Losing a Year (But Gaining a New Perspective)

A handful of Nam 27ers discovered the album, NOW That’s What I Call Peace Corps! just before swear-in. It was a play on the yearly Top-40 compilation some American music label puts out. Only the songs on this album were hand selected by our predecessors in Nam 26. It was somehow tongue and cheek, but the titles hinted at what we were in for over the course of our service:

Chain of Fools
It’s a Great Day to Whoop Somebody’s Ass
Where the Streets Have No Name
Hanging Around
Losing a Whole Year
Halfway Home
Time of Need
Run
Little Victories
I Will Survive

Some titles made us laugh. Others made us seriously question what we’d gotten ourselves into. But one in particular really got me thinking: the song Losing a Whole Year.

It was something I’d seriously contemplated before joining the Peace Corps—something I think almost all of us had. Everything we’d miss. (Perhaps it was even this fear that prevented me from serving straight out of university.) It was something I thought of when I left home for D.C., and it was something I thought about even more as I prepared to swear in and commit two years to life in Namibia.

One of my final stateside blog posts touched on this subject. Not losing one year—but losing two. I’d contemplated the friends’ weddings I’d miss (they’ll be three more this year), the babies I’d meet only after they’d become toddlers (three and counting), the holidays I’d spend away from family (four major ones and another two more to go) and the milestones I’d miss out on while living in a foreign land. There were the jobs I couldn’t have. The stories I couldn’t write. The money I couldn’t save.

And at the time, it all seemed a little overwhelming. Was Peace Corps worth all that I’d be giving up?

I now know the answer.

Yes.

But I didn’t realize why until a couple of months ago, when a fellow Nam 27er was sent back to the states to be treated for a medical condition Peace Corps couldn’t handle in Namibia. She wasn’t ready to go. And like many of us, felt there was too much left to be done. There was regret and frustration. Anger and I’m sure some tears. But when our Country Director sat her down for one final talk, something else became clear. Sure, she said, there was more to be done. And of course we’ll always leave feeling like we haven’t done enough. But our work here is lasting, and regardless of how much we’ve managed to change in Namibia, we can without a doubt, measure the things we’ve changed in ourselves. One of the most important things we’ve gained, she said, is the true understanding of the value of a year.

In my American life I measured my years in bylines and paychecks. In articles written and stories scooped. I measured my year in failed relationships and in pounds lost or gained. In fashion trends that worked (and those that didn’t). In new addresses and in old friends. So it was no surprise that when I boarded the plane for Africa, these were the things I worried that I’d miss.

But 17 months later, I see things differently.

A year is more than dollars and cents. More than the number of stories written, weddings attended or minor milestones achieved. It’s about being touched by the kindness of strangers. About family and old friends who keep relationships strong even from an ocean away. And about new friends who understand almost exactly what I’m facing. It’s about seeing places I never thought I’d go and living a life I never imagined I’d have. It’s about overcoming obstacles. About learning to work within a mixed-up system, instead of always trying to fight it. It’s about hitchhiking and clicking. About fitting in. About laughing (mostly at myself). It’s about love notes from learners and hugs from kids. Gaining patience and killing time. About having friendships here that are as real and as important as the ones I left at home. It’s about measuring my own successes in the faces and deeds of those around me. It’s about 2,000 kids who now have toothbrushes and 1,000 teachers who now know their HIV status. It’s about finding a second home in a place I never imagined I’d fit in.

But mostly it’s about valuing life more because I’m living better. About realizing that, even with the smallest pay check of my life, I’m able to live more richly than I ever have before.

Maybe the 26ers were right. Perhaps we are losing a whole year—even two. But our Country Director was onto something. What we’re gaining is so much more:

A new understanding.
A wider perspective.
And a greater appreciation for the true value of a year.