August 14, 2011

August 14, 2011

            The roller coaster continues. 

            Funding seems to be a major issue, and although I would love for it to be easy, it is not.  The money we thought we had procured is now questionable due to budget cuts (typical of all NGOs/non-profits right now), and the project will have to go forward in another, different manner.  I was thinking…open the doors of the youth center now, and all we have are concrete walls.  What am I going to do?  A friend quickly interrupted my thought pattern and optimistically pointed out that I don’t just have concrete walls.  She told me I have an empty stage upon which the center’s participants can produce a fundraising, theatre project.  She encouraged me to turn these unanswerable questions/obstacles into a form of growth.  I love the creativity and hope with which I am surrounded!

 So many of the people I have met here have that same positivity and imaginative spirit, and for that, I am so grateful.  It has been their stories of survival and hope and goodness and will which have made my journey so fascinating and enjoyable thus far.  Had it not been for these individuals, I think the trip would be an entirely different story, a drama with an uncertain ending; with them, however, the ups and downs have been eased, and I can appreciate the day to day activity, unaware and unconcerned right now of its conclusion.

I spent this past Friday night packing up my belongings once again, and I moved into a new home, where I was greeted by my friend Diana and a house with mish-mashed magnificence.  The floors are cracked and un-tiled, holding dirt in each and every cranny, and the walls are covered with spider webs and geckos, both climbing in all directions.   The bedrooms are filled with at least two twin beds and whatever furniture has been left by previous tenants.  The couches, table, and plastic chairs in the main living room are set off by three, different, African-print pieces of material stuck randomly on the walls.  And, the colors throughout the house are as varied and misplaced as my color blind brother’s five-year-old drawings.  It is the Intern House, and I think it is absolutely wonderful.

It reminds me of our space in Canada where nothing quite makes sense individually, but when you step back and look at the whole, it is a home full of noise, laughter, and good discussion.  Diana and I sat talking and sipping our coffee for a good two hours this morning, and I realized around four this afternoon that I had nothing to do.  It is the first time in…well, I can’t remember when that I had absolutely nothing that I HAD to do.  No work looming over my head or house to be cleaned.  No groceries to be bought, and no errands to run.  I could simply just be, and that is exactly what I have done with today.  I have spent the afternoon reading, writing, and even playing a game of my guilty pleasure – solitaire.  And, when the rains began to pour around five, I listened to the water beating down on our little paradise’s tin roof and thought about that song, which goes something like, “I bless the rains down in Africa, gonna take the time to do the things I never have.”      

I will say, as cheesy as it sounds, it has made me think.  Why is it that we, as Americans, feel the need not to take time?  We start elementary school and gear up for middle school.  We go through middle school in preparation for high school.  We complete high school and jump into college.  We spend college trying to get the right job.  We work in the right job so that we can afford the appropriate house.  We have the appropriate house so that the children have a back yard to play in.  We tend to the back yard so that it looks as good as the Jones’ yard.  We keep up with the Jones’ so that we can be successful.  We work at being a success so that our children can attend the appropriate elementary school.  We watch as the entire process starts all over again for the next generation – a new act with different players.

I have always felt out of sync with this progression and have, oftentimes, had to field the inevitable questions that come along with that incongruity.  Why do you move around so much?  When are you going to get married?  Why haven’t you had kids yet?  Why do you want to travel by yourself?  Why haven’t you settled down? 

These questions don’t make me uncomfortable, but I am beginning to realize that I have never understood them – and for no other reason than they aren’t innate to me.  My life has, perhaps, always been atypical for the area I live, but I am learning that my life is not that “different.”  I just have my own set of questions, my own concrete stage.  Where can I move to next?  Who can I meet, and what can they teach me?  How much of the world can I see?  What job is going to challenge and fulfill me?  Why would I settle?

I know it may be hard to understand, but for me, it is the only way I have ever thought and the only way I know how to act.  What is over that next horizon, and how quickly can I get there?  I recognize this way of living is not good or bad or right or wrong; it is just the way I live.  Just like the Jones, living the way they want.

I guess each of us have the life we were meant to live and the questions we were meant to ask – our own little personalized roller coaster ride.  And, maybe it isn’t about how many peaks and valleys or loop-de-loops our track will take but rather whether we are able to let go of the safety harness, throw both of our arms up into the air, and enjoy the hell out of it.