Birthday, Incoming!

January 11, 2012

Yesterday I was standing in the green rainy season drizzle supervising the Form 1 and 2 students as they slashed grass and plucked weeds and I wondered what these youngest students have heard about my Form 3 English language and literature class. Do they dread it? Look forward to it eagerly? Most of these younger students, not yet comfortable with their second language, shyly examine me from afar, choosing to rely instead on those teachers who speak in their native tongue for support. Those who do bravely greet me in the mornings do so to the background tinker of peer giggles. They may be intimidated by me, I thought to myself, though those who approach me know me to be friendly. In the next instant I took stock of my stern expression, my posture, my silent and sharp observation of their work. Ok, I realized, I probably scare the youngest kids a bit. The youngest kids…suddenly it dawned on me that these really are KIDS, and that in this situation I am the ADULT. In a moment of shock it occurred to me that I am 10, 11, 12, 13 years older than my students. How did that happen? Wasn’t I JUST in secondary school myself? I caught a glimpse of a fellow teacher across the school yard and realized even she is at least 4 years younger than me, probably more.

By the time I finish my Peace Corps service I will be 28 years old, a fact that overwhelms me. How do you begin your life again at that age? Here in Malawi we volunteers feel this pressure especially strongly because by this nation’s cultural standards we are very old maids and very odd bachelors. But pondering yesterday’s silly revelation, I have another: I LIKE being a grown-up. I am a well-travelled, well-educated, well-rounded, well-loved woman, independent, strong, and capable. I like being a suitable role model for my students, for young girls searching for the power within. I like commanding the respect of youth. I like knowing where I stand.

I feel I have been awaiting this sense of comfort in my own skin since I turned 18, since my friends started having babies, since people first started asking me when I would finally settle down. Why didn’t I have the confidence to own my own world the way my peers did? Instead I held tightly to my innocence, my naivety, my belief that youth was too valuable to surrender just yet. Maybe I’ve always been confused on what aging meant. Now I find it doesn’t mean I can’t continue travelling the globe, dancing the night away, or rocking out to the Foo Fighters; in that sense I feel younger than ever, younger than my fresh-faced newly college graduated Peace Corps peers! There’s a special satisfaction, however, in realizing I am no longer a kid. I have knowledge and experience that can only come with living life, and I have the pleasurable awareness that the years I have lived I have lived well. I am at a beautiful age where I get to continue looking forward with bright eyes as I hopefully follow the well-worn path of my elders; I am at a beautiful age where I get to diverge from that path when I want, trekking through the jungle, forging my own way with machete in hand. I still have the opportunity to model myself after others, while I am suddenly and surprisingly observed by wide-eyed kids looking for direction.

I had hoped that my Peace Corps experience would turn me upside down, shake out this addiction to exploration and my persistent restlessness. Now I think, however, it is much more likely that this experience will only feed my need to see the world and continue learning about various cultures. Still, for the first time, I suddenly believe that that is okay. I suddenly believe that “settling down” doesn’t have to have the conventional definition I always assigned it, and that aging doesn’t mean sacrificing the things I love. Time continues moving, we adapt, we grow, we reassess and redesign our values, priorities, beliefs, behaviors, and plans; we learn who we are and how we can improve, and we do our best. That is what living IS. Rather than jolt the traveller out of me, my Peace Corps service has, so far, simply made me more comfortable with who I am. I am a traveller, an adventurer, a student of the world. And, late in the game, I like who I am.

I’ve been here 7 months now and, unbelievably, feel that itchy urge to shift the scene creeping up on me, as this is now officially the longest I have stayed in one place since 2009. I am content here, however, especially since I can look over my shoulder at the interesting and dynamic road I have been following, and also look ahead, at this rough red clay path before me, and the endless opportunity it holds.

And, anyway, I’d much prefer to be a scary teacher rather than a pushover.