(Note: For lack of a better way of differentiating our posts, I'll be the one posting in colors. Manly colors of course. But until I find one that I like, this blog may look like a Christmas tree gone horribly, horribly wrong. -Jacob)
Patience.
When speaking with a friend of ours - who'd been shipped out to Moldova a few years before, I'd heard the word mentioned but failed to grasp its meaning or importance. Oh, I thought I knew what it meant. I thought I was well prepared. A granite mountain of equanimity. The most patient human being known to man. I live in NYC and have to deal with the MTA on a daily basis! I listen to Glenn Beck, Sean Hannity and Rush!
Hell - I'm married!
But, after what has been 571 days since first applying, I continually hear the words of Inigo Montoya rattling around in my perfectly formed brain: "You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means."
Applying to the Peace Corps is an invigorating, yet simultaneously mind-numbing, process. It has pockets of frantic activity: applying, essays, doctors visits, more essays. And scattered continuously about are the weeks of silence. The fear that somewhere, something has gone wrong. A doctor's missing signature, an illegible date on some ubiquitous form. A childhood ailment previously forgotten that will happily wave the red flag of disqualification. Something that will shatter your plans for the next three years, forcing you therefore to have to rethink your life and decisions.
Sometimes you wonder if you're stupid for even trying this in the first place. Wouldn't it be better - and SO MUCH EASIER - to just stay at home. Keep your job. Get promoted. Have some kids. Spend twenty years trying to pay for said kids. Send them off to college. Retire. Move to Florida (because that's what old people do.) Die in some glorious fashion that will enshrine your legacy in the annuls of family history forever. A good life in other words.
Patience.
I've honestly come to the conclusion that they - being the shady bureaucrats hiding from sunlight in Washington - do this on purpose. That they have an application on their desk and they say to themselves in their creepy, reedy voices, "Yes. I know that you want to serve in a foreign country. I know that you just want to help a people." They rub their spindly fingers together as they imagine the coming suffering. Smugly, they move your file to the bottom of the pile, shoot off a quick email saying that you didn't make it - maybe next time - and then they move on to the next victim.
When speaking with a friend of ours - who'd been shipped out to Moldova a few years before, I'd heard the word mentioned but failed to grasp its meaning or importance. Oh, I thought I knew what it meant. I thought I was well prepared. A granite mountain of equanimity. The most patient human being known to man. I live in NYC and have to deal with the MTA on a daily basis! I listen to Glenn Beck, Sean Hannity and Rush!
Hell - I'm married!
But, after what has been 571 days since first applying, I continually hear the words of Inigo Montoya rattling around in my perfectly formed brain: "You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means."
Applying to the Peace Corps is an invigorating, yet simultaneously mind-numbing, process. It has pockets of frantic activity: applying, essays, doctors visits, more essays. And scattered continuously about are the weeks of silence. The fear that somewhere, something has gone wrong. A doctor's missing signature, an illegible date on some ubiquitous form. A childhood ailment previously forgotten that will happily wave the red flag of disqualification. Something that will shatter your plans for the next three years, forcing you therefore to have to rethink your life and decisions.
Sometimes you wonder if you're stupid for even trying this in the first place. Wouldn't it be better - and SO MUCH EASIER - to just stay at home. Keep your job. Get promoted. Have some kids. Spend twenty years trying to pay for said kids. Send them off to college. Retire. Move to Florida (because that's what old people do.) Die in some glorious fashion that will enshrine your legacy in the annuls of family history forever. A good life in other words.
Patience.
I've honestly come to the conclusion that they - being the shady bureaucrats hiding from sunlight in Washington - do this on purpose. That they have an application on their desk and they say to themselves in their creepy, reedy voices, "Yes. I know that you want to serve in a foreign country. I know that you just want to help a people." They rub their spindly fingers together as they imagine the coming suffering. Smugly, they move your file to the bottom of the pile, shoot off a quick email saying that you didn't make it - maybe next time - and then they move on to the next victim.
 |
| This is what I see in my mind - them gloating over our failed applications. |
(An aside - the Peace Corps people are EXTREMELY nice and competent. From our recruiter to our Placement Officer, I've been incredibly impressed with their help and patience. God knows, it'd drive me to extremes if I had to deal with people frantically emailing and calling every day. Bravo to them - the unsung heroes that allow us to live our dream.)
Anywho - patience.
Because, while I do think that maybe, just maybe, they do it on purpose - there's probably a good reason. Like the fact that they're going to be sending you into the boondocks of the world, with incredibly minimal supervision. Where you're most likely not going to have the resources that you need, and will most definitely not be able to fluently communicate. Where people will stare at you and wonder what the hell you're trying to do, and perhaps even more importantly, why.
And the only thing that's going to allow you to keep relatively sane - why, it's of course patience.
So for anyone who's applying, or is thinking of applying. If you suddenly for some reason read this. Know that you'll need patience. The patience to sit quietly and wait. And wait. And wait. And then something happens in a frenzy of activity. And then you wait some more - followed by even more waiting.
Patience.
But remember Montoya's words:
Anywho - patience.
Because, while I do think that maybe, just maybe, they do it on purpose - there's probably a good reason. Like the fact that they're going to be sending you into the boondocks of the world, with incredibly minimal supervision. Where you're most likely not going to have the resources that you need, and will most definitely not be able to fluently communicate. Where people will stare at you and wonder what the hell you're trying to do, and perhaps even more importantly, why.
And the only thing that's going to allow you to keep relatively sane - why, it's of course patience.
So for anyone who's applying, or is thinking of applying. If you suddenly for some reason read this. Know that you'll need patience. The patience to sit quietly and wait. And wait. And wait. And then something happens in a frenzy of activity. And then you wait some more - followed by even more waiting.
Patience.
But remember Montoya's words:
"You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means."
-Jacob
-Jacob
And once again, my husband assuredly defeats me in my poor attempts in writing a blog post :) -Lauren
ReplyDeleteI literally have had my fingers crossed for you two for three months straight! I am constantly checking your blog to see if you've heard anything and I'm not to thrilled with all this patience they are making you guys find within yourselves.
ReplyDeleteYou are in the last leg though, which is exciting! I truly hope that you hear something in the next few days ... I know you guys want this so much!
Good luck to you.