Travel, Relationships, and The New Twenty

If you were raised in a progressive household like me, you might have learned from an early age to wrinkle your nose when confronted with the image of Ronald Reagan. You might have sung along to the Hair soundtrack after pulling the glistening vinyl from its psychedelic rainbow sleeve, or memorized all the words to “It’s Alright to Cry” from Free to Be You and Me. You might have marched, on small sturdy legs, socks scrunched into the soles of your Kangaroos, to support a woman’s right to choose, or used your red and blue Crayolas to color homemade signs protesting the nuclear arms race. You might have had a parent who helped reform the culture of her women’s college, or another who was a conscientious objector to the Vietnam War.

But if you’re like me, you also might not have made much of all this. You knew what you were doing, sort of, but you had no way to place it in a sociopolitical context; it was just a regular part of growing up you. This was the world your parents were creating for you, the world that was your due as their child. This world was weird, certainly, but so were your parents, so at least everything was more or less consistent.

Finally, if you were me, your late teens and early twenties — the supposed hotbed on the roadmap of your life’s activism –- stayed fairly quiet, at least where your relationship to broader authority structures was concerned. Bill Clinton, for instance, bumbled his way through your disaffected years, doing nothing quite offensive enough, in your left-of-center-world, to become a target for your untapped radicalism. The two thousand election pissed you off, but you were also pretty busy trying to figure out how the hell to pay the rent and make a life in a lonely world where your immediate needs were no longer provided for. Wars were quick and quiet and you didn’t hear much about them; the economy was good and you didn’t really know what that meant, anyway. If you were me, the thousands of myriad problems in the big weird world out there made you sad, and sometimes really upset, but they remained just beyond the innermost layer of your privileged angst. You were still figuring out who you were, and it really didn’t seem like there was much you could do about all the rest of it.

My twenties have marched on, though, and things have started to feel like too much. Wars are no longer short, or quiet; they are miserable, drawn-out affairs where terrible decisions are made and people with full shining lives are cut down day after day after day. The weather has been changing, literally, but saggy-faced politicians are hell-bent on pretending it away. The folks in charge have lost that aura of wisdom and thoughtfulness that once seemed inherent even to such objectionable authority figures as Ronald Reagan. The current versions are disastrously puerile, power-hungry and ill-informed, or worse, corrupt and self-serving. I’m now approaching the age that my parents were when they first taught me how to cue up Free to Be You and Me on vinyl, and I’m just beginning to understand why they did. The weird world they showed me was not perfect, nor permanent. And they wanted me to be prepared.

But I’m almost thirty now. What can I do?

I have started to do some things. I attend war protests when I can. I boycott Exxon Mobil. I call and write my Senators, and my Representative. I make regular donations of $10 or $20 to environmental organizations, and sometimes to political campaigns. I made hundreds of phone calls before the last election cycle. I replaced most of the old-school light bulbs in my house with swirly new ones. I worked hard to convince the limousine company whose website I maintain to begin replacing some of their Lincoln Town Cars with Toyota Prius and Hybrid Camry sedans (a success!). Is this enough? Vehemently, no. But by the time I turn thirty, I will be thinking about the world’s problems in a much different way than I did ten years ago. Because for reasons I don’t entirely understand, the problems of the world have begun to hurt me more and more. And in consequence, I am more and more compelled to do something about them.

Will I take to the streets like so many passionate 20-year-olds of my parents’ generation? I don’t know. The slow boil of my activism is taking me along a more careful course, but one that will, I hope, be no less passionate or productive. And if “Free to Be You and Me” isn’t too ridiculously dated by the time my future kids are ready to operate the CD player, I will make sure I show them how to put it on.

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A few places that helped me get started:

The Rainforest Site (very easy, if you’re interested — it’s my “Home” page)
Environmental Defense
MoveOn.org
Save Darfur
TrueMajority
Faithful America
National Resources Defense Council
Airport Commuter of San Francisco (book a hybrid!)

March is a month of dreary waiting. I love winter, especially as an enthusiastic skiier, ice skater and professional snowball fighter, but for me this is when the whole thing really starts to lose its charm. Even as the days get a little warmer and longer and April crawls closer and closer, there’s still something bare and infinite about the whole thing. Sullen March clenches hopeful buds in unforgiving fists; it pushes back flowers with the steely emptiness of cold nights; it hurls down unique and miserable forms of precipitation rarely found in other, more sensible, months. March attacks; and we are human, we are frail, so we retreat. But we are running out of firewood, clean sweaters, hot cocoa, patience. We dream of leaves and lemonade, until we wake up and can’t remember what they looked or tasted like. It’s still March.

This year my March was going to be different. With so many plans in the making, I wouldn’t have time for this miserable month, for its ides or afflictions: in my mind I would be escaping to a June wedding in San Francisco, swimming in Vermont streams in July, scaling Guatemala’s volcanoes in September, savoring my Peking Duck in a cozy February 飯店 (fàn diàn = restaurant). To be as fortunate, as expectant, as full of plans as I, would unquestionably, conclusively keep March at bay.

March has not been cooperative. It is outside my window every morning; it taunts me with its cold bare limbs as I walk to work. It drives me under my umbrella, pale-knuckled and shivering, wondering if the pain in my throat will become a cold just as my feet shoot different ways on a patch of ice. When my brother and I were little my mother always brought a pencil and paper to boring restaurant meals, so we could at least play “hangman” while we waited for our yucky grownup food. Likewise I have tried to distract myself from this interminable month by engaging Lacey in our favorites: Scrabble, Yahtzee, Cribbage. They do not work. I entered an NCAA Men’s Basketball Tournament Pool, but this will only work until I inevitably begin losing. I go back to my plan-making, but this is March; my planning just feels like more waiting. There is nothing to be done.

There is something to be done. Last night, on a side trip to 7-Eleven after a too-short St. Patrick’s night out, Lacey and I invented a new game. Each of us got to tell a story that answered this question: who would be the most interesting, rewarding person we could realistically meet on the way to 7-Eleven at one in the morning? Lacey’s mystery person took us to a great party, then on to a new bar we had never heard of. The bar stayed open all night for us and our two dozen new and perfect friends, its cheery owner serving free drinks and playing just the right music while we danced on the tables. For my turn our guardian angel was back for a week from China, just for a wedding; he or she had a job with a university that was hiring English teachers with no experience, in a perfect Chinese town with a perfect group of expat friends who were generous and knowledgeable and neither too cynical nor too naive (much like Lacey’s two dozen new Philadelphia friends). For a few minutes the twin fantasies hovered before us, right there on the icy streets, until there was no March without perfect parties, no cold without smiling new friends, no dirty snow without a mysterious Clarence Odbody whistling and strolling toward us just around the corner. For a few minutes March had all of this, and more. It was all we could ask for from any month.

A few weeks ago I posted a list of several volunteer opportunities in Xela, Guatemala, tied loosely to a story about marching in an Iraq War protest in Washington, D.C. If you’ve read a few of the posts here you know that I have a dogged propensity for using this kind of narrative device to structure whatever I’m writing. So imagine my unease when my idea for this latest post didn’t seem to have any narrative to anchor it. Still, I decided to go ahead: I’m posting the first two letters I sent (via e-mail, earlier tonight) to the two organizations I’m most interested in volunteering with.

Fortunately, once my decision was made, I came up with not one, but two narratives to structure this post: first, an introduction narrating my decision-making process about this post, and second, the wider narrative of attempting to plan four months of living in Guatemala, five months ahead of time, without (in my case) speaking the language. So here goes. Note: if you want to just skim or skip the letters for now, and wait until later when I report on what happens, I don’t blame you; you are probably just as much of a junkie for narrative as I am. Also note: these letters are completely uncut, unedited, and exactly the kind of thing that you find fourteen things wrong with the moment you’ve sent them off.

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Dear Jaime,

I will be traveling to Xela on August 27, 2007, and I am really excited about the possibility of volunteering at El Nahual! I’ve been reading through your web site and materials, and it looks like you are running a wonderful center with lots of opportunities for locals and for volunteers. So I just wanted to send a preliminary e-mail well in advance to see if I might fit the guidelines for any of your volunteer opportunities.

I am from Philadelphia, Pennsylvania in the United States. Currently I work as a writer and a website designer, writing a book and building websites for small businesses, non-profit organizations, research centers, schools, and university departments. In the past I have also worked frequently with children, including work as a Summer Camp Assistant Director, Summer Camp Counselor, After-School Teacher, and Child Care Assistant. As a camp counselor I led dozens of trips in the wilderness for 9 to 16-year-old children. The after-school program was for 5 to 11-year-old children, and as a child care assistant I worked with 1 to 5-year-olds.

My college degrees are in Computer Science and English, but I have never taught English in a classroom setting (although I have helped children learn to read in the after-school program). Also, I speak very little Spanish, although I plan to study over the summer and attend language school once I arrive in Xela.

Do you think there could be an opportunity for me to volunteer at El Nahual? I love working with children especially, and would be thrilled to be able to help out with kids at the center. I would also be happy to donate my computer skills and English writing skills if necessary, and I love being outside, so I would be eager to help out in a garden or any other outdoor location. Please let me know if I would be considered for any of your opportunities.

Thank you for your time! I hope to hear from you soon.

Take care,
Ethan

From the Volunteering Section of El Nahual’s Website

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I will be traveling to Xela on August 27, 2007 (planning to stay through December), and am intrigued about the possibility of volunteering for Quetzaltrekkers! I’ve been reading through your web site and materials, and it looks like you’re running a great program, creating opportunities for local children and providing rewarding placements for volunteers. So I wanted to send a preliminary e-mail, well in advance, to introduce myself and ask a couple more questions.

I’m from Philadelphia, Pennsylvania in the United States. Currently I work as a writer and a website designer, writing a book and building websites for small businesses, non-profit organizations, and educational institutions. In the past I have also worked frequently with children and in the outdoors, including work as a Summer Camp Assistant Director, Summer Camp Counselor and Trip Leader, After-School Teacher, and Child Care Assistant. During my seven years as a Camp Counselor / Trip Leader, I led dozens of trips in the Appalachian Mountains of Maryland and Virginia for 9 to 16-year-old children, from 3 days to 3 weeks in length. I have also taken dozens of wilderness trips of my own in the American West, Northeast, and in Tibet.

My first question is about combining Quetzaltrekkers guiding with other commitments. I see that the minimum commitment per month is three weekend trips. Does that mean that volunteering as a guide for Quetzaltrekkers could leave room for other, flexible volunteering commitments as well? I love leading trips, love being outside, and love the sound of your program, but I also really like working children, and would like lots of contact with local folks during my stay in Xela. If I could combine a commitment at Quetzaltrekkers with other volunteer work, I imagine my time would be that much better used. Does this sound reasonable?

My second question is about your street school. At the moment I speak almost no Spanish, but I am committed to studying over the summer and attending language school once I arrive in Xela. I’m not sure what level this would put me at in September or October, but as I mentioned above, I have a lot of experience working with children and find it challenging and fulfilling. Do you think there could be room for someone like me to help out at the school in some way?

Again, I’m really excited at the thought of working with Quetzaltrekkers! So thank you for your time, and I hope to hear from you soon.

Take care,
Ethan

Quetzaltrekkers Volunteer Logo

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UPDATE!

Graham Henderson at El Nahaul replied with a very friendly e-mail, including the following:

“Having read your application, I feel that your distinct range of skills would allow you to contribute greatly to our programs here at El Nahual. Our volunteers come from a wide range of backgrounds and we feel this helps to create an interesting and diverse working environment. From your email I can tell that you are enthusiastic for working on our projects and, perhaps most importantly, you are flexible and willing to work on different things. This is important as we have a constant turnover of volunteers and the needs of the centre change from week to week. Therefore, we are very happy for you to come and get involved in our projects here and look forward to meeting you at the end of August!”

The reply from Quetzaltrekkers was slightly less encouraging, particularly:

“First, if you volunteer, you should’t expect to spend just 6 days a month guiding for us. All our volunteers are in the office almost every day, usually working 10-14 hours daily. The first day off that a volunteer gets may not be for months, if ever. This is not a light or part-time commitment.”

After I replied with surprise about the 10-14 hours in the office, I was glad to get this, less scary, reply:

“Ethan, it is a lot of hours in the office, but we always leave time to enjoy ourselves along the way.  And those hours include eating meals, etc.  Please do stop by and check us out when you get here.”