“The toughest job you’ll ever love.”
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2BG6ZiDGCCg
This slogan encompassed so many things that I was conditioned to embody.
- Tough — in my father’s eyes, I was supposed to always aspire to absolute strength and intensity.
- Job — I should never let my mind wander too far from the fact that ultimately I was meant to hold and maintain a job.
- Love — The only reason to live. All of life is built and based on love. Therefore, pursue all opportunities to strengthen and grow compassion.
I don’t recall the first time the notion of serving in the United States Peace Corps became something I’d seriously consider. Elementary school? Possibly. Middle school? More likely. I just know that I had a burning desire to devote a significant amount of my existence to living, working and aiding individuals “in need” habituating countries across the world. I know. Sounds sappy and way too idealistic.
As I approached the end of my impotent undergraduate experience, I sought the next avenue for my burning need to serve and submitted an application to the Peace Corps. An aside that will prove noteworthy later, while I wilted away on the University of Colorado campus, I managed to find a few outlets where I could unload my need to altruistically give to others. One such opportunity was working, and eventually running, the student health center. We were the irritatingly persistent fellows on the campus commons encouraging you to practice safe sex, get tested, as well as monitor other undergrad health issues like drug/alcohol use, cardiovascular strength, and overall wellness.
When I finally submitted my application for entry into the Peace Corps, I had no idea this little stint in the University Medical Center (UMC) would be the key that gained entry into this exclusive government bureaucracy. Outside of this health work, I had a (largely worthless) Bachelors degree in International Affairs. I used to say, this would allow me to wait in unemployment lines in other countries around the world.
I still remember my interview with the on-campus Peace Corps representative, as he tried to ascertain whether or not I was service material. He asked me my thoughts about abject poverty, about squalid living conditions, poor food networks, etc. But the one thing that stood out to me was that he insisted on making sure that I wasn’t in love with anyone at the time of application. I asked, a little irritated,“Why?” He said, because when people are in a long-distance relationship while serving, they tend to feel pulled in multiple, uncomfortable directions. Inwardly, I scoffed (That’ll never be a problem for me) Outwardly, I assured him I would steer clear of any potential love links.
A year later, I graduated, and life happened. Yes, I awaited the verdict on my admittance to the Corps. But, I also found myself (predictably?) having fallen in love with someone who I never expected to feel this way about. Up until then, she had been a friend, a shadow, a lil sis, a mascot — all the patronizing things you can think of to say about the person who you overlook but meanwhile holds a secret passion for you. It crept up on me. For the longest time, I had dreamt of experiencing the kind of love I read in the poetry of Keats and Rilke. The achingly disorienting, why-won’t-this-stop thrill that lives inside of you when you bind with another person.
And so, it happened. I fell in love. And it was wonderful. Which means that it wasn’t meant to remain wonderful for long, for amidst all of this fuzzy humming warmth, I received the Peace Corps package I’d been waiting for in the mail. It informed me that I’d been accepted to a 15-month assignment in Mali, West Africa.
And I had just two weeks to make a decision. The Peace Corps or young romance.
