4/9/2008
My happiest moments in Togo are when I’m riding my bike. There’s really nothing like it here. Today I was gulping the fresh air to fuel my endorphin kick. It’s these moments, despite their fleeting nature, that I thank my lucky stars that I am here and not suffocating in the re-circulated, moldy air of some office tucked away beneath mounds of yellowed paper and antenna-like electrical cables. I know my body, physically, has thanked me for the change of lifestyle. My skin has never been clearer. I’ve never been thinner, except for maybe when I was in 8th grade. I’ve never sported a healthier glow, although to some, that’s not necessarily a good thing. My internal organs have never known such organic, pesticide-free nourishment. In many ways, Africa has done me well. But as I sweat my way through the dusty paths of Dankpen (Dankpen is the Prefecture in which I live) on my bike, of course, I either zone out to my iPOD or have flashes of heightened consciousness. In this case, I had a thought. I’ve always aspired to some romanticized ideal of myself. I think it is a fair assumption that most people desire some level of self-improvement. I’m no exception. But in my pursuit of a more intelligent, more witty, more cultured, sexier, edgier state of existence, such goals implicitly imply that I cannot be satisfied with myself as it currently survives. Subsequently, I cannot subscribe to the new age mentality of loving myself as I am. If I were to attempt such a feat, I would be logically impossible. Who said humans weren’t confused, complex beings? The result is some kind of psychological struggle with our selves (well, at least me). I’m sure there are some optimists out there that believe there’s a way to peacefully coexist with two opposing ideologies. Whatever. I’m still at a loss as to how I can resolve and pacify my tortured soul. Fortunately for me, I’ve got the wind in my face and nothing but trees before me.
My next thought relates these same sentiments to other people. I read somewhere that women, in particular, tend to see the potential in prospective romantic conquests and not see the reality before their eyes. If we, as people, were constantly living in a space with the expectation that others will change, improve themselves, be all that they can be, then, tell me, how exactly can we appreciate, love, accept others as they are right now in this very moment? Let’s take Togo for example. Do I appreciate and accept Togo as it is right now? Or what I see it could become? The students I work with today frustrate me to no end because I see, I practically taste, what they could have, so easily, if just a few small (according to me) barriers were removed. So if, I don’t accept them as they currently exist, doesn’t that mean I must harbor an eternal state of dissatisfaction because this so-called ideal of their potential is definitely beyond my time here and probably beyond my lifetime? Not-to-mention, this glorified vision of their future is totally and completely subjective and ignorant of numerous variables in their life. Perhaps, I can let those hopes and desires go for people I really have no control over in the first place and avoid being incessantly disappointed with their inadequacies to measure up. But such acceptance risks the stagnant abyss of complacency. I suppose we could compartmentalize the facets that we like and dislike about ourselves and others, as I am sure many of us already do, but we are still in the quandary of loving and accepting half a person. I only like you partly. I like your hands, but not your feet. I like your eyes, but not your nose. We are all walking around in parts and pieces in the eyes of ourselves and others.
So my dears, I pose this question rhetorically: Where do we go from here?
At least, I have a tight butt and a tan, right?
Showing posts with label Thoughts. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Thoughts. Show all posts
Monday, April 28, 2008
Wednesday, February 6, 2008
Existential Crisis
1/23/2008
I have the propulsion to write. Quick! Before all your brilliant ideas float away in the Harmattan winds. Then…nothing. Just this morning I was thinking about a woman who owned a television and was unhappy because on that television she saw all the things she did not have and she was already one of the richest women in the village with her flushing toilet and satellite TV. Then, quite literally, a few minutes later I read the following sentence, “I don’t think you can start wanting something till you know it exists.” (Ishmael by Daniel Quinn) On a side note – this book is possibly one of the most enlightening books I’ve read in a very long time.) I refuse to elaborate on this sentiment any further. Just know it resonates within me. The poignancy is more potent for me here than ever before. Okay, I lied. I am going to expound a bit on this point as I sit here looking at all the pretty new wood furniture I just had delivered. I’m going to put a curtain over my screen door, not because I abhor people’s curiosity but because I don’t want them to see, to know the blatant gap in material wealth even here since I am supposed to be living like a local. Part of me is ashamed, embarrassed. I don’t want them to have the idea of development and living richly with having more “things,” which begs the question, why did I buy the furniture then. Why did I have those precious trees cut down so I could live more comfortably? I was doing just fine before they arrived. I don’t need them. But, I couldn’t help but feel a surge of excitement and joy at their arrival. It made my day. At what cost though? I’m only going to be here 2 years – actually less than that now. Those trees toiled through the unforgiving climate of Togo to become furniture. And after I leave, then what? What happened to my desire of living simply? Where does one draw that line? Take only what you need and leave the rest in peace. But, what exactly do I need? I’m going to throw in a quotation from Ishmael just for fun here: “The story the Leavers have been enacting here for the past 3 million years isn’t a story of conquest and rule. Enacting it doesn’t give them power. Enacting it gives them lives that are satisfying and meaningful to them. This is what you’ll find if you go among them. They’re not seething with discontent and rebellion, not incessantly wrangling over what should be allowed and what forbidden, not forever accusing each other of not living the right way, not living in terror of each other, not going crazy because their lives seem empty and pointless, not having to stupefy themselves with drugs to get through the days, not inventing a new religion every week to give them something to hold on to, not forever searching for something to do or something to believe in that will make their lives worth living. And – I repeat – this is not because they live close to nature or have no formal government or because they’re innately noble. This is simply because they’re enacting a story that works well for people – a story that worked well for 3 million years and that still works well where the Takers haven’t yet managed to stamp it out.”
I have the propulsion to write. Quick! Before all your brilliant ideas float away in the Harmattan winds. Then…nothing. Just this morning I was thinking about a woman who owned a television and was unhappy because on that television she saw all the things she did not have and she was already one of the richest women in the village with her flushing toilet and satellite TV. Then, quite literally, a few minutes later I read the following sentence, “I don’t think you can start wanting something till you know it exists.” (Ishmael by Daniel Quinn) On a side note – this book is possibly one of the most enlightening books I’ve read in a very long time.) I refuse to elaborate on this sentiment any further. Just know it resonates within me. The poignancy is more potent for me here than ever before. Okay, I lied. I am going to expound a bit on this point as I sit here looking at all the pretty new wood furniture I just had delivered. I’m going to put a curtain over my screen door, not because I abhor people’s curiosity but because I don’t want them to see, to know the blatant gap in material wealth even here since I am supposed to be living like a local. Part of me is ashamed, embarrassed. I don’t want them to have the idea of development and living richly with having more “things,” which begs the question, why did I buy the furniture then. Why did I have those precious trees cut down so I could live more comfortably? I was doing just fine before they arrived. I don’t need them. But, I couldn’t help but feel a surge of excitement and joy at their arrival. It made my day. At what cost though? I’m only going to be here 2 years – actually less than that now. Those trees toiled through the unforgiving climate of Togo to become furniture. And after I leave, then what? What happened to my desire of living simply? Where does one draw that line? Take only what you need and leave the rest in peace. But, what exactly do I need? I’m going to throw in a quotation from Ishmael just for fun here: “The story the Leavers have been enacting here for the past 3 million years isn’t a story of conquest and rule. Enacting it doesn’t give them power. Enacting it gives them lives that are satisfying and meaningful to them. This is what you’ll find if you go among them. They’re not seething with discontent and rebellion, not incessantly wrangling over what should be allowed and what forbidden, not forever accusing each other of not living the right way, not living in terror of each other, not going crazy because their lives seem empty and pointless, not having to stupefy themselves with drugs to get through the days, not inventing a new religion every week to give them something to hold on to, not forever searching for something to do or something to believe in that will make their lives worth living. And – I repeat – this is not because they live close to nature or have no formal government or because they’re innately noble. This is simply because they’re enacting a story that works well for people – a story that worked well for 3 million years and that still works well where the Takers haven’t yet managed to stamp it out.”
That Wondrous Thing
12/29/2007
Purpose takes on a whole new meaning when you are out in the middle of nowhere, barely grasping local language and customs with only the vague recollection of the training you’ve received 2 months prior. I find myself yearning for the structure that was so comforting during training. Some volunteers are lucky enough to have an organization in which to go work. The rest of us have to create work, which is both a blessing and a curse. A blessing in that it allows for more creative freedom and a curse because there are tons more pressure and responsibility upon one’s shoulders. It would give me the warm fuzzies in the morning to know that I have to go to the office as the job pre-Peace Corps dictated, but alas, instead I lie in bed and whimper at the vast emptiness before me – emptiness that I must fill. It’s that crisis of complete freedom and total free will that is the burden of the modern man or woman – provided that man or woman is not a religious fanatic. What’s worse is that before I can even begin to teach or help others, I must educate myself on the mountain of books, binders, handouts, notebooks and literature lying about my inherited home. I don’t know much more than the locals surrounding me and I’m supposed to teach them something or at least conduct a knowledge transfer in some entertaining fashion. Bu in the same instant, I rack my brain on what I would do if I were to go home right now and all I feel is failure. Not to mention, I have no idea what I would do occupationally or educationally. Granted, I would be ecstatic to see certain persons and take showers with running water and not worry about which bug or insect or parasite is going to try to attack me next. However, I am appalled at my instinct to flee back to a life full of self-satisfaction and consumption. Right now the US is still “home” for me and I miss it dearly, but I have read on more than one occasion that “home” is not just a place but a feeling, a routine, friends, etc… And like my predecessor wrote on the wall – we can change, adapt. Keep reminding yourself why you are here and work hard. Because when I “work” here all my anxieties disappear; that purpose gives me productivity and productivity is sorely underrated. So with all my strength, I pull myself out of bed and create my To Do list.
Purpose takes on a whole new meaning when you are out in the middle of nowhere, barely grasping local language and customs with only the vague recollection of the training you’ve received 2 months prior. I find myself yearning for the structure that was so comforting during training. Some volunteers are lucky enough to have an organization in which to go work. The rest of us have to create work, which is both a blessing and a curse. A blessing in that it allows for more creative freedom and a curse because there are tons more pressure and responsibility upon one’s shoulders. It would give me the warm fuzzies in the morning to know that I have to go to the office as the job pre-Peace Corps dictated, but alas, instead I lie in bed and whimper at the vast emptiness before me – emptiness that I must fill. It’s that crisis of complete freedom and total free will that is the burden of the modern man or woman – provided that man or woman is not a religious fanatic. What’s worse is that before I can even begin to teach or help others, I must educate myself on the mountain of books, binders, handouts, notebooks and literature lying about my inherited home. I don’t know much more than the locals surrounding me and I’m supposed to teach them something or at least conduct a knowledge transfer in some entertaining fashion. Bu in the same instant, I rack my brain on what I would do if I were to go home right now and all I feel is failure. Not to mention, I have no idea what I would do occupationally or educationally. Granted, I would be ecstatic to see certain persons and take showers with running water and not worry about which bug or insect or parasite is going to try to attack me next. However, I am appalled at my instinct to flee back to a life full of self-satisfaction and consumption. Right now the US is still “home” for me and I miss it dearly, but I have read on more than one occasion that “home” is not just a place but a feeling, a routine, friends, etc… And like my predecessor wrote on the wall – we can change, adapt. Keep reminding yourself why you are here and work hard. Because when I “work” here all my anxieties disappear; that purpose gives me productivity and productivity is sorely underrated. So with all my strength, I pull myself out of bed and create my To Do list.
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