The Precarious Adventures of a Peace Corps Volunteer: Lessons Learned

In a recent (brief) moment of clarity, I wrote down these revelations and as I wrote, I felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude for life and for this experience. I feel like I should be on some transcendent drug or lying on a plush, green, velvet couch spilling my guts to a trained professional, but no, sober as a saint and sane (for the most part).

Things I have learned in 6 months (implicitly):

-What other people think about who you are rarely matters. Which is what gave me the gall to publish this list. What you think about yourself, on the other hand, is of immeasurable importance. To get to a point in life when you know exactly who you are, are capable of always doing the right thing, and you can feel proud of your decisions without seeking reassurance; this equates happiness, imho. I’m not there yet, but I feel like it’s within my grasp. Eventually, I’ll stop caring how many “likes” my status gets on fb.

-Things do not make people happy. People make people happy.

-Being a role model can be pretty cool. I’ve never had younger siblings, never had the chance to spend much time with younger cousins, and have never really worked with kids, so I’ve always been in the position of looking up to someone else (not because I´m short). Luckily, I had the best role model ever, my seester, whom I still emulate. So for the first time, I have younger girls (and boys) asking me questions and copying my mannerisms and playing with my hair, which can all be a lot of pressure (what if I didn’t have time to wash my hair that day?!) but is also a really good reason to try harder to be a better person, the kind of person you would want the kids to become.

-I am inherently and exponentially more interesting in this country than I probably ever will be in the United States. Often times, that interest takes the form of blatant stares on the streets by people who think I might actually be from a different planet, and people who think I am certifiably insane for leaving my country, family, friends, and my life. But interest nonetheless. This is where the aforementioned confidence can come in handy. Some people think I’m a missionary because the word “peace” is in my title, as if peace and religion are mutually exclusive. Some men think I’m easy because all American women are and think I will be enamored by their hissing, whistling, or “hello baby”’s. Some people think I must not have morals because I don’t have a god. They think I am malnourished when I politely decline the rice and potatoes. They think I am a lesbian or just strange because I am 26 and unmarried. They think, they think, they think. But I know who I am. I am who I am. And apparently I am Popeye.

-I am capable of so much more than I ever imagined. You never know the strength you possess until the day you feel that you’re at your weakest, you go to bed, you get up the next day, and you do it all over again. You never know the extensive limits of your patience until they have been tested and stretched every day by the person with which you share a home. You would never have known your potential unless you had taken off the floaties and decided, it’s sink or swim time. You will never realize that your fears and presumptions are merely ideas constructed to keep you from experiencing everything there is. You never feel your courage until you take the step off the cliff, find yourself falling, unsure of where you’ll land, and yet, you’re not worried.

-Relying on others can be a good thing. No man, woman, or child is an island. That would be impossible. Unless they were extremely tall and fat and dense, or had the superhuman power to float forever without getting totally pruny. In other words, humans are humans, not land formations, and therefore, are inherently interdependent. I have recently discovered how much I hate asking for help. It has always bothered me when people ask for favors they can easily do themselves. For example, “while you’re up, can you grab me a drink?” My snarky internal response is usually “You have all 4 appendages and a brain (debatable). Get it yourself, ____ (insert rude word)” Unless I love the person, then I ask “would you like your ice crushed or cubed?” However, here, I’m constantly put into situations where I have to ask for help and I cringe every time. I started out like an infant, asking for help with even the most mundane tasks like how to send a letter, where to buy milk, how to properly eat a guinea pig’s head, etc. Now I’m slightly more independent, sometimes surviving 24 consecutive hours without asking for advice, but I’m also coming to terms with needing people. It’s not so bad. Usually.

-But learning to rely on yourself is the best. While I consider adult Chelsea to be fairly self-assured, I still have frequent moments of insecurity and doubt, not unlike any human in their mid-20’s. At home, I had no qualms about calling my mom several times a day to ask any variety of life’s plaguing questions: “how do you know when a pineapple is ripe?” “how often do you have to get your oil changed?” “what the heck is an exemption and how many am I supposed to claim on this tax form?” “do these pants make my butt look big(ger)?” etc. However, here, I don’t have the option/luxury of calling Momma when I’m not sure. I just have to figure it out. And while that can be frustrating and even terrifying at times, I can almost feel my skin getting a little tougher every time I handle something on my own. At this rate, I’m gonna have a leather coating by the time I leave here.

If you made it through this list of corny cheesefest lessons, thank you for reading, and thank you for caring.

If you fell asleep, lost interest, or you’re just more of a picturebook kinda person, I completely understand. Here’s the “before and after” version of me.