about all of this is how my internal landscape has begun to alter since I recognized U.E. Scott and gave him a name (Note: I actually did not give him a name, my EQ Mentor did. Go Jancy!). My dreams for example, ever a marker for my present emotional & mental condition, have become wildly bizarre as the threads of stress which have wound themselves so tightly around my heart have begun to untangle and loosen. The only way to describe it would be to say that it is as if some internal pressure has been released, or at the least, significantly lessened. At certain moments through-out the day, I will check-in on myself expecting it to be there, but it isn’t. I ask what I do find there and consider. Jancy said I was actually easier to be around because I seemed less fractured in my focus and more relaxed. Could it be that this will aid my efforts? If so, great. If not, well, whatever my way is, it will be O.K. Over the last day or two, I’ve been considering words I first read some time ago: I shun father and mother and wife and brother when my genius calls me. I would write on the lintels of the door-post, Whim. I hope it is somewhat better than whim at last, but we cannot spend the day in explanation. Expect me not to show cause why I seek or why I exclude company. Ralph Waldo Emerson, Self-Reliance Thoreau also wrote that a man must follow his own genius to meet with success. It seems equally necessary that if one is going to follow his own inspiration, then the result could be that he (or she) will also betimes incur the ire of his friends or family. I suppose this is only natural when one acts without reasons beyond those conjured by his own heart & mind. Perhaps this social hurdle is my next obstacle. However, these concerns too are likely [mostly] imagined, but I hardly think that giving them a name like U.E. Everyone-else is necessary.

The author discusses his life and some endeavors described. Leave Facebook forever, and nobody cares; hint that you may go without e-mail for a paltry thirty days, and all Hell breaks loose. Needless to say, some reconsideration is in order. So here’s what I’m going to do: for the month of March: I will not open a web-browser for any reason. However, I will open my e-mail client Monday and Friday afternoons. Also, as I said, I’ll continue to log blog entries. In other news, I took, and flunked, an Emotional Intelligence test. The test (which you too can take if you purchase the book Emotional Intelligence 2.0—which I did for my Kindle) examined my ability (or EQ) in four fields: Self-Awareness, Self-Management, Social Awareness, and Relationship Management. I got a bunch of D’s and flunked completely out of Self-Awareness. (My highest score was in Relationship Management, go figure.) So, my latest project? Increase my EQ! I’ve already begun on this journey, and with any luck, will be quite the human being in two years time. Focusing on this dimension of my life has forced me to consider the sorts of lives individuals live: to what degree they understand the emotional forces that guide their lives, and to what degree they are essentially powerless to them because they do not address them. In this endeavor, I even have an EQ mentor. She’s quite good. I asked her what she thought my highest and lowest scoring sections were and she guessed correctly. I asked her if I could call her Yoda or Kenobi, but she gave me a look which my EQ isn’t high enough to comprehend.

In which the author relates his recent past and his intentions for the near future. Some jokes lightly given. When one hasn’t posted to their web-log for a while, there are one of two courses to be taken: to offer some excuse for the absence of updates accompanied with a vague promise to write again soon, or to simply apologize and continue along. I intend to break new [blog] ground by doing neither of these. I will say that from time to time, I will disappear (whether or not this can be called a trick will probably remain questionable at best), and when I return I may or may not promise to write more often or soon. When I last posted, I had ditched Facebook. I had supposed that such a move would result in a flood of “where did you go?” e-mails, but this did not happen. A few folks left comments on the entry; I did receive a couple of e-mails regarding the matter, but other than that, most people really didn’t care. (Also, I would like to note that Jancy did mention that she has a friend that had Facebook and, like me, deactivated her account. So much for being a pioneer.) Curiously, I haven’t given one fig for not having it, so I’m back to my old Facebook-free lifestyle. I’d like to say that I’ve come away from the whole experience smarter and wiser, but that wouldn’t be true. Facebook was, at first, a distraction, and later a publicity tool for this blog. In the end, I think it’ll miss me about as much as I it. Regarding traditions. Some years ago, I did something which I called “March Fast”: a month during which I would go without a slew of things. Since I’m now living in Africa, giving up things seems hardly necessary. But I have decided to add a little more crazy to my life: no Internet. Actually, this isn’t particularly revolutionary. Many PCVs, even here in Morocco, live in sites without Internet service. So going without may be more akin to “joining a club” than starting a cause. Anyway, consider this your collective heads’ up. I intend to continue to make web-log entries during the month of March. If Peace Corps staff gets annoyed with me for not being on e-mail, I’ll get a kick out of it.

I enjoy the digital innovations of our time. For instance, here in Africa, I have with me a 12 MP Panasonic Digicam (replete with Stereo HD-Video capability), the newest generation of Amazon’s Kindle, a Blackberry Curve 8900, and of course, my Asus netbook. In summation, I am hardly a luddite and to a certainly have a [digital] identity and enthusiasm for things digital.

I don’t recall exactly when it was that I created an account on Facebook, but it must have been sometime last Spring when I knew I would be leaving Eugene, Oregon for Peace Corps. At the time, I wanted to maintain a means by which my friends & acquaintances could stay in contact. And I’d be remiss to not mention that many of my friends wanted me to sign-up for Facebook. In the time since signing-up, I’ve begun to wander about my one-hundred-some-odd friends. I mean, nothing against them, but what does it mean to be someone’s friend? What does it mean to stay in touch with someone? I have discovered that I’m not only one who wants to have some slice of everyone’s life, and that Facebook let’s you feel as if you can.

Here’s what I hear people saying as I write this: It’s just a social tool, it lets you make plans and see what people you know are up to; it’s a way of keeping and sharing pictures. However, your identity on Facebook is not your own creation: others also contribute to it. But while in real life you can decide what to share about yourself with whomever you like, in the digital world, you don't quite have this opportunity of discretion. (Privacy settings aside, which are tricky to navigate and hardy fool-proof.)

A friend of mine—in real life, not digitally—recently showed me some of her FB pictures. Afterwards, she explained to me how the moments in the pictures weren’t her or didn’t pertain to her present life. Now, I’m Buddhist enough to understand what she is expressing, but what I don’t understand is why she keeps them in her [digital] life.

I posit that some of us have two identities: one digital, the other, physical. I’m not about to claim that one is better or more important than the other… wait, actually yeah, I am: the physical one is! On the surface, there’s nothing wrong or bad about the digital one. However, when one feels the need to disassociate one’s self from part of his or her life, while not attempting to sever that connection, I wonder if there might be something regarding mental or emotional health at stake. At that moment, I began to wonder if I too may one day be making excuses for an entire aspect of my life

This blog is part-humor and part-self-expression, but it’s nothing for which I intend to make excuses. Ridding myself of Facebook wasn't so much about curtailing my social life as it was keeping control of my public one. So I've moved on. (Also, I don't know anyone else that's ever done this.)