15 Days Before Staging

A Very Happy Me in Austin, TX. July 2006

I moved home from Austin, Texas a week ago. For the readers out there who are not already acquaintances of mine or members of the Mercer/Spaugh/Hamberg/Folds/Wilson clan, I am currently living with my family in my hometown of West Columbia, located directly south of Houston near the murky, industrial Gulf Coast. It's the only place I've ever called home, as much as I want to say that Austin is my home.

One of the reasons I've decided to chronicle my experiences abroad online (other than the obvious reason that is to stay connected with folks at home) is because throughout the application process, reading other PC volunteers' blogs has provided major solace for me. I really appreciate a good, honest account of what is running through a volunteer's mind before and during his or her service. I guess this is my way of giving back... for all the potential volunteers out there who need a little encouragement--or discouragement-- when it comes to joining the Peace Corps. Only time will tell what the experience will mean to me, and what my account of it might mean to others.

So the pre-departure details are pretty much ironed out as of now. My financial ducks are nearly in a row, and I've arranged to fly to Philadelphia on August 20th for PC orientation and staging. I'm slated to teach english to secondary school students in Kazakhstan. I've reconnected with old friends, and notified family members about my 2 year stint in a developing country. My great friend Noah hosted an awesome pre-dissappearance party for me in Austin a few weeks ago, and I am very sorry to have to leave all of the amazing, talented, inspiring friends I have made in the past year. Without them I would definately suck right now.

I had my wisdom teeth extracted a week ago, so I'm experiencing the most amazing variances of pain in and around my jaw line. I actually moved everything out of my apartment 2 days after surgery, braved the 4-hour drive home stoned on hydrocodone, managed to sift through most of my possessions, and divied out what I hope to take with me from what I'm putting into storage. Impressive, huh? Anyway I'm taking the time to recover now, a full week after having sections of my skull chiseled.

So when people ask me how I feel about leaving, I never know what to say. To my parents, I want to apologize for putting them through this entire ordeal. They are supportive, of course, but scared out of their wits. If I ever had second thoughts about my commitment to the PC, it was because I know that Mom and Dad really don't want me to leave. I love them more than anyone, so I'm feeling very selfish about having made this decision to not see them for 2 years. I like to think that they will come and visit me, but deep down I'm afraid that they won't.

Right now, I'm just trying to help them cope with letting me go and not let them see that I really am terrified about leaving. I don't want to admit to them that I am afraid, because I think it will give them false hopes that I might change my mind. I just can't handle having to fathom the likelihood of imminent death via third-world nuclear holocaust anymore. Perhaps it's all parental propoganda, but I swear. The moment I reveal any doubt or weakness, I know they'll be on me like vultures to roadkill, plucking out my fears and stringing them along the asphalt for bloody display. If they succeed in that, I just might change my mind after all.

Fears: I am afraid of earthquakes. I don't want to eat horsemeat. I don't particularly look forward to harsh winters. I don't want to feel alienated and alone. Something might happen to a loved one, and I won't be able to come home right away. I have nightmares that almost always involve the Cyrrillic alphabet, I don't know a lick of the Russian language, and I suspect that my future Peace Corps colleagues can practically translate Doktor Zhivago in and out of Russian already.

Motives: I do want to make a difference in the world (however slight). I feel that people need to get out there and represent our country the right way, to help restore this mess of a rep that America has made for itself. I want to live, that is to say without the fear of losing loved ones and assets after having created a family unit of my own. Lastly, I think that this is a sure fire way for me to execute philanthropy in a way that I see is most befitting-- as an exchange of knowledge and sharing of values, not as a pushing of ideals onto the impressionable young minds of a developing country.

I also have a maddening case of wanderlust, and this experience will vastly improve my resume.

I suppose I really could die over there. Get kicked in the head by a donkey, or something. I could also die right now from a tornado or a cranial hemorrage just as easy. Oddly enough, I could care less whether or not I die now or 50 years from now (as long as it isn't too incredibly painful). This whole early death thing is something I only consider because my folks fear it will happen to me in Kazakhstan, above all other things.

So does the good outweigh the bad? No one can answer that. But this just feels so freaking right.