Sunday, May 22, 2011

When you have two months left in America...

First and foremost I have to admit that I am presently not much of a blogger. Although, I did mention in one post that I probably would not blog until I started packing (which I have not) so I guess I never operated under the assumption that I would continuously blog. Yet, I find myself worried that my blogging will also fail in El Salvador if I do not start getting into the habit now of blogging more frequently. Besides that whole argument "there will be more to write about when I am in a new place" is completely bogus to a certain extent. Given the fact that I have stalked a considerable amount of current PCV's I know that at a certain point things in your new homeland become sort of routine and you only have things to report on random occasions. Thus, I am going to start practicing now my "finding things to say even when I do not have anything to say" because let's face it: there is always something on my mind that I could theoretically share with the world (this blog). In the most cheesiest of ways, I am going to find something beautiful to post at least once a day. Maybe I will consider this some version of the 365 project.

So today's beauty comes in the form of something I will miss terribly when I leave (hence the post title). This is a place where I have tried to perfect the art of achieving inner peace. Most PCV's describe an uncomfortable and nagging feeling of idleness in their sites. Life moves at a slower pace and realistically they are not as effective as they would like to be in accomplishing various projects. This is no fault of their own but simply a matter of moving to a new country and figuring out how it works best. I know I will fall into this frustration trap. I am a classic type A personality: perfectionist, hard working, and determined. Not only that but I have ultimate "my way is the right way" mentality, even if other parts of my personality lead me to allow other people to try out their way. Plus, I am a runner. We hate staying still. I hope I have not terrified any potential new friends/future servicemates/or even potential employers with this description of myself, but I am only being honest. And if it just so happens that I am awesomely busy all the time during my service, which would probably make me incredibly happy but a bad blogger, then I only hope that I continue to respect the importance of idleness in some form so that I learn, reflect, and grow during my time in the Peace Corps. I must always remember that idleness at times is completely necessary and vital to our own development.

Anyway to combat this potential and highly likely problem during my service, as my time in America dwindles I have been focusing on appreciating idleness. I figure if you can find idleness charming here in America with the ever nagging Glee addiction, your best friend's Netflix account, random trips to Wawa (coffee), and endless supplies of anything, then you can find it anywhere, at least I hope. And here I have found it:

I know what you are thinking. Jamie, you are so weird. This is a random piece of grass on the side of Route 4 filled with loud cars whizzing by, their relentless pollution, and there is nothing special there: no flowers, barely any trees, and it is literally two inches from your house. But that is exactly why it is beautiful. First, I am probably the only person that thinks so. I doubt anyone goes in there to just sit and hang. Second, its emptiness is why it is peaceful. There are no distractions. It is just me and the grass. Third, the fact that it is so close to my house is perfect. Why have a special place if you cannot access it regularly?! And finally, I like to think of the loud cars as a kind of meditative song. It is constant, not too loud, and sort of hums me into a calm oblivion. An oblivion where I just sit and feel.

"Rest is not idleness, and to lie sometimes on the grass under trees on a summer's day, listening to the murmur of the water, or watching the clouds float across the sky, is by no means a waste of time." - John Lubbock

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