Impermanence

At some point in the past year or so, I acquired a copy of Milan Kundera's The Joke, which, for whatever reason, I decided to bring with me to Ukraine. This book has become a fixed object in the barrage of items I carry around with me, and not because I particularly love it, but because I never seem to finish it. I keep forgetting where I'm at, so I go back and reread the same chapters and repeatedly end up somewhere in the middle. Sometimes I'll read something else for awhile, then come back to this, forget where I was, start over, rinse, repeat. 

I really just wanted to put this in here. ladykiller, Upper Peninsula, 2012

But what I like about Kundera is his ability to describe life by contextualizing moments, and particularly moments of turning inward. So maybe this is why I won't finish this book. Or maybe I'm just really lazy. But I want to keep returning to these moments. 

He makes this point about the role of narrative, asking if stories really "speak," and whether or not "the stories we live comprise the mythology of life," revealing some kind of secret along the way. And perhaps in deciphering these very real and very personal stories, we can continually reappraise and re-understand the—various and ever changing—contexts in which we live our lives.

My family is moving from Michigan to Maui in a few days. My ideas about "home" have lost their ceremonious implications and taken on a more plastic, pliable definition, further reminding me of one of the more critical truths I've confronted during my time here—Nothing is permanent. 

Classroom Face: Workshop at TEFL conference in Sevastopol, April 2013

Yet change can be enriching. And the desire for new and different realities is what brought me here, and it is what will continue to move and shift and take what it needs and give what it can. 

Stories are tangled up in this, and uncovering the layers of my own realities, self-consciousness, residual insecurities, strengths, fears, capacities.... so, Kundera, you're right. The narrative I live allows me to see, to decipher, myself more clearly. 

The sun is shining here, which means that my daily life here has become even less predictable, which is great because I am by no means a planner. Today, for example, I had one class, and when I arrived, I found that I was the only one there. I returned to the office and told a colleague Немає студентів! To which she responded, "They must have a good reason. Probably the sunshine." 

American Party with Ben's Students in Kolky!

When I explain to people at home how satisfying my life is here, sometimes I wonder if they really believe me, or if I sound like "that guy" (you know that guy). 

But if I speak honestly, my teaching experience here has revitalized my belief in my capacity to be a teacher. Teaching in the United States, I remember leaving my office each day feeling worse about myself and my ability to inspire and engage students, but here (imperfect as it may be) I feel effectual, I feel valued, and I feel engaged and inspired by my students. Talking with them, I can sense their depth and their investment in learning and ideas. They value it because the sacrifices that were made to get them here are clear to them. One student told me recently that "Ukraine needs educated and honest people to make it a better place, and I want to stay here and do just that." I don't know if he realized how much it moved me, but moments like that inspire and remind me why I'm here. 

There is often a stigma surrounding Peace Corps volunteers—that we are supposed to be unhappy, exhausted, longing for cheeseburgers and more familiar understandings of time and space—and to some extent this is accurate. Sometimes there is a still, small ache for a burrito and an IPA. But mostly I miss being close to those who understand me, my mom's touch, my cat's muppet-like face, singing with my sister, my brother's jokes. But then I remember that life in the familiar is routinely dissatisfying. Why not give until it hurts?

And I get to do things like this—Kolky WELL Seminar! (Workshops in English Language and Leadership)

So here's to impermanence. And welcoming the new, the strange, and the uncomfortable.