As Free as My Hair

There are days in my desert town where I long to wear a short skirt, put on mascara and drink a beer in public. Now, unless I want to be perceived as a prostitute, that's never going to be my reality in Tazarine. Volunteers spend so much time thinking of the material items we miss that at times our simplistic lifestyle feels more like a prison than a choice. We list the food and technology that would make our lives better, daydreaming about things in the pursuit of happiness. If only it were so simple.

Vienna and Berlin provided all the Western-made satisfaction that a girl could ever hope for. Food, drink and freedom galore! We spent days shopping, going to the movies and relaxing with friends. With a new haircut, facial and Chanda's wardrobe, I felt prettier than I have in months. Better yet, I could start everyday with an intense bike ride and run through my favorite city park. All this to the beat of David Guetta while floating by in my tank top and shorts. This is the life I miss.

When you've been through an intense trauma or loss, the brain often shuts out large parts of the experience in order to protect itself. Faces, dates and details may be lost forever, or at least until you are safe enough to deal with the event. At times I feel like my brain longs for the material world as a safety measure. If the mirage of stuff is taken away then I am left with the realization that the loss has little to do with not being able to wear my favorite wedges. My craving for cookies n cream ice cream is a sign that I miss vegging with Christy, oatmeal stouts remind me of endless happy evenings with family at Founder's Brewing and that perfect dress is full of memories of the person who I intended to wear it for. No number of cocktails on the beach can make up for the distance, although it's always worth a shot.

Back in Morocco, life continues where I left it. The hair is up (although the bangs look great), the legs are covered and Ramadan keeps the weekends dry. Thankful for three consecutive weeks of family and friends, new and old, the material cravings haven't yet kicked in.

Leah and I brilliantly decided to ease the transition with some hiking and sight-seeing in Chefchaouen, an idyllic mountain backpacking town in the North. Sharing our experiences with fellow travelers has been the perfection reintroduction to Peace Corps life and a solid reminder of why we stay here, despite the sacrifices. Yesterday's adventure included a spectacular four hour hike and diving into stunning waterfalls - I wouldn't trade it for anything, right?

So the next time I complain about missing my jewelry or dramatically burst into tears at the distance between myself and some decent futo maki, keep in mind that I just miss you. Me, you and a world of possibilities. As international male model, Hansel, would say, "It's so simple."

Battling the chaos within.

Indecision and uncertainty have surrounded the last several weeks. While I adore the spontaneity of life, occasionally I long for plans that stick and days that are straightforward. Waking up in a new emotional state every day has its' drawbacks; not quite sure where my heart will be I have to adapt a level of patience for myself that I am unaccustomed to. I miss 'handling' 14 hour days and changes with grace, instead of the distinct possibility that I may be too tapped out to roll with today's punches. It's not in my personality to say no, choose solitude or rest; however, my body has given me no alternatives. I take care of others and dislike the humbling experience where the tables are turned. It's hard to admit failure, heartbreak and exhaustion when you are accustomed to the security and control of your own two feet. Cher put it best, "I felt impotent and out of control, which I really hate."

Today's lengthy bike ride in the Prater was the first since my post-Zambian sojourn three years ago. The circumstances feel familiar: chronic fatigue from time in the developing world, badly in need of pad thai and a figurative hole in my heart. The medicine? Consistent sleep, nutritious food, exercise, hugs and the passage of time. As a constant self-examiner I can't resist the temptation to think about how things have changed in the past three years. Are the circumstances so different? Have I learned from my mistakes? Am I going in the direction of my dreams? Have the sacrifices actually been worth it?

Growing up can be a dirty business. Choices are made, people are left behind and dangerous roads are crossed. I will be the first to admit that there are days when I long to be thirteen. When times get hard, I want to curl up on the couch with a soft blanket and have my mother tell me that things will be alright. A typical youngest child, I want someone else to take care of this grime since my hands are filthy enough.

Perhaps I should stop looking at the similarities between my mid-Morocco vacation and post-Zambian rehab summer. There still may be tears, an escapist desire and the uncomfortable feeling that I've been here before, but that doesn't mean they are equal, or that I am unchanged. With familiarity brings strength - I take my medicine even when it's hard to swallow, put one foot in front of the other and remind myself that through these challenges and sacrifices I've discovered my titanium will power. I've been changed for the better and tomorrow's cycle will be that much smoother.