You can't go home again

“You can’t go home again” has entered American speech to mean that after you have left your country town or provincial backwater city for a sophisticated metropolis, you can’t return to the narrow confines of your previous way of life. – Wikipedia

I’m trying to think of something pithy to write that accurately describes what I’ve been feeling since I’ve returned to the U.S. after my six months in Togo.

How’s this for pithy: I love America.

Sound corny?  Well, it accurately conveys not so much an appreciation of but rather a fête of the possibilities America provides.

I love Target.  I love my car and the freedom it provides.  I love paved roads.  I love my bed.  I love electricity and running water.  I love flushing a toilet.  I love the weather in southern California.  I love the diversity of people and along with that, my anonymity.

I celebrate that we have access to an abundance of choices.  Perhaps a gluttony of choices, but choices nonetheless.  While I despise how we can be materialistic and wasteful we can also choose to abandon the compelling enticements of excess and overindulgence.  Do I really need another stuffed animal?  Do I really need to eat that $200 gourmet meal?  I may still say yes, but I have the choice.

I make different choices in Togo because I have a different menu of options and they provide a newfound joy.

Now, what gets me over-the-top excited is a look-through the grab bin (the used stuff that volunteers leave behind in the Peace Corps volunteer lounge) and finding an old shirt and giving it a second life. 

I am equally as thrilled when I successfully flush my toilet using a bucket of water (it’s a combination of a steady hand, angle of the bucket, and my excellent control of the flow-speed of the water).

I love the way the wind feels in my hair when I am on a motorcycle.

The Togolese men and women I work with and know amaze me with their dedication to the community.  Du courage, indeed.

There’s equally another not-so-pretty side.  I am saddened to see children who can only play with rocks and lines drawn in the sand or an empty can tied to a string. 

I am shocked to hear that people I know don’t have something as simple as an aspirin to lessen the pain of a simple headache.  My med kit would certainly go a long way.

I can’t accurately describe the pitiful road conditions.  Why does the Togo government turn a blind eye to this madness?

Through the looking glass

Joan, you asked me how I’ve changed.  Perhaps what I’ve written is a glimpse into the subtle changes of my thoughts.  I think you are best equipped to enlighten me as to how you perceive the changes?  I can’t be objective.  Where is the mirror of truth?

I knew the Peace Corps experience would transform me forever as a person.  But I don’t know what that will look like.

My viewpoint has a new landscape because I’ve added one more filter for me to see through that has added another perspective, attitude, and dimension.

I can come home again.  I’ve just arrived in a new suit.