So here is the post on death as promised!
Death is an interesting topic, especially in terms of traveling or even being far from the one who is dying or has died.
My aunt died in early 2009. She lived on the other side of the country. The last time I saw her was Thanksgiving of 2008. The last time my mom (her sister) saw her was summer of 2008. We knew she would not make it to another Christmas, but we didn't realize how soon she would pass. My mom had actually made flight arrangements to see her, but she died a week before my mom was going to fly out there.
When I learned of her death, I couldn't believe it. Of course I knew it would happen (she had cancer), but I didn't realize how soon. I thought I had more time, more time to hear her stories, more time to take pictures of/with her, just... more time. I think of all of the things I could have said or did differently, if only to make her a little more comfortable. I think a lot of us do that when we are in mourning. "What is the last thing I said to her?" "Does she know that I cared?" "How is everybody else doing?"
Death has been on my mind a lot, mostly because of the two car accidents I have gotten into in the past 5 months. It is just terrifying to know that what you are working so hard towards can be taken away at a moment's notice.
I think I have a weird relationship with death, mostly because I don't believe in the after life. I believe that the time we have is the time we have, and we should make the best of it while we can, do what we enjoy, and just live. I didn't even realize I had such a worldview until Niall pointed out that not once did I mention seeing my aunt again during the speech I wrote for her memorial service. It makes sense, really.
I'm sure that this is also why death affects me in the way that it does. Anybody who knows me can tell you that I am a big crier. I cry when I am happy, when I am angry, and especially when I am sad. It's a weird achy feeling, a hole, a pain.
Anyway, I really wanted to write about this topic because a soldier from my town recently died while serving overseas. My town is tiny (1.09 sq mi), everybody basically knows everybody, and people really care about each other here, as I explained in one of my previous posts. When the body of the soldier was driven through town, there were people lining the streets, all of the street lamps had yellow ribbons tied around them, and you couldn't walk a foot without seeing an American flag. It was a beautiful display of solidarity.
It also hit me hard, not because I knew the soldier (I know the family, in the way that you know a family that has grown up in the same small town as you), but because he was so close to coming home. He was a little over two weeks from coming home. His sister had arranged her wedding so that he could attend. Really, the circumstances are just sad.
And bringing this back to the Peace Corps, or traveling in general, I always wonder what would happen if I died abroad, or while serving in the Peace Corps, or while flying across the country to visit friends. In my mind, I know that anything can happen so I shouldn't worry about it, but I still worry because I do travel so much...
When I first started to really research the Peace Corps, I wanted to see how many people had died in service, and how they had died. Now, that sounds morbid, and it probably is, but this is how my mind works: plan for the worst case scenario, and be pleasantly surprised when everything works out fine. Here are some stats for you:
- Since it's inception in 1961, 284 volunteers have died.
- Over 200,000 people have served, therefore, the death rate is less than 0.2%.
- Number of deaths in the last five years: 2011-5, 2010-2, 2009-3, 2008-2, and 2007-4.
- Various ways death has occurred: motor vehicle accident, murder, accidents on site, natural causes, illness, and I believe I also read of one volunteer being eaten by a crocodile, one getting trampled by an elephant, and one dying from a shark attack.
- If you want more information, http://fpcv.org/ is a great resource. It is dedicated to every PCV who has lost his or her life.
So, death happens. But so does life.
My biggest fear is that somebody I love will die suddenly while I am abroad. My grandparents are old, and I've seen enough tragedy to know that even young people can be struck down in their prime by very unfortunate circumstances.
I just hope, when I eventually get through medical and get invited, that my "good-byes" to those I love are not last "goodbye"s but rather, "see you later"s.
Wednesday, April 25, 2012
Monday, April 16, 2012
All Types of Training
Yes, I know. I said my next post was going to be about death. However, I have something else on my mind, so I thought I would share.
We spend so much time being trained in life. School is training for the future. Various job positions have a few days or a few weeks of training before you are on your own. Many volunteer positions require either training or a solid background in something in order to not be trained. Training is a big part of our lives, whether we realize it or not.
Today, I completed my second day of training for a volunteer position on an online hotline. In my life, I have been trained to: help a woman at birth, volunteer on a phone hotline, teach sex ed to middle school students, teach HIV/AIDS education to high school students in a different country, set up for and clean up after a Catholic Mass or Wedding, work as a receptionist, drive students around, speak appropriately to young ladies, bartend... really, any number of things.
In all honesty, I find any sort of training fascinating, but then again, I love to absorb information. From what I have read, the Peace Corps training process is intense and exhausting. For those who don't know, the PC training is a 2-3 month long process, where you are not only trained in what your "sector" is, but also taught the language of the place you will be, as well as, from what I have gleaned, various other topics related to service.
I am so excited to one day go through the entire thing. I know I am technically still in the application process (ugh, deferrals), but I can't help but hold onto that dream. One day, it will all be worth it. And one day, when I come back and complain about how much work training is, and how it exhausts me, I'm going to read this entry. Because it is worth it!
We spend so much time being trained in life. School is training for the future. Various job positions have a few days or a few weeks of training before you are on your own. Many volunteer positions require either training or a solid background in something in order to not be trained. Training is a big part of our lives, whether we realize it or not.
Today, I completed my second day of training for a volunteer position on an online hotline. In my life, I have been trained to: help a woman at birth, volunteer on a phone hotline, teach sex ed to middle school students, teach HIV/AIDS education to high school students in a different country, set up for and clean up after a Catholic Mass or Wedding, work as a receptionist, drive students around, speak appropriately to young ladies, bartend... really, any number of things.
In all honesty, I find any sort of training fascinating, but then again, I love to absorb information. From what I have read, the Peace Corps training process is intense and exhausting. For those who don't know, the PC training is a 2-3 month long process, where you are not only trained in what your "sector" is, but also taught the language of the place you will be, as well as, from what I have gleaned, various other topics related to service.
I am so excited to one day go through the entire thing. I know I am technically still in the application process (ugh, deferrals), but I can't help but hold onto that dream. One day, it will all be worth it. And one day, when I come back and complain about how much work training is, and how it exhausts me, I'm going to read this entry. Because it is worth it!
Monday, April 9, 2012
Updates
I just wanted to let everybody know I added an "About Me" tab up at the top there. I also updated my "Peace Corps Timeline" (which I'm going to update again as soon as I find the letter they sent me 3 months ago) and my "Helpful Hints" tab. Feel free to peruse, browse, comment, or anything. It's a reminder I'm not just talking to myself on here!
:-)
:-)
Small Town Life
Before I begin this blog post, I would like to say that I have had two ideas for blog posts floating around in my head for about two weeks now. The first one is on traveling/distance and illness/death, which will be coming in the next few weeks, and the second one is this blog post, on small town life. It isn't so much about traveling, more about what I leave behind when I do travel.
...
I live in a small suburban town in northeast NJ. There isn't much diversity and there isn't much to do. And everybody basically knows everybody.
I have to say, I hated my town when I was a teenager. I really, truly counted down the days until I could leave for college. This hatred is probably one of the reasons that I went so far away for college, as far as I could possibly go without crossing an ocean.
Let me backtrack. I'm a bit different. Not in the "special snowflake" way, but mostly the problem is sometimes I have trouble in social situations. I'm awkward. I'm much, much better now, but I spent a lot of time growing up not really knowing how to act around people. I was different enough, though, to become an easy target for teasing. Middle school was basically hell, which is one of the reasons that I didn't go to my public high school. It basically drove me to the brink of suicide. It was terrible.
High school was a little better, but I still lived in my town. Does anybody remember the "xanga" phase? You know, like before/during the time period when livejournal was popular, lots of people had xangas and myspaces (I feel ancient talking about this) and wrote about the "trials and tribulations" of teenage life. Yes, I had one of those, and I rediscovered it recently. I definitely had more than one blog post about how crappy my town was and how it sucked, and really, all the stuff a person says when they hate where they are from.
I have to be honest, I meant it at the time, but now I look back and it is just stupid. I was stupid. But then again, if I had never left, never traveled, I probably would not have realized this.
My perspective has changed.
Today, I look around, and I can't imagine growing up any place but where I grew up. This place may not be perfect, but it is my town. For a 1.09 square mile town, we have had quite a few tragedies that have united us. We lost somebody on 9/11. We had a child die a few years ago, my best friend's youngest sister's friend. A few years before that, half of family died when they were hit by a car as they were walking to the elementary school. Most recently, we lost a Marine. And each time these things happened, the outpouring of love and support were overwhelming. The people of the town really came together to show how much it meant to be part of this community.
When I think about having children (and I really don't think about this often), I think I want them to grow up in a small suburban town. The support system here is wonderful. Although, I have to admit, it can also really be a downer when everybody knows your business. But still, it is kind of wonderful.
After spending a few years in Los Angeles, I started to believe that the impersonal was better. The less you invest yourself in other people, the less you get hurt. Yes, certain communities within LA unite and take care of each other, but it is, at it's heart, a city. And cities just do not have that same support that towns have. It was weird to come back. Maybe my dreams are too big for where I grew up, but what big dreams aren't?
My dad grew up in this town. My grandparents still have a house here.
After being gone for 4 years, it is amazing to come back and have a conversation with people that I haven't seen in years. It's also funny when somebody says something along the lines of "How old are you now? I remember when you were as tall as my knee!" It really, truly amazes me how much people can be invested in the lives of the people within their town. It is beautiful.
So, for anybody reading this who has had to listen to me rant about how terrible my town is, I take it back, I apologize. My town is amazing. My town is wonderful. It has it's faults, no doubt, but it is my home.
...
I live in a small suburban town in northeast NJ. There isn't much diversity and there isn't much to do. And everybody basically knows everybody.
I have to say, I hated my town when I was a teenager. I really, truly counted down the days until I could leave for college. This hatred is probably one of the reasons that I went so far away for college, as far as I could possibly go without crossing an ocean.
Let me backtrack. I'm a bit different. Not in the "special snowflake" way, but mostly the problem is sometimes I have trouble in social situations. I'm awkward. I'm much, much better now, but I spent a lot of time growing up not really knowing how to act around people. I was different enough, though, to become an easy target for teasing. Middle school was basically hell, which is one of the reasons that I didn't go to my public high school. It basically drove me to the brink of suicide. It was terrible.
High school was a little better, but I still lived in my town. Does anybody remember the "xanga" phase? You know, like before/during the time period when livejournal was popular, lots of people had xangas and myspaces (I feel ancient talking about this) and wrote about the "trials and tribulations" of teenage life. Yes, I had one of those, and I rediscovered it recently. I definitely had more than one blog post about how crappy my town was and how it sucked, and really, all the stuff a person says when they hate where they are from.
I have to be honest, I meant it at the time, but now I look back and it is just stupid. I was stupid. But then again, if I had never left, never traveled, I probably would not have realized this.
My perspective has changed.
Today, I look around, and I can't imagine growing up any place but where I grew up. This place may not be perfect, but it is my town. For a 1.09 square mile town, we have had quite a few tragedies that have united us. We lost somebody on 9/11. We had a child die a few years ago, my best friend's youngest sister's friend. A few years before that, half of family died when they were hit by a car as they were walking to the elementary school. Most recently, we lost a Marine. And each time these things happened, the outpouring of love and support were overwhelming. The people of the town really came together to show how much it meant to be part of this community.
When I think about having children (and I really don't think about this often), I think I want them to grow up in a small suburban town. The support system here is wonderful. Although, I have to admit, it can also really be a downer when everybody knows your business. But still, it is kind of wonderful.
After spending a few years in Los Angeles, I started to believe that the impersonal was better. The less you invest yourself in other people, the less you get hurt. Yes, certain communities within LA unite and take care of each other, but it is, at it's heart, a city. And cities just do not have that same support that towns have. It was weird to come back. Maybe my dreams are too big for where I grew up, but what big dreams aren't?
My dad grew up in this town. My grandparents still have a house here.
After being gone for 4 years, it is amazing to come back and have a conversation with people that I haven't seen in years. It's also funny when somebody says something along the lines of "How old are you now? I remember when you were as tall as my knee!" It really, truly amazes me how much people can be invested in the lives of the people within their town. It is beautiful.
So, for anybody reading this who has had to listen to me rant about how terrible my town is, I take it back, I apologize. My town is amazing. My town is wonderful. It has it's faults, no doubt, but it is my home.
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