A Place to Call Home

Two weeks after my big move to D.C., and I can't believe the smooth, charmed transition I have had. I've been so showered with blessings that I find myself semi-suspicious of my fortune. Life has taught me that the good is only that way because it is spattered with bads. The good that has come my way in the last three years has quickly been followed with storm clouds. So, at this high point, I can't totally smother the voice that advises caution in my exuberance. "Humility, humility." After all, when it's good it's only down from there. But seeing as this blog has recorded its fair share of sorrowful entries, I think it's high time for a mention of the bundle of goods that has befallen me.

Immediately upon arriving to D.C., something felt like home. Unlike all of my other trips to new places, I felt an absolute calm in my new surroundings. A sureness. Yes, this is exactly where I need to settle for awhile. All of the acronyms that move in my head were suddenly buildings before my eyes: WB (World Bank), IMF (International Monetary Fund), NSA, NGO, IRC, IDB, etc. People were out and about, walking the busy sidewalks, eating lunch in the plazas and parks, running the National Mall, kite-flying around the monuments, walking home with totes of groceries. The vehicle is not god here. Plastic bags cost money, encouraging people to use more environmentally sustainable methods to carry home groceries. Organic food, when bought strategically, is as reasonably priced as the other stuff; I finally get to eat organic!!! Despite all the stereotypes I have heard over the years, I have yet to find this East Coast big city any more unfriendly than a big city in the Midwest. Rather, I have been pleasantly surprised by the friendliness in residential areas.

Much credit of this easy transition goes to my hosts. They have been incredibly generous, to the point where I have started to feel like a member of the family. I am staying with the parents of a friend I made while in Nicaragua. They have listened to my stories for two weeks now and discouraged any of my rushing through this process. They have given me my own room to stay in, bathroom to use, food to eat and all of the information I needed to familiarize myself with D.C. They've been my cheerleaders as I landed a coveted internship and, recently, a job.

The internship. I am smiling so big right now. The International Rescue Committee is an international humanitarian relief non-profit that I have watched for years. Beginning in my college days, I would frequently look at its career opportunities and conjure up what it would take to land a position with them. It was a far off dream (still smiling). They are in Haiti, the DRC, Somalia, Sudan, Myanmar and 37 other war-torn, post-disaster and/or severly poverty stricken countries. My internship is part of their domestic work - resettling refugees. It's a foot in the door and it's work that I am passionate about. After years of being a newcomer in a country and the recipient of open arms and homes in a foreign land, I cannot wait to do the same for others.

As of yesterday, I also have a job that pays the bills - waitress at a fine dining restaurant in downtown D.C. called Café Atlántico. Not only is it Urban Latin American cuisine, it's a place to keep up on my Spanish.

Finally, I have been accepted into an association called the Young Professionals in Foreign Policy, present in DC, New York, London and Brussels. It is full of young people like me, trying to get into the international career world while enjoying speakers, political events, happy hours, job fairs and mentoring from professionals who have been in the field for 20+ years. So when I'm not working (and, yes, I'll be working a lot) or taking salsa dancing classes, I'll have the opportunity to meet people like me.

In a matter of two weeks, I have set up a life that I am really, really excited about. If that isn't a sign that I am meant to be here, I don't know what would be.

Now, about where to live . . .

As I went for a casual Sunday run on the National Mall in my new city, I thought about how different my life would be today had I not chosen, and sometimes been handed, this vague path of mine. I took the “what ifs?” that I normally spin around in my head and spun them the other way.

What if that boy had loved me back instead of throwing me away like a greasy McDonald’s bag after he had consumed all of its contents? I likely wouldn’t be jogging on the National Mall, nor be in D.C. I would have followed him; done whatever necessary to make our relationship work. I would have spent my Sunday consumed by grocery lists, breakfast/lunch/dinner, housework and kid’s homework. I’d fall into bed after a day full of busyness and constant motion, too physically tired and emotionally worn for romance with the man I once couldn’t get enough of while he dreamed of that cute brunette at work. I’d do that for so many years that it would start to blur. And, sadly but realistically speaking, I would have sacrificed it all for a relationship with a fair chance of ending in the deep, nasty pain of divorce. So, while singlehood can be lonely, I’d much rather be lonely because I am alone than lonely as my spouse sits next to me on the couch. Thank you, then, Mr. Wishy-Washy (and so many other not nice names) for sparing me of the pain you would have brought into my life. Thank you for letting me go . . . forward.

What if I had hooked a steady income and eight hour work day straight out of college? What if I had jumped into the daily grind at 21 years old? Yeah, I’d have a 401K and maybe a new car. Shoot, maybe even a pretty house with all-steel appliances, automatic ice-maker, and big screen television. But I wouldn’t have felt like a little girl as I admired a swarm of seagulls swirling over my head in front of the Capitol. I would have forgotten to look up. I wouldn’t have lived in four countries and visited ten others by the age of 24. Most importantly, I may have forgotten the people around me. I wouldn’t have noticed the quiet tear fall from the eye of the store clerk when she thought no one was watching. I wouldn’t have exchanged wisdom with my father over bottomless cups of coffee countless times. I definitely wouldn’t have had time to sit in Borders on a Monday and read a book while the rest of the world buzzes past me in the window.

What if I hadn’t been raised by two parents who, after 38 years, still love each other profoundly and still kiss and laugh together? Well, I might have a boyfriend, seeing as I would have lower standards. Maybe I could be content with the guy who is sort of there but sort of not, and definitely never when you need him. I’ve dated him before. But, no, I’m waiting on Mr. Damn Near Wonderful because that is exactly who my father is to my mother.

What if I knew more of the answers to my life?

I wouldn't be having this much fun.

Seeking the Seemingly Impossible

Two weeks back in Missouri and I’m, as Norah Jones so gracefully hums, "feelin’ the same way all over again." I love family and mom and dad fill a hole that nothing else in this world can, but here I am again – recharged, confident, and ready to go back out there and get what it is I am looking for. Which prompts the question so regularly posed that I hear it in my sleep, "What exactly is it, Jessi, that you are looking for?" More often than not, I can only answer with what I don’t want. Recently, however, I picked up a book in which the author puts into words what I more or less want to say. Speaking of why he decided to dedicate his life to initiating philosophical dialogue in coffee shops around the country, Christopher Phillips, in his book "Socrates Café," writes:

"Before I made the commitment to start Socrates Café both my personal and professional life had ceased to have meaning for me. Many of my nearest and dearest would have been surprised by this revelation. Many of them envied my life. For over a decade, I had been a writer for national magazines. I traveled a great deal, met fascinating people. But I was deeply unhappy. I frequently asked myself: ‘Why can’t I just be normal and accept the fact that jobs are not meant to be all that fulfilling? Why can’t I accept the fact that most adults end up abandoning their more youthful and idealistic aspirations?’ The answer I came up with was always the same: Because life is not a dress rehearsal. Because I shouldn’t settle for less than doing exactly what I want to do with my life, despite the risks, or, better, because of the risks. My philosophy of life had always been to live intensely, to love intensely. But I hadn’t done that. . . Nietzsche said something to the effect that one should strive to live dangerously, and I think what he meant was that we shouldn’t hesitate to take sublime risks with our lives."

"I think we all have some unique ability that we can transform into our life’s work and passion. . . Because if you don’t find that job that feeds your passion, that makes you excited to get up in the morning and give everything you have to your work, then what are you left with?"

Live intensely and love intensely. Take calculated risks. Live dangerously. Give everything you have to your life’s work. Find what feeds your passion. Thank you, Christopher Phillips, for putting into words what it is that I am looking for. I want to feel alive every day of my life. I don’t want to be numbed by routine, security and a false sense of stability. I don’t want to look forward to television and my couch. I want a morally rewarding life purpose that, no matter how small, betters the lot of humankind. I want to wake up in the morning with a determination to give my work every ounce of my energy. I want a job that deserves every ounce of my energy, creativity and passion. I want to be comfortable, but not so comfortable that I stop working to make myself a better, more whole human being or forget the suffering of others. I never want to stop learning. I want to speak three or more languages. I want to visit every region in this world. I don’t want to ever lose my childlike curiosity and wonder for the world and humankind. I don’t want to grow old inside. If I can’t move geographically, I want to be moved intellectually or emotionally; I want continual forward movement. I want to discover what I was born to do. I want to be continually challenged and I want to challenge others. I want to push both my own, and your, limits. I want to be outsmarted by others and then make them my close friends. If I can’t travel the world, I want to discover new worlds in my mind. I want to die with a smile on my face because I did everything in my power to live my life to the fullest.

Yep. I know. I’m a dreamer. Damn right. I’ll keep looking until I find it. Granted, I won’t find it all at once or anytime soon. I’ll hit wall after wall. I’ll take wrong turns and go backwards. I’ll wallow in doubt. Some days I’ll feel like throwing in the towel and settling for a life less fulfilling and exciting as I had hoped. I probably won’t have benefits or a retirement fund anytime soon. Need I remind you that people around the country WITH "secure" and "stable" ("real" gets a good laugh out of me) jobs are losing those nice benefits, if not the job itself? There is no security there anymore. A large retirement fund which allows me to travel when I’m not watching television all day? I think I’ll just live my life now, while I am young, mobile, healthy, cancer-free, comfortable with few comforts, flexible, arthritis-free, dependent-free, adventurous, and have zero mortgage, car payments, bad hips, or a strict diet due to health conditions. Looking at my retirement-age parents, I doubt I will be any better at sitting still at 65 than I am at 24.

Besides, what other choice do I have? Sell out on my childlike aspirations because they were proving too difficult to realize? Give up and live with the subsequent long-term, gnawing disappointment and insidious self-resentment because I stopped believing in myself. Live but not be alive, just going through the motions?

Nah, I think I’ll just put on my helmet and ride this crazy notion. Bruises and bumps are better than a broken soul.

*This blog post facilitated by Jem’s "It’s Amazing." Download it.

As I stare at my very rough draft of a cover letter and ponder on how I can better fawn over myself and egotistically describe my greatness to my potential employer, I can’t help but smirk at the irony of this task during such an ambiguous time in my life. In this ironic state of mind, I’d like to write a cover letter that read more like the following. . .

“Upon graduating college, I have gained knowledge and experience in more areas than I would have preferred. I have become an expert in self-questioning, lesson-learning, reality-accepting, time-killing, mistake-making and emotional ups-and-downs. I have a firm grasp on the significance of all of those adages my mother quoted when I was a young girl preoccupied only by how many charms my necklace had.

I have learned that virtue is ambiguous. Are we strong because we refuse to let weakness show or are we strong because we are unafraid to let ourselves feel everything? Am I a better leader because I am tough and stoic? Or do I serve others better by showing every ounce of my humanity, thereby allowing others to feel close to me? Am I patient because I have no problem waiting in lines (thanks to developing countries) or because I am unwearied by the prospect of waiting until 40 years old to meet my future husband (eek)?

From the women in my family and my best friend, I have learned to say exactly what is on my mind; from my father and brother, I have learned that keeping quiet is often a better policy. From textbooks, I learned that great people were successful because they were hard workers; from life I have learned that mere chance is a good chunk of all that fortune, fame and success. From my culture, I learned that material wealth is a predecessor to joy; from other cultures, I have learned that the relationship is usually inversed. Though I prefer black and white, I live most days in the gray. I get older every day, yet I know less and less about life. Finally, if I were to paint a picture right now, it might end up looking a lot like one of Picasso’s: woman or man, circle or square, sitting or standing, going or staying? Who says genius is born of stability?

I admit that most of my experience in the past three years has taught me what I don’t want or what I don’t know; however, there are some areas in which I am absolutely solid. My mother and father’s relationship taught me that some people love you even when you go crazy, love can also be spelled as C-O-M-M-U-N-I-C-A-T-I-O-N, and it’s never too late to be in love. I was raised with a phenomenal example of love. When the timing is right, I will make a difference in this world, even if it is just a drop in the ocean. Even when I am lonely, I am never alone. Lastly, on a lighter note, tonight I discovered that if you don’t drain every iota of grease from cooked ground beef, it tastes really bad in spaghetti sauce.

In conclusion, because I have no concrete skills, pretense about my greatness, or solid understanding of life, I will humbly serve you for little pay. I assure that you will not have any ego issues if you hire me. On the other hand, you will find that despite all of the aforementioned woes, I find humor in the twists of life and am able to laugh at myself. To my utter bemusement, life keeps getting better as it gets harder.

Thank you for your time and consideration. I hope to hear from you soon."

. . . Ok, back to this cover letter. If only it were as fun and came to me as easily as this blog entry!

Nicaraguan Nostalgia

I recently finished looking through some pictures of San Ramon - the town I lived in for nine months in Nicaragua - that were taken by an American girl I met while there. She is a friend on Facebook and she recently posted some pictures she had taken for a Christmas toy drive. Seeing San Ramon through the lens of someone else, after such a long time without revisiting my own, affected me greatly.

When I see pictures of San Ramon, or revisit mental images and the live moments I have stored away, I feel a rush of emotions. It is hard for me to even pinpoint what these emotions mean or why I have them, but they are still as strong as they were when I left a year and a half ago. I recognize every individual mountain in the background of the pictures, the pattern in the road, the color of the fence lining the stadium and I can remember how I felt looking at all of them in real time. It's as if I have an emotional relationship with every single artficact in San Ramon and upon seeing them in pictures they once again take hold of me.

The only reason I can give for these strong emotions in association with San Ramon is the solid fact that those nine months make up the most intense period of time in my life. Nicaragua shaped me like no other experience thus far; it bent me, it nearly broke me, it held me up, it pushed me down. My time in Nicaragua was an emotional roller coaster that eventually molded me into a new kind of strong, but the emotional test that I endured still evokes a tinge of fear inside of me. That was a scary time in my life and I can still feel that when I think back to those early months in San Ramon.

San Ramon was also home to a radical transformation within me - one that was still taking place up to six months ago. I was hit with so many life lessons at once and in one tiny dot on the Nicaraguan map (even if some of the lessons had nothing to do with Nicaragua itself). A part of my "self" died there, was left behind; undoubtedly, a necessary and good transformation but one that creates a sense of nostalgia as I look back. A nostalgia that reminds me we can never go back, that some parts of us are forever altered and the change irrevocable, that some pain is never fully forgotten and that youth really was innocent.

I know I will visit San Ramon again one day; I hope soon. If I am moved by just photos, I can't imagine how strongly I will be affected when I stand in front of the same mountains, morning sunrise, and humble cabin where I lived for nine months. I know there is something more I am supposed to understand about that time and that place. Something I won't understand until I return.

When Women Rule the World?

The longer I work in developing countries, the more I believe that it will be women, if anyone, who non-violently change the world.

It was the case in Nicaragua, and is in Argentina too, that for every ten people actively working for improvement in their community and/or way of life, eight to nine of them are women. Every community meeting or workshop or special gathering I attend in these marginalized neighborhoods is composed of a handful of middle-aged women who are absolutely not afraid to speak their minds.

Globally, the power of women to change the world has been recognized by the leading opinions in the developing world. One of the United Nations Millennium Development goals is to educate girls and see them equally represented in secondary school throughout the world. Just because it’s fair? No; because, if you give a young girl the opportunity to dedicate her life to not only family and tradition roles, but also to her own education and potential, you have given her the tools to be a powerful force of change. Case in point: numerous studies have confirmed and I know from my own experience in the field of microloans that women (in the developing world, remember) have more success in paying back their small loans, are better savers and spend extra income in socially productive ways. You give a middle-aged woman five dollars to spend it however she wants and she will take her child to the doctor or send her children to school with new notebooks or shoes. She will use her money to perpetuate a healthy society. You give a middle-aged man the same opportunity, and he will often go buy cigarettes, beer or go spend an hour at the slot machines.

While not sociologically qualified to say this, I have a notion that the subtle male identity crisis that is very real in my country may also be occurring on a global level.

I don’t write these observations with any hidden feminist agenda; this is what I see happening in the developing world and what has been recognized globally and proven statistically. Women are an incredible investment as agents of social change. I am continually amazed by the spirit of these women upon arriving to these community gatherings. They do not hesitate to stand up, walk to the front of the room, raise their voices to be heard, declare what they see as injustice in their lives and neighborhoods, and call for a dedication to work for change. Rounds of applause from the twenty or so other women in the room follow the passionate tirade and create a deafening noise.

And we North Americans have this tendency to believe that the woman of the developing world is oppressed and not given a voice. While it is the case some times, it’s quite the opposite when you let her out of the house!

When I find myself among these women and awed by their strength of spirit, I can’t help but wonder:

Why is it, again, that men have ruled the world for so long?

When the City Slows Down

I think I keep coming back to this topic, but I love Sundays in Buenos Aires. They are the quintessentially simple Sunday. There is a fourth of the traffic; my usual hustle and bustle neighborhood is so quiet I can hear my own footsteps on the broken sidewalk. Old men with canes populate sporadic city benches and elderly couples enjoy actual lazy Sunday strolls (at a snail's pace, seriously). The men in the bakery, the one I can't pass without stopping, are especially outgoing on Sunday and don't let anyone leave with just one croissant.

"Something more my dear?" (big smile)

"No, no, I really can't, one croissant is enough."

"Ahhhh, but for you my love, you need at least two!"

"Yeah, you know, you are right. Throw it in the bag."

Cafes are packed with people passing the morning with coffee, croissants, and the massive Sunday paper. Parks are full of lovers, fathers and daughters, picnics and sunbathers. No one rushes. Portenos (the name given to Buenos Aires' inhabitants) are clearly a happy, laid back bunch all the time, but on Sundays they just coast.

Normally, I use Sunday to enjoy an especially long run, but this past one I dedicated the day to sitting in cafes and parks, sipping coffee and eating sweets. I went Porteno. I spent two hours reading the paper with my coffee and cake, then headed to the botanical garden where an abundance of stray cats live. I made a couple of feline friends thanks to a can of tuna, laid in the grass for a bit, moved to a bench to write and did a couple of laps Porteno style. Slow as molasses. Moving on to the next park, I joined rollerbladers, bikers, joggers and popcorn stands on the lanes that outline a park with a small pond, quaint bridge and geese. Later I went to an open-air market I hadn't been to and met up with a friend for a flamenco show.

It was a simple day among a background of grad school applications, internship shopping, and the continuous effort to match ambition with opportunity. I plan on keeping my Sundays in such a sacred style. Enjoying the here and now. That's my form of worship.