December 20, 2005. That's when I left Bulgaria. Not a day goes by that I'm not reminded of my experiences there. This is partially due to the fact that I speak to at least one person I 'served' with everyday. I walked away with some truly great friends, no doubt there. But, it's really more than that. I left early. I 'quit,' as they like to say. I remember it being a very clear decision. One that seemed so logical. It was... and it wasn't.

Professionally, for the first time ever, I really felt like a failure. Sure I transferred some skills and did some good in my town, but the markers of success seemed to keep moving and I felt like I consistently missed them. I felt like I'd done a week's worth of work in about a year and a half. Even if it wasn't true, it's what it felt like. I didn't have the resources (support, interest... you name it) to do what so clearly needed to be done. It was so fucking exhausting.

Adding to that, I had spent a lot of my time dealing with some demons. Maybe even too much time. I had developed a huge, and obvious, crush on a guy - a crush following my tendency to find comfort in unrequited... er, infatuation. In concert with other life events, it ended this pattern, but that didn't make it feel any better in the moment. There was a lot of self-doubt and confusion and discomfort - not great additions to living abroad. I had good friends who were kind and understanding enough to know when to push and when to let things go, but I'm sure the thrashing of the demons made me look - and act - like a giant ass to a fair amount of people. Sorry.

The demons weren't just about men (dear god, I'm not that fucking lame). They were really connected with everything. Limiting myself. Not pursuing what I really wanted. Anger. Bitterness. Sadness. Loss. Emptiness. Not knowing whether I was over- or underwhelmed in my life. ...Shit, basically. I'd just start crying for no reason at all. You know what? It was so fucking liberating. I wish I cried more now.

All the weight aside, I didn't leave Peace Corps for it. It was as factor, sure, but I clearly remember leaving for quite the opposite reason. I felt like I was getting better - stronger, more focused, less... weighted, but that I felt like I couldn't really BE those things where I was. Too much stagnation in my town. Too many friends with substance and reality issues. Too many people flaking out on me when I felt better just distancing myself from them all together. I needed space and time - room to grow. I'd used up all I had there.

Then I came back. The American Hamster Wheel. Three months of loneliness and feeling more lost then ever. Months of walking into other people's crutches and self-inflicted burdens. I'd left because I felt like I was finally ready to leave the abyss and I thought I had a good idea where the surface was, but then I arrived back in the grand ole US of A only to realize it was the same, only with rent and bills. Adding to all of this, it was only last week that I finally found a job - nearly 2 yrs later. All of those things I'd worked so hard to shed came back twofold. I was no longer strong and focused - I was sad and aimless. Exhausted once more.

Now, employed, I get to finally try to reclaim the gains I made abroad. Not all those gains were lost, but I feel I still have some repairing to do. I drifted from certain people - some of the drifting was very intentional, but other drifting was not. The loss of two friendships in particular has kept me up many more nights than I wish to admit. Two people who I once communicated with sometimes several times a day and considered very good friends. Two friendships lost, at least in part, due to my waywardness. Two faces that randomly appear in my dreams, as if to remind me of the sorrow, in case I had forgotten.

So here I am, 21 months later, still thinking about the Peace Corps. What I did and did not do. Wish I had done, and wish I had not. Things I am glad to never do again, and things my heart aches for. Both mistakes and advances made. A heart mended and broken several times over.

I don't miss the girl I was in Bulgaria, or even the girl I've been since I returned. The girl I miss is the one in those 2 weeks or so between deciding to leave and leaving. I miss the girl on the plane with nothing but potential ahead of her. She's been broken and reassembled many times in this lifetime, only to be better each time. Here's hoping this time is no different.

Now, damn it. I really need to stop writing in this blog and go somewhere else.

This is it. The bittersweet end. I just created my new blog, First Drafts and will begin the process of stepping away from here - my first online home and the renewal of my writing after far too many silent years. I still have some feelings and insights to the whole Peace Corps experience, but as I move on I'd rather not dedicate the time to doing it just yet. Time, Young Jedi... time.

I've made a few friends with this thing and, I'm sure, turned many people off by it. I don't see the point of personal journals - the process of documenting your secrets so then you have the added stress of worrying about people finding the documentation. Instead, I've gone with the 'here it is if you want to read it approach' and some have, many haven't. If it's possible to both put all your cards on the table while also keeping them close to your chest, I think I've done just that. My heart, mind and experiences have been released, even if readers don't fully know the specifics. I think there's something to writing that makes it general enough that people relate to it, even if they don't relate to the details themselves. As humans, we share basic responses to life's events and it's so easy to get lost in particulars and highlight the differences. We've been programmed in many ways to see in the us-vs-them paradigm and 'them' only seems to get larger and larger.

I'd like to take a brief moment to thank the many people who've remained loyal readers and served as feedback givers. You've made this so easy to do, and so rewarding. I hope you continue to follow my random life events in the new blog. As my life starts to feel more and more like my own again, the need to write grows as well. Hopefully you think this is a good thing.

For any PCV or future PCV that finds this: feel free to contact me if you have questions. I'm not the biggest PC advocate, but I wouldn't take back the experience. I'd happily give you my honest assessment, which might contrast with all the "oh my god! it was so amazing!" reactions people seem to have. I think it was amazing... but, it is my experience and my opinion that with great joy comes great sorrow and with good thoughts comes great responsibility. I witnessed a lot of sorrow and not so much responsibility. But... I think that's not much different than most places I've been, so take it with a grain of salt.

On to my Chicago life...

Fourth of July, a day when most Americans feel more American and more connected to their fellow countrymen. A Wal-Mart co-opted definition of pride and freedom fills the yards and streets, each person creative in their conformity. Beyond doing it to obey my rule of avoiding idiots with sticks of fire, I stay in on the Fourth because it's just another reminder that I'm not one.

Wedding season and summer vacations mean the city is overrun with tourists and brides... and wanna-be brides. In my generation, at least way back in the day, the worst you could do was to be a wanna-be or, god forbid, a poser. But here we are. Country girls in their discount dresses and nude hose and strappy sandals gawking at the buildings, carrying shopping bags of things available in most strip malls across the land. Suburban dads in their wife-purchased outfits, kids in tow, smiling at me in an overly intimate way. Everyone contemplating life on the other side, trial runs, free samples. A belief that the better life, meaning almost always the more 'fun' one or the easier one, is just a decision away. A one-step solution.

The fascination with this magical, all-solving step and it's belief to be the almighty one makes it seem all the more dangerous - alluring to ponder, but daunting to really consider. Like men who describe women as exotic, it's a flirtation around the idea of something being attractive because it isn't understood. When it becomes understood it's... flawed, not attractive.

Alters and thresholds provide the same myths and legends. Happily ever after, riding off into the sunset. One decision into another, better - and in this case - safer life. Find someone to provide. Be provided for. Marriage isn't trite or necessarily flawed, but most people seem to plan to be brides and grooms more than husbands and wives. Perfect linens and flowers and ribbons, music and processional, standard toasts and poses. A perfect day for the perfect beginning. Thousands of dollars for the proper send off into Perfectville.

I've been to a few parties recently where new 30-somethings (meaning 30 year olds) stand around with their wedding bands or wedding plans taking about their condos, drinking from plastic cups and telling band camp stories. It's the Quarter Life Purgatory between starting the career and starting the family - jumping from one well traveled track to the next. These gatherings are like college parties, those thrown in the time of your life when you feel you are biding time until the Next Big Thing happens to you.

Outside of these Purgatory Parties, the rest of us huddle over small coffeehouse tables, in hushed but impassioned conversations about meanings and journeys and confusion. Those of us unwilling to jump on the same train, running on the same old track, duck into the dank and dirty train station cafe and question not just the destination, but the best mode to get wherever we want 'there' to be.

When you graduate high school there's the excitement - one stemming from everyone going to the next phase in their own way. All, or most , are going to college, but one that fits them somehow. Plans are made to get together over winter break to reconnect and swap stories.

College graduation is a little different. People finish at different times, find jobs at different rates, go off to even more schooling. There's an immediate definition of success - those who land the quickest and the safest. Investment bankers. Law school students. People merging effortlessly into the well paved paths of security. Those left behind or taking risks with something less traditional can't quite keep up with the parties and other lifestyle choices. It becomes clear that their roads are diverging from their more focused friends. And then there's a gulf - one left for both parties to attempt to overcome.

It is when these roads separate, rather than when they are together, that proves the meaning and value of the friendships. A shared experience does not a friendship make. Differing experiences and a commitment to be a part of both shows that it's more than padding or a diversion. Constantly reeling in, and being reeled in. Not allowing distance or careers or significant others or money or rate of progress to dictate what is or is not there.

When I think of my friendships and what holds them together I get two things: laughter and respect. That includes being able to laugh at oneself and having self-respect. Some of those things are in jeopardy. Others, sadly, I think have faded. Sometimes I feel too present in my life, as if my heart is in thousands of pieces and being housed outside of myself. When attachments become loses, that piece of me goes too.

There were lots of discussions. When I was in Peace Corps and spent countless hours online chatting with friends there were points, even months, where we earnestly asked ourselves and each other why we stayed. No one was quite sure. After many drinks one night at our Midservice Training I vaguely remember a friend and I working in concert to explain to a trainee why we were still there. I remember it being eloquent and insightful... but the liquor was talking for us so I don't remember much of the details. It was basically about the few people we touched and who touched us back, and our dedication to those connections. Generally though, without the social lubricant of alcohol the answer could be much more stark. The answer most often given was "what do we go back to?" The interesting aspect of it all was that people left with a good deal of bravery were likely to stay out of cowardice.

One day, after a few intense days of internal battles discussed with close friends, I rather abruptly decided that the answers for staying were not good enough and I, with eyes wide closed, pressed 'send' on my resignation email - thus leaping into the great unknown. I knew it was the right decision for me and I still hold that same opinion, though as lovely as spring is along the lake, I have found myself thinking of tying red and white bracelets to flowering trees to celebrate spring, of the discussions I had with my host family and my counterparts, of my weekend hikes into the mountains, of my walk to work and of various other wondrous little details - details that, occasionally, will take my breath away with their absence.

I feel like I've lived a few lifetimes since sending that resignation email. Friendships have forever changed. My family has grown to one that is damn near functional, if only because the disfunction ate itself. I've moved and moved again... and moved again. I'm currently living on the 3rd floor of a house I'm housesitting. It's enormous - so enormous it's a little daunting. Even the bathtub is strangely gigantic. As the owners sell the house I'm living here for free - attending the gardens, battling the dust bunnies. The thing that puts a smile on my face is that it's my life in Velingrad, only this time in the North Shore. Still adapting to the culture. Still balancing trying to be invisible and yet open and receptive. Still wondering what comes next. Still wondering what the hell I'm doing.

A PCV's blog said that there's a confidence people have when they are a PCV - that they can adapt to anything and go anywhere. It's so true, even here at home. It's amazing how nervous and shaken people can get over small things. Part of that confidence is having been through much more - and worse. Part though, I think, is having taken the time to, if not find your center, then to get much closer to it. Just being away from media and TV and social pressures means that you have to take the time to figure out more of what you want and like without all the external influences. Finding something you like there makes you all the more confident.

I'm spending my days looking for a job - a landing pad for the next phase of my life. I'm being careful not to take whatever I get. Not to fall into old dead-end patterns. Once you've found that person - that center - and you like it, it's hard but terribly important to keep it. Even if the safe landing is poorly chosen, at least there's the safety net of knowing I was real throughout. Of knowing I was true to myself and knowing I did not compromise me. Unfortunately, not compromising is terribly draining, making the days of government stipends and capitol city jaunts seem rosy. It's times like this when I understand why people settle and focus their energies on what the perfect coffee table might look like or what to wear. At least then you have something to show for your time.

I spend many of my waking hours online these days. Unlike my Bulgarian days, it's not to converse with friends or explore my interests - it's solely to find a job. My list of unreplyed to emails grows longer and longer. Part of that is due to the complete lack of separation from my work and home (having neither, they blend seamlessly). Part is due to the fact that explaining you are in between phases and parts of your life is tiring. Not sure where I am or where I'm going, I don't wish to blow the dust of my confusion and internal conflicts in order to present them to someone else. If it's not broke, don't fix it. But what about when it's broken, then what? I search for a job with the triad of good pay, interesting and... there's a new addition: some place where having a personality isn't a liability. It's striking how well people convey the exact type of person they want in an ad. When we posted in my last 'real' job we did it too - adding words like 'quirky' and 'sassy' to attract people who'd fit in. Reading job ads requires more savvy than the NYC real estate ads. Too much use of "must" means there's a predefined way to do the job and you'll be judged by that mold. "Preferred" qualifications mean they'll only hire people who have them, though they don't intend to pay the appropriate salary for that level of work. If a job description is so long and boring you want to skim it, it doesn't bode well for the actual position. There's a right way to say everything - it's all corporate-speak, carefully phrased to appease the HR director, lawyers and hiring manager. I've never been a fan of governing by committee. In the end it all seems like a long pointless paragraph describing a job that reflects its description. And I'm left to wonder: why am I doing this? What do I want from it? What would something better look like? Where would I fit in?

I was asked in an interview not long ago how I spent my days. I said that I felt that looking for employment was a full-time job and I was doing just that. Luckily, the interviewer didn't press the issue too much. While I do indeed spend my days and some evenings looking for work, it not as fruitful as you might think for a city the size of Chicago. Instead of finding tons of listings to apply to, I find that most are nothing I would want to do, even for the short term. Jobs seem to have become very nuts-and-bolts somewhere along the way. Manage collections, data, IT, HR, marketing. The job descriptions are long and detailed, having long since been defined to fit a niche in the organization (yet few having anything to do with the actual product the company sells). It's clear from these descriptions and the requirements attached to them (MBA, 10 years experience doing the exact same thing in the exact same field, further certifications in that field just in case there's any doubt left) that they want someone to peacefully come in and fill the slot so that it can be included on the next quarterly report as a handled issue and then everyone can go about business as usual.

The exception to this is work in the non-profit world where they actually go as far as to state "must be familiar with local leadership" - meaning you must have connections. They too often want advanced degrees and multiple years experience all so you can earn $25k/year. Those without local connections seem to be relegated to the more junior positions, none of which come with opportunities to actually make those connections and are instead operations and office work... desk jobs.

Being on the tail-end of the Gen Xers, I was raised to think that one reason to go to school and work hard was so that you could do something you loved. Spending the bulk of your conscious hours at work means, on some level, you are what you do and you wanted that person (and thus that job) to be a great as possible. The more passive Gen Y generation, barely remembering the 80s at all, were raised with college educations and white collar jobs being more of the norm and something you just accepted would happen. You play by the rules, you meet the success markers and you are rewarded for it. Who you are and what you do can be outside of that. They were a generation raised to think of Nirvana as cool, though a wee retro and on mainstream radio. There's something we Gen Xers got from the 80s duality of the Alex P. Keatons and the Joey Ramones that they seem to be missing. There's something we got out of having non-Gap flannel. Something goes awry when 'alternative' and 'indie' lose their edge and become mass marketed for the part-timers stopping in after the office. What's left, in the Colbert-coined term, is truthiness.

The interesting thing about the masses being able to afford college (on some level, a great myth), is that we've taken the Me Generation, American Psycho love for labels and embraced it in education. It's not that you went to school, but where that matters. A top-tier school in the East Coast gets you into the club, but in the Midwest, where local schools and Greek memberships still carry weight, it just means you aren't a PLU ('people like us,' an actual term used). To carry that further, there are advanced degrees and certifications that 'earn' you a place at the table. I know a guy who went from doing all non-profit work to being a consultant to executives as a result of getting his MBA. This is not to say the guy isn't bright (he is) or can't do the work (he can), but I don't really know that the MBA is what made him able to do that work. I've spoken to other friends with MBAs and while they say that they learned the 'proper' vernacular to use when talking about things, they didn't really alter their strengths - that people go in with a zeal for ideas and innovation or they don't. Given my, er, lack of subtlety I asked if they thought an MBA was a $100,000 finishing school. A pregnant pause later... "that's exactly what it is". The problem is that it's the MBAs that are doing hiring and if they paid to be in the club, why shouldn't you?

In the pursuit of work, I've been networking with people near and far who can offer advice and/or assistance. In one of my discussions I asked someone the honest question: companies complain about not having 'out-of-the-box' thinkers, yet they actively recruit people with straight and narrow experiences - how do they expect to get those thinkers with that strategy? I immediately withdrew the question, apologizing for its confrontational nature. But... I really don't understand it. I don't understand how people are expected to be innovative when they spend years being forcefed ideas and systems. I don't understand how people are surprised by the sheep mentality we have when everything is set up to encourage just that.

My resume has been making its rounds in Chicago for about two months now and the results are pretty consistent - great resume, we just don't know what to do with it. It seems like I just don't fit into a lot of pre-set expectations. On some level, I'm glad for that... but it doesn't solve the unemployment issue any faster. I'm a Gen Xer - I'll leave my orange Pumas at home to go to the office, but... on the inside, the mentality I have and the skills that I offer are those of a girl with orange Pumas. It's the mentality of a girl who, years ago, wrote on her Chucks "ask why". I suppose I still am.

I've never much minded aging, unlike most of my contemporaries. Sure, my relationship with Gravity becomes strained as he stubbornly pushes things down and out, but my body does nothing less than show the growing pains and battle scars of a life I learned a lot from. I see myself, not less than I used to be, but more than (thanks for that, Gravity and Pastries). I grew up with parents who had me at a young age and 'missed out' on the late teen and 20s experience, leaving them to always ponder what could have been and to wax nostalgic about the glory days. All of this could have inspired me to really relish the years they missed, but instead I saw it with some sadness - the sadness that comes from thinking the best days and years are behind you. I vowed at a young age to never be guilty of that, and to see my life - and my best days - as always being ahead of me.

I turned 30 a week ago - without much fanfare, something I wanted to skip. I didn't feel the horrible weight on me that I'm now old or past my prime. Instead I felt some relief. See, while many people remember their twenties as being a grand time and full of parties and chaos and general hedonism, I viewed my twenties as sheer torture. In addition to not having the 'typical' experience, I just found it to be a lot of pretending and fakeness. I found it to be trite. The twenties were, in my opinion, the least earnest decade - though, of course, I haven't had that many to choose from. The experience was all about acting like you knew who you were and what you wanted while you were always looking over your shoulder to see if it was working. The twenties were about proving you could be the first, the best, the biggest, the something. Somewhere though, in the late twenties you finally realize your train jumped the status and preprogrammed track and you, rather hectically, must actually choose the track that fits. Something in my mind, always said that 30 was the age when you knew (or at least better knew) what parts of 'having it all' were for you, and which parts you viewed as not at all appealing... and, more importantly, you were comfortable with your acceptances and rejections.

When asked the question "don't you wish we were [insert a younger age] and could do it over again?" my answer is a resounding not just 'no,' but 'hell no.' I can't think of any lessons I'd want to relearn or relive, even if it meant not making the mistakes that lead to my twisted path. There was an episode of Star Trek (um, I don't really watch that show - honest to god) where Spock wished that he knew what he knew now in the beginning, and in some sci-fi suspension-of-some-serious-disbelief way that happened. The end result? He turned out to be half the man he was, with the moral being: we need to make mistakes, possibly even great ones, to become all that we can be. My life and choices haven't been perfect, but I don't look in the mirror and wish that I'd turned out differently. So, even when I think of the wretched parts of my life that I'd have rather not had, I do not look back with regret - only with wonder at just how much it shaped me.

The turning point of 30 has made me listen differently and think differently. Think about how this decade will be greater and better than the last, what I want from it and what regrets I don't want to have. The difference in listening... well, I realize just how many people gather round to tell band camp stories or other stories of the past. I realize how often, if at all, people talk about the future... and if they link it to present situations. I turned 30 with good laughs and good friends - not with tales of the good old days, which weren't so good and are so very old.

When I neared the end of my New York tenure, I envisioned a life of politics and policy, a DC apartment and jogging along with all the others. Something about all the navy and beige suits, standard haircuts and general homogeneity - not to mention the workaholic I-am-what-I-do mentality - filtered into signing up for Peace Corps and bypassing the need to decide right away. When all else fails, just avoid.

Yesterday I stopped avoiding and after nearly three hours of phone interviews, I was whisked off to DC to wow the office in person. The treatment was first class - great hotel room, free air fare and meals, cars to and from the airports. Even the people were kind and lovely. I wow'ed as best as I could and kept the energy level as high as I could muster, but something wasn't fitting. From the moment I stepped off the plane I was just reminded how... plastic it all is. Inhabited primarily by people passing through as leisurely tourists on vacation or professional tourists building a career, the streets and buildings lack any real character or charm. A gritless city. Places that come close to being interesting or unique give off the distinct feeling that they are a product of a focus group or a copy of a copy of a great idea. Day or night, the District appeared to be populated with people in suits and ties or their slackerdly cousin, the polo and khakis ensemble - something that seemed so glaring coming from a town where people can be seen going to work in ballcaps and flipflops.

Coming from a city where everyone seems to take themselves with a grain of salt, where serving on a community board or volunteering is quite common and where every apartment seems to be in a neighborhood that's within walking distance of something great, the seriousness of people's self-interest in 'serving' national causes from their suburban dwellings was not particularly alluring, bordering on non-human.

While the specifics are interesting (including a wardrobe malfunction leaving my breasts exposed all over Constitution Ave), you know I tend to get something more general from experiences and this is no exception. There are two major things connecting people who join Peace Corps - the interest in becoming a part of something greater and the interest in leaving something. The rhetoric that is spewed emphasizes the former but not the latter. On a personal level, remembering the latter is all too important.

When we return it's all too easy to walk back into old places, to see old faces and to pick up where we left off with only a momentary lapse - like a needle on a record that skips but keeps playing the same recognizable song. We left in many ways to let ourselves grow and expand and to step back far enough to realize why what we had wasn't enough. I assume there are a few who find that is was enough and just learn to gain appreciation for it - but I think those cases are few and far between. It's important to keep this goal in mind - the goal of a fresh start - because returning is its own bewildering journey and it's so easy to just find comfort in the old haunts, the old habits... the old rut. Without taking the time to figure out what one wants, where and all the other assorted details its so easy to pick up the default choices and return to a non-jarring, non-growing, non-threatening life. In the period of one's life where they most want and need safety, the challenge is, well, to avoid it.

Several inquires have arrived in the last month or so - people interested in what I'm doing and how I am, if and when there will be a new blog. I am, for the record, fine. Searching for work that is meaningful and fulfilling without, I hope, completely emptying my bank account in the pursuit. I am loving Chicago and feeling more connected to it each day. Cities, like people, have a tempo and vibe - they feed off certain things and offer others. Certain cities, I think, feel like home and others - regardless of how much time you spend there - will always seem foreign. Chicago, for me, is like that near-rib-cracking hug that you get when an old and dear friend sees you after a long separation - like you'd be more excited if you didn't feel so damn peaceful. Some of my blog sabbatical has involved such distractions as reentering the world of theater-going, long and cleansing walks along the lake and just meeting that mix that Chicago offers - the hearty down-to-earthness mixed with curiosity and a genuine sense of community. After living in a world where people desired to work at city hall forever, it's damn near breathtaking to meet "my" people... people like architects who play the banjo in bluegrass bands... people who want to endlessly learn and grow and become richer and fuller in a sense that goes beyond consumption and stale definitions of success.

Part of my distraction from this site, or the next, is that I'm figuring out what I want from my life and what I'm doing with it. In the job hunt it's all too easy to lose focus on the fact that you are both the seller and the buyer - that you are there as much to see if the fit is for you and you are to convince the interviewer that you are a fit for them. It's easy to forget what it is you're looking for when the first step is being wanted. It's easy to just devolve into wanting to be wanted... something that describes a great many of the life searches I know. After a few months of mental and emotional rest - or something resembling that - I entered the job market and have been in it for about a month. Things are moving forward - frankly, for the time I've been at it, it's going quite nicely. Serious interviews and interests are starting to role in, I'm even expecting an offer from a place that is not 'the one' - or even close to it. I've faced a lot of self-doubt and large questions about whether I should, assuming the offer comes, take it. Advice from friends has been split, often based on their own bias and way of living - it's hard to endorse risk-taking when your own life is security-seeking. What do I want from my life? What do I have, and want, to offer? Where do I want to be in 20 years and how - oh how - will I get there? If I turn down a very good salary and a 'stable' job will I regret it? Would I regret taking it more?

In the process of making all these major, life-changing decisions it falls into place that it would be appropriate to question the relationships and people in one's life as well. And so, I have. Major events in my life have left me to question how people lead their lives and how those choices affect my own. I've been in many friendships where people are hell-bent on destroying themselves. People in that mentality will gladly take the whole team with them. Before it tears you up inside though, you get to live a dichotomous life of choosing to be the silent indirect condoner or the nagging battleaxe. One thing I've learned about myself, and life in general, this last year or so is that you have the relationships you want - or at least those you allow to happen. It is your choice. You can care about people and want great things for them, but if they don't want it for themselves then... well, you just enable them in some way. I don't have to agree with every person's every decision, but I do think I need to feel confident in some way that they are making decisions that are, for them, wise and healthy - ones where they are continuing to grow and learn and not just learn the same damn lessons over and over. Don't just keep broken things around the house under the illusion that you'll fix them - be prepared to make it a project or move on. I'm happy to share my journey with others and to take part in theirs as well, but I'm not prepared to be the only one struggling to move forward. Returning has made me realize what amazing people I have in my life, new and old. Time, like all resources, is limited and if the choice is blood, sweat and tears with those owning their lives and fighting the real fight or having a good time with one of the 'fun' people, well... I think we all know my choice.

And that, dear readers, is what has taken my time away from here: making lots of choices. And so, I'll choose to be better at this.

I am keeping this blog until I feel like I've moved on from Peace Corps. I'd certainly like that to be sooner rather than later, but... well, as I continue to question what the 'new' life will be and what all of this has taught me it seems appropriate to keep the discussion - or what I can muster - here.

The date's been set. As of Saturday I'll be in Illinois on my way to Chicago. Though the road trip could be done in a day, nine hours of driving is a bit much. Plus, sadly, I'm looking forward to my night alone in a roadside hotel. I just want some time to be alone for a bit and just enjoy the progress I've made.

I'll arrive in Chicago on Sunday, exactly three months after leaving my sentence with the Peace Corps. I miss friends, but... not the experience. It's hard to believe it's been three months. It's hard to believe I've lived with my mom that long and haven't been committed. I've gone through quite a bit since leaving. Most of it has been mental and emotional processing. Like with all moves, you need to spend the time sorting what comes along and what gets ditched. I've inherited a new father, or learned that my 'real' one is not who I thought; become an aunt for the fourth time; learned that I'll be one for the fifth time in the fall; waded through the mounds of paperwork that American life produces (still having more to do); caught up with a few friends... It's hard to think that it took three months. My family has a knack for making emergencies, or at least urgencies. It seems like I've been in one since I arrived. Everything must be done right away, although at the end of the day I'm never sure what's been done. My family is the Black Hole of Time.

I'm leaving here soon, as much because it's just time to move on as because I need to once again break from the cycle of victimization that people here live in and because... I'm restless. I need a new challenges and new people and new explorations and room to grow. Things that aren't here. I'm feeling both calm and frayed by my choice of moves. I know Chicago is the right lifestyle city for me, but I keep coming up with blanks about jobs... I feel like a career is still out of reach. I keep getting signs large and small that DC would be a more 'rational' choice. Connections... schooling... experience. I just can't picture a life there among the cube dwellers longing for a U-shaped desk and a door. Among the people who think they were destined to rule with theories and Blackberries from a distance. Among people who think they are RIGHT. When I see DC in my head, I see all the is wrong with America. Perhaps I just have a problem with authority.

One thing I wanted to do before I left KC, both to close this blog and to give closure to my experience with Peace Corps, was to write a final commentary on it all. I still have yet to do that, and I need to. There's so much there - so much that I think and feel about the whole experience. The writer and humanist in me has tons to say, but the consultant/policy wonk in me has just as much. It's all tangled. I have pages of notes that I need some peace to sort through. Perhaps it'll be my Holiday Inn fun. Perhaps I should stay more than one night. I could use it. Just to be calm and alone. Is it lame to vacation in a rural interstate hotel? Maybe I could move in and manage it... probably not qualified though.

I resubmitted my resume to the online job banks today, lowering some numbers a bit and changing some wording. Oddly, I'm now getting responses that refer to me as an 'executive' when before I seemed to be destined to sell insurance. The whole thing makes me laugh a bit - how driven by efficiency we Americans are that we actually tend to bypass quality. The responses are clearly based on searches for a phrase that I magically managed to include. Now recruiters, having found my resume in one database, want me to add my name to theirs. But... haven't they already found my resume? Entering my information into databases could take months if I let it, but I just won't. Doesn't anyone actually look at things any more? Actually read them? I'm beginning to think not.

I took a day off from being unemployed (much less glam than it sounds and largely involving, um, databases) and went to a bookstore, for Mediterranean food and for coffee at my favorite coffeehouse anywhere (it was such an escape when I was a wee grrrl and always takes me back there). In any case, in my browsing I went to the business section and, again, was amazed by the lack of actual reality people produce. The books were largely based on marketing or managing... either a product or yourself as a product. It was dumbfounding. It may be possible that I am no longer fit for Western society. I want to start asking people what they do, but pressuring them until I get a real answer. I'm assuming this is not the best way to make friends and isn't included in the networking strategy books.

A family member was let go from her job - the only one she's ever had, and one that someone else got for her to boot. She's paranoid about it and what losses it might mean - primarily a loss of security. Perhaps I'm just so used to being knocked off track that it doesn't phase me any longer. I just remember entering each unexpected turn with fear in my eye, but coming out of it with a deep sigh of relief. It's frustrating to embrace change in a world constantly asking what effect my decisions (staying unemployed for a couple months, leaving Peace Corps, etc) will have in the long term. It just seems like they were decisions that needed to be made without knowing the absolute outcome... without controlling it and playing it safe. Safe enough to bore one to tears.

I remember first getting to Bulgaria and thinking about all the lack of rails and safety precautions - it was rather horrifying. Now, I look at all the American attempts to keep fear and danger and the unexpected at bay and am horrified. People protecting their children from any harm or real life experience whatsoever. 'My child won't struggle.' 'I don't want to have to worry about what will happen if I do/don't..." It seems like we are a nation paralyzed with fear. We distribute and market and criticize and drive ourselves mad with the pursuit of perfection, but miss the overall quality factor every time. Ever the eavesdropper, I heard two women having a fierce debate about the perfect... mascara. There are times I am glad a ballbat isn't nearby. I'd soon be writing this about prison life. But, well, at least that'd be better than selling insurance.

My general perception of the Peace Corps is that it was an experience of make-believe. To deal with the local pressures, lack of comfort, homesickness, wanderlust, confusion, anger, sadness, and generally just not knowing if you are over- or underwhelmed, you create a reality that you can deal with and live there for awhile. Some people are better at doing this than others. Actually, I almost think that people who do it too well should be taken directly off the plane and institutionalized. They've got some serious issues with reality. Still they tell you to stay and reinforce the idea of your 'commitment'. Good/successful/smart worthy people did it... you can too.

I left my New York life, which could have gone anywhere I wanted it to go, because I felt there was too much pretending. In New York, you can be as mental as you want to be as long as it's in some trendy, narcissistic, neurotic way... and you should preferably be really cute when you do it. You have brunch with people who can discuss world politics, art, literature; just don't mention any personal crisis or non-medicated emotion. It's bigger, better, faster, more... as Ani D says, the suits now own New York. Everyone claimed to be such an individual and open-minded - all the while wearing labels (Prada, Marxist) that gave them rank and file. Subscribe and belong. Judge and be judged. Good/successful/smart/worthy people do it... who are you to not?

Labels make me laugh. I wear Sears with Ann Taylor, Tiffany's with street jewelry. I'm a feminist who disagrees with a lot of what both feminists and women in general do, I'm a free-marketer who thinks that the biggest test to the theory is poverty... and that the theory doesn't always do so well. I'm the kind of joiner that inside people don't much care for. I'll embrace the parts of the status quo that work, but the rest... well, they need to go - or I do. I'll stretch an organization as much as it allows me to stretch it, but if administration and maintenance is what you are looking for, well, I am not your girl.

Anti-label, pro-individual, pro-mess, pro-growth, anti-stagnation. With these I look to join... I need a job. It took me some time to get out my resume and submit myself to the employment dating game. I need to follow the rules and to impress people I don't know and don't necessarily care about what they think of me. Good/successful/smart/worthy people do it... who am I to not?

I read job descriptions and am amazed by the requirements. People - ah, those MBAs! - have created measurement tools to try to assure people that they know what they are getting. The minimal requirements are several years in one particular and very tiny area (how far does this go? one ad looking for a barista required 'at least one year of microfoam experience'). Quantity... ah, those MBAs. I wonder though... if someone's only worked in one sector for all that time, how much creativity or flexibility can they have? How much ability to 'see the big picture' to make changes to actually create? Others require significant certifications. Acquire the signals that one is 'trained' and 'follows' a line of thought. Good/successful/smart/worthy people do it... monkeys do it too.

When I was a student, I never ran into problems with the material - regardless of the subject. My problem was generally that I'd get to the point where I knew what I wanted or was supposed to know... and then I just didn't feel the need to prove it to someone who proved it to someone who proved it to someone else. Disestablishmentarianism. I suppose it's something I've never quite gotten over - it's like a terminal professional illness.

Life is like high school in many ways - there's always another person playing teacher asking you to raise your hand, sit in the front, accept what it taught and get the proverbial 'A'. There's also the chance to sit in the back, raise your eyebrow and question authority and their 'truth'. I've done a bit of both and I can tell you I found a lot of successful people in the front. But the good, smart and worthy folks... well, I've met far more of them in the back. Plus, it's a lot more fun back there. Doesn't really solve the employment problem though, eh?

Reentering American society is a long, quiet and private war. I'm often asked what I do with my days and I'm routinely unsure how to answer. Some days I reach epiphanies that clearly steer my decisions, other days I do a lot of thinking with absolutely no conclusions drawn. I've been unemployed for nearly two months now. People keep asking if I've submitted my resume or found any good job listings... if I'm moving in the direction of honoring the Protestant Work Ethic like all 'good' people do. I confess, I think there is goodness in a hard day's work and I hope to return to it soon. It's just that... returning is exactly what I'm avoiding.

There's a trap we returnees are faced with: return to the comfort of what you knew or suck up more of the unknown, and possibly hardship, and do something different. The first of these options is easy to do. In addition to the experiences of the past, we have now served as 'good' people in a 'good' cause and, gosh darn people want to like us for it... and what's so wrong with being liked? The problem is that people don't flee a rewarding life to live in poverty for two years, no matter how open-hearted they are. Something's missing or, perhaps, too much is there and so departure - however temporary - seems like a good solution. Of course, this is until it's time to return when you know you've done little more than fight strange diseases in the name of procrastination.

As I tiptoe into my 30s with intense moisturizer in hand, I look around and see a lot of desperate romances. Of course these include actual intimate relationships, but it also includes attachments people have to other crutches in their lives... 'solutions.' There's a yearning to have The Answer and to look to someone or something else to give it. (I've had a draft of a long entry on addictions for some time... I need to finish it, because it really fits here.) Again, it's about ease - about being able to blame outside of oneself when things go awry, and they will. We all need to live our own truths - we can't depend upon others to provide those, or distract from their omnipresence.

I mention these desperate romances because, I don't want to fall into that trap. The trap of being something I'm not just because it's easy or because people like me for it. I didn't leave hoping for someone else to provide solutions for me and I do not return (I hope) wanting them either. I read my resume, on it's 274th draft, and think that I can and have done all those things. Then I think "do I want to?" ...and the resume sits there. I'm not sure that I do and not sure what to do next to provide for myself while I build something more real and closer to my personal truth. Love. Truth. Courage... hard to live up to.

I've been looking through employment listings like a desperate single woman with the Sunday Styles section (it's wedding listings, for those not in love with NYT.... and that's New York Times). I read about a prestigious consultancy firm with a large Chicago office that does a lot of international work. Like a lot of woman (and, dear lord, far too many gay men), I started to plan the future and to become seduced by the strongest venom of all: potential (as opposed to, oh, reality). I could picture a financially secure life where I went to work with talented and smart people, I traveled for work and for play and I live comfortably ever after. Comfort... not something I realistically ever really like. When thinking more about the position and attempting to deconstruct the fantasy I'd quickly created, I thought of my 10 year high school reunion. I missed part of the reunion and asked a friend about a former classmate of ours that I'd missed. She described the classmate as controlled and clipped... too polished to be real. Do I want to become that?

If asked how I see myself, I'd first attempt to wiggle out of a straight answer and then submit to the following: an observer and analyzer of human nature and interactions. That, unfortunately, is still all too vague. Should I "lead and coordinate cross-functional teams" until I realize what that specifically means to me... or bank on skills related to my drive and see where it goes? I struggle with wondering how to start what I love without nestling into the comforts of old patterns... how to lean on those old talents for support without reintroducing the crutch of yesteryear's answers into my life.

...and we all entered having no idea who the enemies were and where the struggles would be. More on that later. Until then, read this.

PS - I promise to not become one of those blogs that just links to other articles. Because that takes SO much talent. Um, yeah.

Not much to say, but I've been posting daily, so I wanted to add a bit. All I'll add today is this:

this weekend, if you are near an English bookstore and haven't had the pleasure yet, pick up Persepolis, your favorite cup of coffee and prepare for a short but fantastic read. Spunk, smarts, originality. Good stuff.

And on a personal note: just feels fucking great to have access to books again. America, I love you. I love you so hard. Well...kinda.

This past week a semi-hero of mine died. Wendy Wasserstein - playwright, feminist, humorist - is no longer with us. Her fan base was quite dedicated even if the critics weren't always impressed. Personally, I loved her themes and her characters even if I thought she stopped short of delving deeper, delivering a slap where a hook was needed. Still, she showed that women writing about women needn't be resigned to a life serving on fringe festival panels and doing community theater, that there was a universal truth to the female human story and that one doesn't need to subscribe to the life of SUVs and marriage and child rearing in order to be fulfilled. She even put in the thought that perhaps it was better that we didn't.

I look around at the women leaders and thinkers we have out there and I'm really... well, sad. Sure the Maureen Dowd's can turn a phrase and the Martha's can help you find your inner domestic goddess and the Oprah's can help you streamline your emotions/ purchases/ thoughts/ life so that it's all rosy and fun, but we've come to placate more than we liberate and smooth more than we ruffle. My own days as a more active feminist involved posting quotes and stats all over lower Manhattan to get people to talk and think. It involved pointing out patriarchy and bullshit. It involved saying "I'm ok without you, foo". When I learned of Wendy's death I immediately thought of her plays, and then of their limitations. Still, she moved things forward and that act deserves to be recognized. She didn't stand in the safe sidelines critiquing others' works. She didn't steer from the complications of life in order to be happy, or as a way to market herself as The Grand Answer Holder. She was flawed, but there's absolutely nothing wrong with that.

A friend of mine spoofed my blog in an email to me once, riddling it with unanswerable questions. I do throw out a lot of those and I think Wendy did too. Call it feminism. See, I think that seeing one's self as the final answer is so incredibly infested with testosterone that I can't see the screen for my eyes rolling back so far. There are far too many blogs (written largely by men) dedicated to throwing out the person's opinion (however witless) about some grandiose issue. This person, this Cube Dweller, knows the answer though. Just ask. Or don't ask... he'll post anyway. This is not to say I find women's blogs to be a lot better. No, those are often sad songs about dieting woes, dating mishaps or (and this kills me) product endorsements. They don't encourage enlightenment or being a more open person or discuss the complications of their personal life. No, they encourage their readers to be more vain and image obsessed. A decade ago, in a room of feminists, if someone said "are you hot?" the group answer would be "who the fuck cares?" Now, even among the more vocal, educated and opinionated women out there, the answer would be "I sure hope so". Am I alone in finding this a problem?

Coming back from Peace Corps gave me a fresh take on American life. Once something of a political junkie, I admit that I now find caring a problem. Coming back and scanning the channels filled with political and business leaders, I immediately noted their sunken faces and deep lines and lifeless eyes and my first thought was "that's what your face looks like when you spend your life trying to control everything that isn't yours and avoid what is". Sure, it's a generalization, but it was my first reaction and it was as clear as could be. Everyone wears their history on their face. Some are just better mask makers than others. In my days in feminist meetings we had a "this is me, take it or leave it" attitude. I miss living in a world where people are like that, one where people are political about things that affect them directly, not in an attempt to manhandle the lives of others. Now, people just want to rule and be liked and are unabashedly willing to become whatever is needed to make that happen.

I realized while abroad that as much as the path to political or business success was alluring, the people I really respected were those that were out there living their lives and following their passions and just... leaving the mask at home. There are people who've done both, but I've met so very few of them. In a world where we drug every mental and physical problem, strive to exceed the Joneses and "present" ourselves to all but a select few, it was inspiring to know that there was one more person out there. One more person not afraid of the answers, so she didn't have to control them. She was more into the questions. In a world full of answers and answerers, I ask this: where have the maskless questioners gone?

For those who do not know, life changes and introspection have led me to decide to file for a legal change of name. Today confirmation was received that the judge approved it and I am, in so many ways, not my father's daughter. The rest of the process (an antiquated requirement to make a 'public notice' in a local paper I've never heard of and then changing all personal documents) will take another month and needs to be handled locally. This means I have approximately a month until I am free to move.

Being tied to that process has allowed me to take some pressure off myself to just run and jump into what's next and instead really think about what I want and need. Some days my own thoughts annoy me to no end, other days pieces seem to effortlessly come together allowing me to realize things I should have noted long ago. It's purgatory, but a much needed one. I, finally, took DC and NYC off my possibility list realizing that the friends and would-be life in Chicago have taken a life of their own - a life I eagerly await to live. I've come to fully appreciate the need for like minded friends to be close and to share my life with them. I want to be closer (yet not sooooo close) to my family. I want to pursue my interests and even my non-corporate talents. I want to sail and bike and own a Wrangler that I beat the living shit out of. I want to box again.

The list of things I've had to fret about in the last month has been rather overwhelming, but having one closer to completely finished means I am that much closer to moving my energy down the list. This next month will be, largely, about preparing to tackle my new life by tying up loose ends locally and healing some significant old wounds. When I head to Chicago I'll have a new name and, really, a new me to go with it. I, at least once a day, beat myself up for not moving faster and doing more, yet my days are full and I begin and end each day aware of my center and myself. This itself is tremendous progress. This is the beginning.

I've kinda fallen in love with blogs, well, good ones. I love that the artificial distance encourages people to be more open and honest and just put themselves on the line for all to judge. Recently, many blogs (including my own) have been absent of significant new entries. I know some of the people in the blogs I read and I know this is generally not for the lack of news or changes. Most people's lives are actually changing quite rapidly. Call it regaining one's life in the late 20s or early 30s. Call it the response to dealing with a redefining world. Call it the beginning of the returning Age of Aquarius. But whatever you call it, note that it's happening.

My own life these past few weeks has been a whirlwind of monotony, if that's possible. I set the ball rolling to major changes in my life (and was dealt more) and these weeks have been basically about, well, administering those changes. Today, for example, I had not a moment to spare between 10:30am and 9pm. What did I do? Not a lot. Worked out, a meeting, dinner, grocery shopping, online stuff and...that's it. I chip away at the things I need to do. I can only look at my to do list in terms of weeks because there's no way I can finish one of the massive things I need done in a day. So, weeks go by and people asked what I've been up to. A lot and not so much.

Returning from Peace Corps can be quite frustrating. Returning from a rather hellish existence makes one realize what is needed and wanted - and unneeded and surely unwanted. I've returned being less consumed with news and gossip and more concerned about me and my needs and boundaries. Some of this is healthy, some is... well, needed in my current state. I find myself talking about my own issues and concerns more than those of friends. I can only give you vague ideas about what's going on in the lives of the people I know because nearly ounce of me has been dedicated to keeping it together, staying focused and minimizing the breakdowns. I've been a great friend to myself recently, but not such a good one to others.

I'm usually the listener and the rock and the confidant offering empathy and a shoulder. I still have those things to offer, but I offer them less. Yes, of course part is due to my own need for self care, but part is due to something else. It's hard to take steps toward recognizing your life isn't your own, your 'support' is mainly crutches and addictions and that you have a duty to yourself to live up to your potential... it's hard to do these things and not expect the same from others. It is, of course, the other person's choice, but how involved do I want to be with someone who chooses not to? I'm not sure. How does one stop being an addict if one is surrounded by addicts? What's self-righteous and what's pro-actively taking control of one's surroundings? I find myself refusing to engage in old games and negative interactions, creating distance and perhaps even some confusion. For those still in PCVland - you don't just fit back into your old life. But, if you were really so happy with it would you have left it? Probably not. Redefining, or even just finally defining, relations is both troubling and rewarding. Mainly troubling in the beginning...but, still, who among us doesn't need it?

It's difficult to communicate with people who, daily, take great strides in maintaining their lives when I only inch toward changing my own. Disconnect. It causes me to be silent and distant...and sleepless. I chose to walk the reentry path on my own. My silence is because I'm in the process of sorting my ideals, beliefs and internal rhetoric. They are thoughts that never leave my head, and unless you're there for the whole conversation, it's probably just less confusing to be told the ending.

...or perhaps I just need to order the shit enough to convey it. That's a possibility.

The URL, with "bulgaria" in the title, beacons me to abandon this blog at some point and move to a more long term destination. It's been nearly a month since I parted with Bulgaria and it's time to start putting the experience behind me and embracing what's ahead more than I dwell on what's gone.

A few entries ago I included that I wasn't fond of Peace Corps and would comment on that more extensively at some point. Seeing how I'm trying to leave this and move on, I suppose that point is coming. Deciding to leave brought a whirlwind of support and disbelief and even some direct criticisms. I received emails and IMs from close Peace Corps friends, from distant ones, from volunteers I barely knew and even from some former PCVs who wanted to share their stories, opinions and support.

Speaking out against the Peace Corps is not exactly an easy thing to do. See, it's like a secret society and talking badly about it breaks some vow of silence I never promised to observe. Also, my objection isn't a simple one. I don't like the organization, I don't like the way they treat volunteers or host country nationals and I'd even go as far as publicly admitting I don't like most volunteers and generally feel like a large portion are serving for the wrong reasons (and doing the wrong things).

I spoke candidly to an organization I served about Bulgarians and Bulgarian attitudes and how it leads to nothing changing or getting done. We also spoke about organizations and how they function (or don't) and why that happens. Eventually, I realized I was in a group of Americans so completely guilty of what we criticized and found myself in no real position to change it. As one PCV wrote about me and my experience with other PCVs: "Things happen that we can't deal with, but if you let other people take responsibility for your actions, you're going to feel uselsess." I'm not 100% clear what that meant, other than implying I can't "deal," but I assure one and all that I take responsibility for all that I did, including leaving - I did it because it was the healthiest option around.

For the number of people who read this, and those who might stumble upon it in the future, I need to wrap this up as well as I can and to explain myself - my thoughts and feelings - as best as I can. I'll say that I don't regret my decision to join Peace Corps. I learned a lot and met a number of great people. So, take that for what it's worth...because I don't regret leaving either.

Today I saw "Walk the Line". Ah, American theaters... Anyway, I'm in love with Johnny Cash and June Carter's story. The bond that brought them together and was so incredibly dynamic. Two larger-than-life personalities. Two people really trying and daring. Depth. Longevity. Passion. All in the face of adversity.

More than the love story, I was struck by a connection I felt with both characters - the need to move and change and explore coupled with the dedication to family and old friends. There's a profound commitment that has to be made to have both and it's rare to find people who want both; more rare still to find someone who achieves it. In my life as a transplant (first in NYC, then briefly in DC and then in Bulgaria), I've met plenty of other drifters - travelers, movers, dodgers, the lost, the confused, seekers, avoiders. I was once awestricken by people who'd traveled, same as I was by people who went to a good school or did other "noted" things. Then I did them and realized that most people do "noted" things to... be noted. Right thing, wrong reason. Many people who've traveled extensively treated the stops like they were rides at a cultural Disneyland - stopping long enough to say they'd been there, get the stamp, get wasted and then move on. Few self-described travelers talk about the essence of a city or its rhythm, much less its soul. Few talk about what a country or town made them rethink about themselves - priorities, values, identity. Just make the stops, get the trinkets. It's not the act, but the "why?" that matters.

Among the drifters is the tendency to recreate life anew at every port. There's a tendency for people to think of the new as more fascinating and having more potential than the old, until the new slips and shows that it too has limitations (psst, and you do too). Time for new again. Drifters have an odd relationship with history - a tendency to never get over it, but discount it nevertheless. Same thing keep happening? It's the world, not you. Yes, yes. Of course. Much like people in therapists' offices, people in new situations control and spin the versions of their personal history. It's a history that includes, inevitably, being misunderstood or victimized by nearly all. A convincing and well-rehearsed story ...the first twenty times. Those drifting with old, dear friendships are few and far between. Even those with them often do not make them a part of daily life. They are something that will reenter when the time is right, usually when the drifter needs something. Out of sight, out of mind. Taken for granted. Undervalued for the new and shiny. The here and now. The easy and tangible.

In my moves and journeys, I've tried to keep my friends and family close at hand. When I said I was returning to the States, I received countless offers for places to stay and visit. Phone calls. Emails. We didn't even need to catch up, just reconnect. They already knew my details, and I knew theirs. I was already a part of their lives and they mine. I didn't need to start anew or pretend to be shiny and perfect - I didn't expect it of them either. Neither of us wanted it.

Gritty drifter. I guess that's what I am. I like being that way and honoring the connections and people who've helped and inspired me. Those things - their depth, passion and longevity - keep me going. I don't want to stand still because of them, I just want to make sure they come with me. Ideally, I'd like to meet other gritty drifters. In fact, I've tired of the shiny ones. I have no room in my life for perfection. If I was dying on the side of the road and had to sing one last song to express my life, I'd want it to be something closer to 'Folsom Prison Blues' than something about how great I was, how much peace I had or how many friends/things I collected.

Moving on and holding on. I walk the line.

On one level I'm very lucky. I'm surrounded by people who love and support me and at this time in my life that's so very important. However, at least 5 times a day I have the following thought: I am TWENTY-NINE and living with MY MOM. Ahhhhhh!

Roughly a year ago my parents' divorce was finalized - a 25-year marriage ended. It was long overdue and desperately needed. Both parents remarried quickly, meaning I live with my mom and her husband... using 'stepdad' is beyond me. I think if a parent remarries after you can legally drink whatever they do doesn't change the titles in your life. I'm going with that. The dynamic is strange at best. I've not been home for more than a summer for more than 10 years and even then I showered and slept and left. I never enjoyed just hanging around the house and with a car and an income I didn't have to. Ten years later I am without said car and income and unused to not having a calming cup of tea and a book read before bed...in silence. I do so miss silence.

I'm a daughter, but not a child anymore - yet I've not been home significantly since I lost the latter title and my state of dependency doesn't much help my case. I get chores to do and told the time when something will happen. I'm not consulted about it, just told. Truthfully, I have no transportation or duties, so anytime is good (in theory). It's the principle of the matter though. I've lost my options and I don't even get an allowance for it. I'm close to putting stickers and passwords on all my things. Privacy, I miss that too.

My life state is one of fluxuation. I can't join a gym because I don't know where I'll be next month. I can't afford a car. I could get a temp job (yes, H, I know, I know) but that would mean that I have less time to look for a job... or just regain sanity.

I've returned to hanging out in 'my room' - which, presently, is my mom's husband's office with a daybed in it. Occasionally someone will walk in looking for something. It's beyond feeling like my space is being invaded. It feels like I don't belong. At least I have an incentive not to linger. If it was spring, I'd rent a car and just drive... space, sanity, silence, privacy.

I've hesitated to write again here because I attempt to be honest in my writing and I'm not quite sure what I'm feeling these days. People ask and I answer, providing the standard "I did the right thing" answer. It's honest, I do think it was time to part, but just because something is right doesn't mean it's easy.

With every major change comes a door opening to new potentials, but it also included a closing of another door - however muted - of experiences and a life that are now... inaccessible. Changing one's life involves both doors and any honest answer from someone who's undergone a major life change should include responses to both. I suppose at this moment I'm still standing still, taking in the changes and not sure what to feel or do about either. It's the overwhelming nature of being momentarily... normal.

I left behind a lot of bad. At a certain point I felt like my life was toxic and that I was surrounded by people, Bulgarians and Americans alike, who were engaged in self-destruction or at the very least actively ignoring the existential calls to take control of their lives. Daily I felt I was enabled and enabling stagnation. Sadness and depression met a dozen virtual shoulders who helped me point to situations causing me to be or do what ever I was, or was not. Negativity was everywhere and I was drowning in it. Positivity seemed to be based on old crutches and habits - enabling and enabled. As I tend to do in my life, when I know I need to get out of a situation and am not sure how to do it gently, I just broke it. Leaving was so amazingly healthy.

This is not to say that I left nothing good. I never got a farewell visit to my host family. I miss my NGO counterparts and know that I'm miss seeing that organization change and flourish. I miss chatting with certain friends daily, sharing the experience with them. We co-occupied the trench and had a camaraderie because of it. I'll doubt my decision everytime someone tells me of a hiking or visiting weekend or traveling adventures. I'll know I'm missing that and wonder what I'm missing it for.

It seems impossible that I'm not in my old blok apartment and living that life. My leaving caused at least a few to think about their own decisions to stay. My old friends have justified why they stay, something that's really a personal choice. My abrupt departure and vocalized discontent made it seem like I was judging why others stay. I'm not. I haven't. Honestly, I don't fully understand it - given what it is - but it's not my judgment call and not my life. No one outside a relationship truly knows what's in it, be that relationship between two people or between a person and aspects of his/her life. I am curious why people stay - curious beyond the standard answers. Curious how people answer the questions I couldn't. Curious about what they are getting from it. People don't give something and expect nothing in return. Handing over one's life is quite a large something... and the return is just as large (not SHOULD be, but IS). I'm curious about those honest answers, though I'm not sure if I'd get them. I'm curious not to make a judgment, but to better understand human motives - one of my deepest pursuits.

The door opening is a door to a new city, a new job, a new name and a new me. I can jump wherever and do whatever. Infinite possibilities. It's startling and terrifying and exhilarating and exhausting. I left because I knew I wasn't in the right place and doing the right thing. I knew the Real Me was elsewhere and that's all I needed to leave. I'd like to know where she is though. I have this nesting dream of finding her and creating a stable, stationary life. It's what I want, or at least what I want to want. A close friend this week called me a rolling stone - something I never really saw myself as, but I think her case is better developed than mine. I move every few years. I get comfortable and then get...out. I don't understand people who "want to be happy" - I've always felt like we don't have much in common. I want to question. To explore. To feed my curiosity. To push. To dare. In my mind, the pursuit of happiness often works against other - greater - pursuits. First step is realizing the next step isn't about where I want to land, but where/how I want to grow. Second step is deciding where/how I want to grow. It seems like it's as simple as getting out a resume and cover letter, but (at least for me) it's a bigger question.

Those stupid bigger questions got me into this mess. They'll get me out of it... and into another. I want to not be that person, but I'm really quite fond of her. She's who I am and most likely who I'll always be. What's the profession for a complicating, over-analyzing, excessive thinking, troublemaker? I hope there are a few answers because I'll probably explore them all in due time, but now I'm just startled by the change in winds... and that I'm the one who caused the change.

My apartment is a disaster. What to take and what to leave? I really don't know. Seems strange to take things that I can buy where I'm going. Seems strange to be going some place I might like to buy things. When I left for Peace Corps, I sold all major possessions: car, furniture...er, that was it. I return to owning little of my former life. I did that for a reason.

In telling people that I'm terminating my service/leaving Bulgaria it's been rephrased back to me in terms of something involving quitting. "I didn't know it was so hard," some say. "It's not like you to quit," say others. Um, I'm not. Period. Perhaps it's semantics, but I've quickly grown tired of people implying that I've committed myself to something and am just ditching it. People who know me - REALLY know me - know it's not my style. However, committing to something, finding out it's not what it says it was and then telling it to fuck off certainly is. This move is more like the latter.

Peace Corps is a complex experience and I'm sure I'll be deciphering it long after I leave. There are 101 reasons to stay and just as many (I'd say more) to go. People stay and go for all sorts of reasons. I stayed this long because I was really getting something out of it and felt like I was giving, or beginning to. I used to joke that this was an abusive relationship - you stay under the promise that things will get better and that you just need to have faith and the goodness will appear even if all evidence is to the contrary. For me, that abuse never ended and I committed long ago to not being in any more abusive relationships. People say that the second year is much easier and that people are much more prepared. I suppose. What I see is this: deadened spirits and blank eyes. It makes things easier, that is true. It would make damn near anything easier. One of my 5 goals here was "affect and be affected" - to honor that meant no deadening. No deadening meant it didn't get easier, and in some ways got worse.

Following the lines of "quit" and "quitter" I worry what employers will say about my early departure. I have good reasons, I know, and I'm not afraid to voice them, but still... Peace Corps is this experience that sells people on smiling Americans helping poor but eager brown people. I never really liked that image. I never even believed in it. My reasons for joining we much less marketable. Walking away seems like it could be perceived as some prissy American not being about to hack the "hardships". You know, I grew up poor living in a 1-bedroom house with bad plumbing and questionable structure in a neighborhood often called "the war zone" - the square footage of that house was smaller than my current apartment and I shared it with my parents, sister and aunt. I lived on grilled government cheese sandwiches for about a year - so long that it took a decade for me to ever eat one again. This... really, is nothing.

I leave for many reasons, but one is this: I never grew out of asking "why?". Since a young age, if I didn't like something or thought it was stupid or a waste of time I simply didn't do it. As I grew older the depth of that conviction grew to include things that were offense or inefficient. Try to change the system, but if you can't then walk. It's not quitting it's something people have long since forgotten and have even grown to fear when it's done in a meaningful way: civil disobedience. For reasons I'll get into when this crap is packed and I'm enjoying wi-fi and a cafe mocha, I cannot service this operation any longer. It violates too many things I believe in and fails to do so many other things because it's an outdated program in desperate need of being revamped. There are reasons for volunteers to be out in the world helping people. What we do here isn't one of those reasons.

I sold my material things prepared to come back a different person - with new views and new tastes. I have some of those. I have a lot. What I have more of though is strength and clarity. A stronger belief in my own convictions and moral code. What I'm doing is right and done out of thoughtfulness... even if it does just look like I can't take one more gray meat stick.

I'm no stranger to hardship or sacrifice in my life. I've worked since... since I don't know when. Since before it was legal for me to work. I babysat my weekends and summers away until I could work for a whopping $3.25/hr (yes, I'm that old). Worked through high school and early college, one summer having 3 nearly full-time jobs. (I don't know how that math worked either... but I assure you, it's true.) Eventually, even with working part-time I couldn't afford private university any longer and worked full-time. Well, NYC full-time - so more like 60+ hrs/wk. Eventually I professionally maneuvered to be able to work full-time while going to school part time. This lasted until the summer of 2004.

It took me 10 years to graduate college. Academics were not the problem - financing was. Still, I wanted the degree, so I worked until I got it. My friends had long since left and found careers and spouses and even advanced degrees. I sucked it up and reminded myself I was a stronger person for it all. Unfortunately, I'm a forgetful person and I forgot that whole character-building part and really just kind of hated the process of sitting in a room with trust fund brats who had never, and would never, read the material. I was after a degree and an education. Ten years later, I got both.

Chris Mathews said in an interview long ago that he felt like he was playing a game different than other people. He, like others, liked to win, but unlike others he wanted to do it right - the right morals, means and ends. He was playing by different rules and, while he felt like a better person for that, he also found that he often lost because of it. Like Chris, I want to do the right things for the right reasons. I too feel like it means I play a different game. I'd like to win, but mostly I want to look at myself in the mirror, look deeply into my own eyes and know the person there is someone I respect. I work everyday to make sure I can still do that. It's something I do every single morning.

I think of myself as a giving person. A rather selfless one. Still, I have my limits. I read an article a few weeks ago by a woman who said she never gave, in any way, that wasn't sustainable. If she couldn't always drop a dime in a cup, she just wouldn't. It saved her from giving and eventually feeling badly for it. If she couldn't repeat something, she didn't do it at all. I read this and was in awe of her dedication to defend and preserve herself. To not be depleted, but to still be giving. It's the kind of thing that seems harsh and rash from the outside. Unless, of course, you too are easily cornered into the gift-than-grief cycle and then it all makes sense.

Confucius said "Have no friends not equal to yourself." Again, a harsh way of thinking perhaps, but quite sensible to those who've found themselves the lesser of two, or even the daunting task of being the greater of two. Being carried is humiliating and carrying only breeds resentment.

All of these things: integrity, self-respect, a search for equals lead me to one of the biggest, most deliberate life changes I've ever made. The Peace Corps ads say "Life Is Calling. How Far Will You Go?" Ironically, life is calling. And I'm answering. I'm not only willing, but able to go... even further.