T-minus 28 days to departure, and the nerves are slowly disappearing, excitement and confidence taking their place.
For the last five months, I've felt every emotion possible about my decision to embark upon the journey of serving in the Peace Corps. Most days, I couldn't even put it into words. It was never a question of, "Is this what I really want?" or "Am I making the right choice?" It was mainly a question of, "Am I actually going to make it to Panama?" To be honest, I'm still not sure, but I've learned to be okay with it.
When you're invited to serve in the Peace Corps, they send you an invitation via email, which you have to accept or decline within 3 days. I hurriedly logged in to my Peace Corps applicant portal and accepted my invitation as soon as I got the email; no deliberation whatsoever. I'd already turned down one position with the Peace Corps, offered to me in February of 2017; I spent three days torturing myself with possibilities and pro-con lists before deciding the offer wasn't right for me. When I received my offer to go to Panama, however, I knew precisely that it was what I was meant to do, and that there was no better time in my life to do it. All of the signs said yes, so I did, too. At the end of August 2017, I set my sights on Central America, excited to have a platform to do good work alongside good people.
It's not that simple though. For me, it was insanely far from simple.
After accepting your invitation, you have to be medically and legally cleared prior to leaving for service. With a departure date of February 19, I figured this was no issue; after all, I had nearly five months to knock out a checklist of tasks sent to me by the Peace Corps legal team and a Peace Corps nurse.
Upon receiving my legal kit in the mail, I had 2 weeks to get finger-printed at the local police station and send my background check forms, fingerprint cards, and some other paperwork back to the legal team. Easy enough; I completed that within one week and sent everything off.
After getting the legal tasks out of the way, I logged in to my applicant portal and surveyed my medical task list. Everything from dental x-rays to eye exams to mental health assessments to vaccinations was on that list. All in all, I had 22 medical tasks to complete. Like the eager prospective volunteer I am, I dutifully printed all of the paperwork out, color-coded the forms for different doctors with a rainbow of paper clips, and started a PCV (Peace Corps Volunteer) medical folder.
I scheduled appointments with every doctor I had seen in the last few years: my optometrist, dentist, physician, OB/GYN, and my therapist from college.
Some visits were easier than others: my trip to the optometrist took only ten minutes; while my visit to my PCP took two and half hours, with three follow up appointments for blood titers, vaccinations, and a TB test. My OB/GYN and I became really good friends, too. I spent a frightful amount of time in doctor's offices during the months of September and October, with a due date of October 19 for all of my medical documentation. It seemed that every time I uploaded a task I thought was completed, a new one popped up in its place, demanding more information and more detail about my medical history and my current health. It was exhausting, to say the least.
I submitted everything over a week prior to my deadline, and felt quite proud of myself for it. I even allowed myself a small celebration after a very stressful 6 weeks of missing work to make appointments and disclosing every aspect of my medical history to complete strangers (of course, ignoring the absolute mess of bills my insurance company was rejecting coverage for).
During this time, I had also withdrawn applications from 2 full time jobs with organizations that I revered and ended a long-term relationship with someone who didn't fully support my decision to serve. It had been a busy, but productive, couple of months. Not to mention highly emotional, as well.
My celebration, however, was premature. Shortly after submitting every form requested of me, I got a notice from the Peace Corps nurse assigned to my medical case. I was told I likely wouldn't clear for service, based on my medical history surrounding my mental health. I went into panic mode, emailing my nurse and explaining I would do anything in my power to prove I was healthy and fit to serve with the Peace Corps. I was told to wait, and it was the most painful waiting I've ever done.
For a week I grew anxious, voicing my concerns to colleagues and friends; wondering if I had prematurely started packing up my life to move abroad, considering if I wanted to work for an organization that would determine my value based on my mental health history. All of the excitement and pride I had for service vanished, and I became numb and indifferent to any possible outcomes. I said again and again, when people asked for updates, that I knew nothing and I didn't care what happened at this point. As a close friend put it, the experience had been tainted. Having had my entire medical history pried out of me, and then to have someone say I might not be good enough based on it, left an extremely sour taste in my mouth. I mourned the loss of my confidence, my privacy, and my ambition.
I was finally asked to submit a personal statement regarding my mental health history. At the chance to prove myself, all of my intentionality returned, and I wrote an impassioned case for myself, detailing everything from treatment to recovery to testimonials from my therapist and colleagues. Digging back into the throes of depression, anxiety, and negativity I felt during high school and college was painful, and moderately invasive. While I authored this statement, I couldn't help but think that these strangers didn't deserve to know my story or struggles. They were greedy to demand so much of me, at a time when I already felt extremely insecure about myself and my future. But I knew what I wanted, so I obliged.
I re-wrote the four-page essay four times before feeling like I had truly done all that I could, within one document, to convince them I was good enough. I submitted my statement, and once again had to wait.
On December 21 I got the golden email:
"Congratulations! You have received medical and dental clearance for Peace Corps Volunteer service."
I just about lost my mind, crying and laughing with my mind racing about what it took from me to get this email. I went into the holiday season feeling proud and confident, once again, about my role as a PCV. My faith was restored and my plans were reinspired.
When 2018 came around, the planning really set in motion: a sublet was chosen to take over my apartment lease, I planned out my last days at work, piles of items to keep/donate/pack appeared on my bedroom floor, and friends started contacting me to have a drink or grab lunch to say goodbye. It's finally feeling real. I didn't think anything could slow me down again.
However, as I sit on my couch writing this blog, the federal government is shut down. You know who operates the Peace Corps? The federal government. While the Senate passed a three-week budget measure this afternoon, allowing operations to run through February 8, I'm feeling less than optimistic about my situation again. I don't leave for Washington D.C. until February 20, and for Panama until February 21; a three-week long budget measure doesn't quite cover my bases, especially since I was never legally cleared to serve.
At this moment, I'm still waiting for the legal team from the Peace Corps to give me a thumbs up to board my plane on February 20. Apparently, though, if they don't finish my background check in the next three weeks, they may not get it done at all.
The last five months have been a terrifying and enlightening period of not-knowing. The words "I don't know" and persistent shrugs are commonplace in conversations about my service. It wasn't until recently, while reading a book about indigenous knowledge and culture, that I learned to accept not-knowing as something positive. It's become a feeling similar to being a beginner at something; doors wide open, abundant knowledge to collect, countless lessons waiting to be learned, endless possibilities of outcomes. It's transformed from being something scary and filled with anxiety to something beautiful and worthwhile.
Never again will I be 22 years old without an inkling of what my future looks like, and one day I am sure I'll long for this feeling of uncertainty with its silver lining of freedom, and recount what it taught me fondly. Right now my mission is to be mindful, intentional, and present; and let the powers that be do what they must.
While I feel certain that I'll be in Panama in less than one month, I am actively practicing my New Years Resolution to live without expectations. Therefore, I am going to eat dinner, go to my dance class, take a shower, and go to bed; knowing tomorrow will be another eventful day of preparing for a journey that I may or may not be going on. Either way, I'm ready for whatever the next month of my life holds.