Remember That Time I Started This Blog?

8/05/15

Ha! Yeah - that was weird right?! I totally acted like I was going TO WRITE and BE INSPIRED and INSPIRE. That was rather ambitious of me, I will say. You want to know a little secret? I have 17 draft blog posts. SEVENTEEN. So, maybe the 18th is the damn charm. Maybe with the 18th, I've finally hit a river of creative juice and THIS time I'll make it through to the end of the post. THIS time I'll feel I have something worth saying. Perhaps. Possibly. We'll see. I'm gonna try. I already like the feel of this one so far and I'm pretty hopped up on espresso.

I've been commuting into New York City and working 9-5 (which I acknowledge is rather cushy) for almost 7 months now. AND WHOA, do I feel the 7 months. God, I miss that 10 hours of sleep schedule thing I had going on for about 4 years, I mean that shit was glorious. GLORIOUS. Not to mention countless hours (countless I tell you!), hours of unregimented time. I used to do things like, I don't know, take pictures and then spend time editing them, pretend I was an artist with an expensive set of watercolors gifted to me, write long letters to friends and lovers (some of which got burnt instead of sent), plan and stew, spend hours talking to friends exploring our different histories and how they interacted with present experiences in the wildly disparate, yet parallel universe we shared.

I used to cry. My god, the tears I shed. I don't know that I've ever felt so free to cry without abandon. There is a liberation in having a community of peers that truly, and I mean truly, allow you to have all of your feelings - the good, the bad, the ugly. I miss it. I fucking miss that.

My time since I've been home this last year was split right down the middle, 6 months of unemployment, 6 months of working full time. It's pretty incredible that they are an equal amount of time. The 6 months of unemployment was, in its entirety, a chaotic readjustment. I spent the first half trying to get a relationship off the ground that ultimately ended up not working out. In the midst of calling it quits, my body was revolting in the form of an autoimmune disease (? never exactly sure how to label it) and my vision was impaired for six weeks. The future I'd been projecting onto a screen in my head went POOF! in an instant and it took time to put all the pieces back together. The truth of the matter is, my Aunt Therese's sudden and unexpected death was a huge wake up call. The sense that time was ticking and I could at any moment run out of it, in any of my relationships but particularly the one I have with myself, was hugely motivating. My response to it was to stop fucking around. Stop carelessly and needlessly smoking cigarettes. Stop engaging in unhealthy connections with men. And for godsakes, stop feeling so damn sorry for myself. I had a LIFE to live.

....................................................................

8/23/15

Ok, I have a renewed spirit to sit down and write this. Perhaps sitting in front of a computer 8 hours a day, 5 days a week, has left me weary of sitting down at my own mac screen and pushing this baby out. My friend Jenny, who co-organized the National Poetry Contest in Armenia with me during Peace Corps, just left my house (edit: parent's house) a little while ago after a lovely weekend visit. Jenny has always encouraged my writing, my journey of healing, and my true self. We spoke a lot about the curiosities of human life, Americans, and lovers. We laughed quite a lot. I felt like my self - something that's eclipsed me as of late.

Jenny was one of the close confidants who supported the birth of this new blog and gave me the feeling that I really had something to say and share with the world wide web. In missing my Peace Corps community, I crave the unwavering support of all creative adventures, of my true self - not some predated version of me. One of the things that most RPCVs  (Returned Peace Corps Volunteers) will struggle with is the articulation of the deep, transformative change that happened during their time away from friends and family, to those exact people. How can I tell you who I am now? It's almost identical to those first few weeks in Armenia when we were reduced to baby-talk for lack of language. "No", "Yes", "Hungry", "Sleepy", etc. The great thing about spending any length of time with those you severed with is the sort of auto-finish of all the gaps in the things not being said. Ok,  let me try to simplify that. We are so connected to one another, and know the experience so well - having lived it ourselves, there's so much that doesn't need saying. It's similar to having a close sibling, those relationships are forged through many ups and downs, and for the rest of your life you will have a certain fundamental understanding of one another.

I guess I could just stop here and say "One post down!". It's kind of like getting back into the gym, can't get too crazy on the first day.

9/24/15

Maybe I'll just wrap up by saying, I finally feel grounded and like myself in a way I don't believe I have sinceeee likkeeee I was 18? I will explore/elaborate more on that later in this blog as I continue forcing myself to write, to peel back layer by layer on this journey of healing and I don't give a goddamn who and who doesn't read this. It's for me. And it's for anyone struggling through and pursuing their own happiness. Don't let go of the pursuit. That small voice in your head wondering if there's something more is what you should be listening to. Continue to seek. Continue to grow. I'll keep on sharing my experience with you and hope you'll find some morsel of encouragement, intrigue or insight.

Ta-ta for now babies!

7 month Anniversary

I've recently landed a gig in NYC and finally have some friggin' income (thank the gods). As I navigate this very new and very different chapter of my life I find myself regularly musing, reminiscing and reflecting on my time in Peace Corps Armenia. Readjustment took a long while and was at times so overwhelming my thoughts were either a jumbled mess of alphabet soup or utterly blank. Back in early April of last year we had a Close of Service conference over two and half days where we discussed readjustment and wrapping up our two years. During one session I felt that familiar whir of poetic wheels turning in my head and took pen to paper. The poem below, written then is still (as I expected it to be) my sentiment. Hope you enjoy.

 

You and I will sit with our wine inside our luxury
We will say remember her or him, remember them?
You will laugh with your mouth wide open
head thrown back, wrinkles creasing your eyes.
The cycle of counting months accumulated,
then remaining, and accumulated again far behind us.
This country’s
blaring horns and bleating sheep
its dirt and dust covering everything
its acrid smell of burning leaves and trash.
Long summer dusks and their sun darkened hands.
Winter’s lonely cloak, and Spring’s celebrated return.
Sitting silently for lack of words in either language
to describe
the roughness against our fragility
in a strange land where our history met theirs
and payment came in the form
of understanding smiles, unexpected kindness
the innocent admiration of children
and it was enough.
You will say remember?
And I will,
I will.

From Whence You Came

Dear Readers,

Welcome to my new blog! I have told some close friends about it and while it is still in zygote form, I am prematurely putting it out there in an effort to focus upon it more. This blog will be different than my Peace Corps blog in a few ways. For one, I'm no longer in the Peace Corps (woo-hoo), and while I will be using my deeper senses of self and interpersonal awareness developed over the 2 year stint in Armenia, this blog is going to be more reflective and big-picture. 

I decided to start this guy a few weeks ago when, for not the first time in my life, my plans went awry. I had just learned that after 8 months of anticipation, I would not be traveling to Netala, India for my yoga teacher training program. I learned this news at the hands of the seventh or so doctor I'd met over the last week. He explained that the severe uveitis I had been suffering from would take another 3-6 weeks to finish its course and that the severe back pain I'd been experiencing over the last two months was correlated with the inflammations of my iris and cornea. The handsome resident I'd washed my hair for sat in silent discomfort as the MD explained I was looking at the possibility of arthritis, and needed to get tested for the gene marker HLA-B27. 

I left that office with my ride, because the cloudiness of my vision prevented me from driving, trying not to cry. I wasn't going to India and this eye issue was not the end of my problems. I didn't have a job, medical insurance (2 months after service we become ineligible for coverage of ailments unrelated to service), or any real idea what the future would look like. I told a good friend I felt 'purposeless', which is perhaps the most alienating of all feelings. If I've ever had anything when it felt as though I'd had nothing, I had my writing. A few days after the big bad news I was standing in the shower ( ALL of my good ideas arise while in some space or other of water) and decided I wanted to start blogging again, that I needed start blogging again.

 Over and over again I have bore witness to individuals unintentionally or intentionally isolating themselves when tough times arise or just simply functioning in that way. Being both extro- and introverted, blogging has become a great vehicle to reach a large audience while simultaneously keeping my energy to myself. On this blog I will write about topics I mull over so much that they need OUT of my head, and recurring themes which I find myself repeatedly discussing with friends. I'm going to put my ideas on sexuality, healing, and relationships (perhaps some of my poetry too (yikes)) out into the universe via this very blog. 

So cheers to new chapters, to journeys, to ups and downs and hopefully all of us eventually finding our way.

Love and Kisses,

Carolyn