After the fog lifts

There was nothing particularly special about that day. I didn’t win the lottery, I didn’t run a marathon, nor did I finish a book. Come to think of it, I didn’t even leave the house. I was simply sitting; sitting on the screened-in patio, listening to music, enjoying the warm spring breeze beckoning summer to Ohio, staring at the buds emerging on neighboring trees. And then Meddy’s singing voice began to drift from my computer. Meddy (for my non-Rwandan readers) is a famous Rwandan singer, known for his love of singing about love and comical music videos that Rwandan’s blare out of their TVs on a daily basis. So there I was, sitting in a bright red Adirondack chair on the porch of our cozy log cabin outside of Wooster, Ohio…listening to Meddy. And a single thought poured into my head: “Holy shit, I’m so happy I’m not in Rwanda right now”.

I immediately texted Jenny (one of my PC BFFs), as I always do when I’m encountering positive (or negative) feelings about Rwanda and Peace Corps. I don’t recall her response, but whatever it was I’m sure it made me laugh. Then a second thought came to my mind: “How did I get here?” Wasn’t it just four months ago I was listening to Meddy from my bedroom in Rwanda? Four months ago that I was listening to Meddy while we danced the night away at Silverback, or was watching Meddy on Janvier’s television while she shoved plate after plate of food into my hands. Three months ago I was in DC, fighting a battle between wanting to be strong and return to Rwanda, and needing to be even stronger and stay in America. Three months ago I was catching up with old friends, becoming reacquainted with western food, retail stores and an endless supply of hot water. And then two months ago I was home, an unemployed Peace Corps drop-out, living with my parents and validating my deteriorated emotional state by pointing to my paperwork from the Dept. of Labor qualifying me for worker’s compensation for my craziness. I must admit it was a new low, one that I might have just avoided had I returned to Rwanda. But that would have been the easy road; going back, falling into old ways, and allowing my sadness to hide away, cozily slumbering in the depths of my mind. It turns out it’s wildly more burdensome to carry emotions on your sleeve than inside your heart.

So I relished in the sadness. I mourned for Rwanda. I mourned for myself. I ate a lot. I watched an obscene amount of horrible, terrible reality television and shows designed for those aged 12-17 years. I’m ashamed to admit, I even stopped enjoying hot showers (my apologies to every Peace Corps volunteer reading this right now…). I was numb. For days (weeks?) the outside world didn’t exist. My parents, rightfully so, started to worry. I shrugged off their suspicions, stating “I’m not depressed, I’m just bored!” All things considered, that wasn’t a total lie. You try returning home at age 27, after living in another state and country for 9 years, without a job, without a driver’s license, without a plan, without a future. You’d be bored too! Then again, more often than not, you’d be depressed too.

And then, poof, spring inched its way into summer. And there was Meddy. And I looked around and realized I was alive. Still alive, alive again? Does it matter? ALIVE! It was as if I’d emerged from a heavy morning fog, a morning that lasted months. I started talking to people again, and even making plans with those people. I went to Michigan, where I explored a liquor shed, enjoyed sunsets over the lake, endured a fun, yet inwardly awkward bar excursion with my brother, cousin and ex-boyfriend, and attended a dinner party where I only knew 3 people in the room. Take that depression! Then I upped the ante…a weeklong, whirlwind vacation to DC and New Orleans. In DC I ate pizza, drank wine, celebrated law school graduations, and enjoyed wonderful laughter with my besties. But most important of all, I was reunited with my soul mate. It was with her and her man-friend that I road-tripped (aka slept in the back seat) down to my beloved city of New Orleans. Most people complain about vacations being exhausting. They say things like “I need a vacation to recover my vacation”, etc. Luckily, I didn’t have that complaint. New Orleans might be the city of debauchery for many, but for me it was a city of family (family being Lucy, our pup Charlotte, and Cleo, the newbie kitty). I slept in, cuddled with the animals, watched movies, sat in the sun in the backyard, and was awed by Charlotte’s ability to go for walks without a leash. There was duck jambalaya, shrimp po-boys, sushi, drinking in the streets, swaying to the sounds of live brass bands, guitarists and sax players, walking through swamps, and one late-night conversation that lingered until the sunrise (Jigga, why do all of our intense conversations occur In kitchens and often include brownies?).

I returned to Ohio with an idea, a plan, a (possible) future. Since then my life has been consumed by three things: jobs, graduate school and BOOKS.

My trip to New Orleans reaffirmed a long desire of mine to take the plunge and move to the Big Easy. And with Lucy and the “animal kingdom” there, now seems to be the perfect time. So I’ve been scouring the internet for jobs in health, education, non-profits, pretty much anything that isn’t in the service industry and is remotely close to public transportation. I loved my server days, don’t get me wrong, but I just don’t think I have the patience for it anymore. Yet, job searching has not been an easy task. I recall my post-college-graduation-summer when I applied to any and every job under the sun, 10 a day at one point. And yet, here I am two weeks into my searching and I’ve only found five jobs even remotely suited to my qualifications and interests. I guess they weren’t lying about the current state of the job market. I’m going to stay optimistic though, because I’m positive that a move to New Orleans would be a lovely step in my transition from mopey lost Amy to independent driven Amy. So fingers crossed for me everybody!!

This all leads to the next part of my master plan…grad school. I’ve been dreaming about grad school since the moment I graduated from undergrad. The main path is clear – Masters in Public Health. But the side paths (bicycle lanes if you will?) are a little foggier. There’s my crazy, nerdy, math geek side, which is pulling me towards epidemiology, monitoring and evaluation, and using GIS software to map disease surveillance and healthcare delivery distribution. But then there’s my other side, equally nerdy, but more words driven, pulling me towards a future of medical librarianship and management. So in my spare time, when not scouring employment sites, I’m scouring grad school websites, emailing admissions directors about GRE scores, prerequisites, and the possibilities of dual degrees. My next education leap could lead me to New Orleans, Seattle, Boston, New York, Pittsburgh, North Carolina, or even (*GASP*) Michigan. So stay tuned on that front as well….

Which leads me to the final task in my life these days. Thanks to an amazing group of middle schoolers in Brunswick, Ohio, their amazing teacher (and one of my oldest friends), Miss Trista Smith, and dozens of friends, family, businesses and strangers, we’ve just shipped an additional 800 books to the library I helped open in Rwanda!!!!! It was an incredibly complex and time consuming project for Miss Smith and her students, but the work will be well worth it once the books arrive in Musanze, to an eager and excited librarian, district and community. I want to thank each and every one of you who supported us through your words and money; it means the world to us all.

So that’s where I am now…out of the fog. Maybe it’s temporary, maybe it will be long-lasting. But regardless, I’m going to take advantage of it. Just as I went to Rwanda for a reason, I also came back for a reason. So stick around, and keep reading, while I figure out why.