Due to popular demand (note: a large portion of said popular demand came from myself. What can I say, I like to write), I am back with a new blog. It has taken me some time to get this first post out. This blog business isn’t easy when you take it way too seriously (I embrace my faults). Much of my troubles coming up with this new, post-Peace Corps blog is the fact that I don’t know what I have to offer you all in written form. Admittedly, I had a significant advantage while writing in Burkina Faso. I had the mystery of Africa on my side. Rest assured, I seldom, if ever, embellished with half truths and taller-than-normal tales. I made an earnest attempt to illustrate my experiences in a rather cogent, accessible fashion. But save a few loyal blog subscribers that were with me in Burkina Faso, nobody could really verify if I was making stuff up.
I guess you’ll just have to trust me.
It has been about one month since I left Burkina Faso. Between then and now I have experienced a number of firsts: My first trip to Europe, my first time sailing up the coast of Maine, my first time seeing Patty Griffin live, and my first (and may I say decidedly satisfactory) experience flying on JetBlue. My post-Peace Corps trip was perfectly itinerated: The duration was just right. I sought not an epic globe-trotting journey, nor did I opt for a swift return to Colorado. My jaunt from Burkina to Colorado found slices of adventure and detour at every possible turn, such as Moravia’s wine country and Dublin’s Temple Bar. More practically, I was able to reunite with friends I have not seen for some time. I think the most striking thing I found was all the grown-upness that many of my friends exhibited. At first, I was confident that their talk of Roth IRAs and mortgage payments was some esoteric code for $3 pitchers at the Trailhead Tavern or money lost at Monday night’s poker pow-wow. I learned hard and fast that something happened between June 2006 and August 2008: life in America went on without me.
Was this to be my first taste of reverse culture shock? Not quite. I was quick to spot the signs and I adjusted accordingly, thereby minimizing the burn. Besides, I really do believe that the meat and potatoes of re-entry shock comes several months down the road. I have been experiencing what I call the “light-switch” phase; meaning, my return to the United States is similar to the flip of a light-switch. Much like in 2006, grocery stores still play Led Zeppelin-infused muzak, public restrooms still have a medley of scents that render a synthesis of a feed lot and a broken bottle of Estee Lauder’s Tuberose Gardenia, and there is still that used car commercial where some belligerent chap, most likely named Rick Mozz, wants to get you into a 1999 Pontiac Grand Prix.
Because everything must go.
I am writing this blog for a couple of reasons. First of all, I love to write. This should be reason enough. But wait, there’s more. I also want to write about my re-entry into the United States. What do I find weird in this place that I still call home? How have I changed? Yes, ladies and gentlemen, expect introspection. Thick, sappy, cyber-full introspection. And a lot of it.
Lift-off.
Bueno vos! estas en la caja otra vez! disfrutala! You will feel that burn about 2-3 months in when the meat and potatos start bumping up against you. I’ve never had the opportunity to experience such a giant hole between the two cultures I was living in. (Guatemala has been exceedingly comfortable, debo decirte)
Back state side in Noviembre….off to DC. Keep writing, its great stuff. write a book, write a bunch of stories and put them in a book. Hey, did you ever use that journal that Sig and I gave you?
Ciao pues! Un abrazo fuerte,
Sha-re-na