Falling Bravely
To fall bravely is to free fall without knowing what lies beneath you— swallowing your pride, forgetting what you know, and releasing control. It is to step into a room of strangers, to succumb to the entropy of the universe, and to accept what we are given. It involves opening our hearts, whether for love, the generation of new ideas, or for acceptance. Acceptance of our emotions, acceptance of ourselves, and for all the imperfections that bind humanity.
Our lives provide many opportunities to fall. We fall into new careers, new relationships, and new places. We may fall down to the ground, but we may also fall into the gratifying embrace of mother earth's arms— never knowing the outcome unless we take a faithful leap.
A step further is to free fall blindfolded, completely releasing the control of one's future. Analogous to skydiving blindfolded, this elicits feelings of fear, confusion, and a sweet taste of adrenaline. So much is unknown. To free fall blindfolded, we must learn to completely separate our desires from our destinies and fully embody the belief that what is meant to us will surely come. In this there are lessons— the lesson that what we desire is not always what we need.
Beginning my 8th week of Peace Corps training in Paraguay, this theme feels ever important. In two weeks I will leave for my site, my home for the next two years. A home that was selected for me after two 10 minute interviews conducted in Spanish by the Peace Corps Placement team. A Peace Corps service, in my opinion, is the epitome of free falling. It is a conscious decision to release control of your life for two years, and tests the confidence you have in others to choose your destiny. It is hard as hell— especially for someone who loves control— to allow others to choose what they feel is best for me. It is hard to live in someone else’s home, abiding by their rules, expectations, and social norms. Eating the food they prepare, and honestly, letting go of previous freedoms. It is hard to live everyday life in a language that isn’t native to your tongue. It is exhausting, grueling, and sometimes annoying. But It is also beautiful— to test our limits, to observe the speed at which we adapt to different environments, and to first hand see how the human desire for connection can surpass language and cultural barriers. How there are some things that are shared among humanity: the need for a hug when one is crying and the innocent joy of laughter.
It is an experience where we must shed our complicated layers and show up in our simplest, most human forms. Last week we were given our sites and had the opportunity to spend six days in our future homes with our future host families. My site is “2° Línea Arroyito, Chacore, Repatriación, Caaguazú,” a small community of 500 people, surrounded by fields of soy and eucalyptus plantations, dirt roads, rolling hills, very small creeks— a place that has experienced immense deforestation in the past decade.
During my site visit, I found myself looking for imperfections. I think it is only natural to question a place that will be your home. I was shocked at how nice the home I was placed in was, and was honestly filled with guilt. I pictured myself living in a humble, rustic home. I felt bad for the other volunteers whose homes did not have the same amenities as mine. I questioned why this was my placement. Was it because the Peace Corps did not believe in my ability to deal with challenges? Had they underestimated me? Was I the weak link who got the easy site?
I also felt confused and guilty because part of the process is to adapt to the lifestyle of an average Paraguayan. In a country that suffers from an immense wealth gap, where about 2% of the population owns more than 80% of the land, it was hard not to question why I was placed where I was. I began questioning the Peace Corps framework. As an international development organization, I thought it would be more impactful to place volunteers in sites that needed more support— in homes with families who could benefit from the allowance that is provided for hosting a volunteer.
I was worried that only in the absence of hot water and AC could I really grow. I feared that I wouldn’t be able to prove my abilities here and had to remind myself that I don't have to struggle in order to prove anything. There is no one I need to prove myself to. My purpose is to build connections, learn, and assist in the development of environmental and agricultural knowledge and education— all of which can still be done with running water.
I must also credit the Peace Corps for their approach, only working in communities who have explicitly requested our support. By no means is my community perfect. Advanced plumbing, electricity, and wifi are still all luxuries within the neighborhood. Local farmers struggle to make a living as the majority of the land is used for industrial soy production, leaving locals with little space, less fertile soil, and a smaller market to sell to. The community also faces health challenges, including hypertension, diabetes, and insect borne diseases (last season, almost 95% of the community got Chikungunya). Further, as I mentioned, the land has been greatly defrosted in recent years, leading to considerable impacts on environmental and human health. There are still many opportunities to foster collaborative growth with the communities.
It’s normal to criticize the place you are meant to spend the next two years of your life.
Visiting for six days, knowing that those six days will become two years is daunting. Every flaw becomes highlighted, fueling fear. I’ll spare you the details of the emotional rollercoaster I experienced each day of my visit. I will say, however, that after returning and processing my six days, I am beyond happy with my site. While my house itself is not the rustic, barn-style, campo home that I had envisioned, and my neighborhood is slightly more residential than I’d expected, I am surrounded by farmland, cows and tranquility. My runs on the back country roads are enough to make me happy. I feel safe and can run for miles on dirt roads flanked by farms. I have already gotten to know a good chunk of the 500 residents of Arroyito. I am only 5 kilometers from the next volunteer. The community has embraced me with open arms and kindness. All of my counterparts are open to my ideas and excited to begin working together.
After reflecting, I am excited to return to Arroyito– to run along the dirt roads, milk cows, learn, communicate, embrace, and build connections. I am excited by the potential start of a girls’ club and offer English lessons during the summer. I am even more excited for the bigger projects that lie in my future such as building a community garden, collaborating with farmers, and co-teaching in the schools. I am excited to free-fall and unstitch the seams that enclose my heartspace. In doing so I vow to fall bravely.
