In my last post I claimed I wasn’t going to disappear, that I’d be around to tell you about my adventures in South America and beyond. I failed to do that, and then went an entire year without posting. I'll try to catch you up on everything, without boring you too much.
I finished my service on February 28th, 2014. After that I traveled with a friend around Colombia and Ecuador. I returned to the States on April 18th, 2014, fresh off a 25th birthday celebrated with some friends, some strangers, some blue-footed boobies, and a whole lot of homesickness. After two years away from home and the comfort of America, I was so ready to be back.
My two options were typical ones: a job or grad school. I couldn't do the latter immediately because, unlike my smart Peace Corps friends who took the GRE and applied before they left Panama, I focused on the short term, worrying about some camps instead of my goodbyes in country and my plans after I got back. I thought I would look into jobs through the government and use my noncompetitive eligibility afforded to me as a result of my service. (I could explain it to you, but I'm still iffy on it myself. I guess it's just some kind of fast track that makes it easier for Uncle Sam to hire people in my position.)
So right when I got back, I searched for work. Immediately I felt like I was in the same position my friends and classmates had been in, and felt two years behind because I had gone abroad. I thought my skills and experience from Peace Corps would shoot me to the top of every candidate list. Now I'm not saying that my service didn't help, only that I also had to work to get a job...a job wouldn't simply jump out and find me. Something I didn't realize at first.
Job hunting was not fun, especially without a good sense of what I wanted to do. I've likely told everyone I've talked to the same thing: I know exactly what I'm good at and what appeals to me. I just don't know how to find a career that fits all that criteria. So I flirted with various tracks, applied to a lot of jobs, and heard back from only a fraction of those. The worst part of the process was hearing nothing back from dozens of places. I wasn't sure if they'd received my application, if it had gotten "lost in the mail" so to speak, or if they just didn't care enough to even tell me they'd received my carefully crafted resume and cover letter.
Fast-forward through the next few months, since it involves mostly mundane things, like job hunting, Bikram yoga, and debates with my dad about everything under the sun. I joined a Returned Peace Corps Volunteer group, received some great advice from a mentor, and served as a mentor to other potential volunteers. I went to D.C. in June and saw Peace Corps friends. There I attended a job fair geared toward those with noncompetitive eligibility, volunteers from Peace Corps and Americorps and such. I put on a fancy suit and did my dance, but to no avail. More job searching. Auditioning for community musicals. Nothing on either front. In August I went to San Francisco and saw high school, college, and Peace Corps friends. Man, let me tell you: I would gladly live in either DC or SF, but I'd prefer not to be broke, and it seems like nearly everyone there my age is struggling.
By the end of August, I had three job prospects come together for me. One was a Peace Corps Response position, a ten-month gig in Colombia working at an at-risk youth center. Another was working in Ann Arbor at a bilingual preschool. The last, and most promising, was working at a residential facility for Central American immigrant teens. It was all work that resembles to my Peace Corps experience. After doing something that I loved, something that meant so much to me, I told myself that my work had to matter somehow.
What happened next made me question my whole thought process.
Like I said, the last job prospect was the most promising, and also the most convenient. I would be interacting with a population similar to that with which I had already worked. It would allow me to continue living at home with little to no expenses and simply bank everything I made. It had to be the best, right?
So I talked myself out of the others. After seeing how the preschool worked, I realized I wasn't equipped to handle kids that young, kids I couldn't engage with the same way I had the students in every other experience. I was nervous about taking the Colombia position because it happened so fast. I applied and was offered the position within a month or two. Considering how long it took Peace Corps to process me last time, the speed of the process with Response kind of freaked me out. And of course, I was wary of leaving home again so quickly after getting back. I was still in my return embrace of America, feeling the warmth of her ample bosom.
So I chose the shelter job in Farmington Hills. I was hired. Training began in early September. We were poised and ready to receive kids on September 19th, a Friday. I was set to work a midnight shift 11 p.m. to 7 a.m. I would have done so, but my boss called and said I didn't have to go in. There were no kids yet. Saturday rolled around and the same thing happened. The boss called and said I didn't need to go in. No kids. When he called later and said there would be a meeting on Tuesday with the president of the organization, I started to worry. Tuesday came. Along with the president came the head of the HR department. Uh oh.
What it boils down to is this: the government decided to postpone the program. As our organization has a federal grant in order to do the work we're doing, Uncle Sam holds all the purse strings and therefore all the power. It was decided for some unknown dubious reason that although we had been told to set up, hire staff, and prepare the space to receive as many as 24 youth, our services were no longer required. I could speculate about how the timing of our indefinite postponement coincided with the midterm elections, and claim that there was some political motivation, but I can't be sure. They discussed severance and a potential position within the organization elsewhere. And the glimmer of hope that the program might start up again after the new year started.
I got a month's worth of severance for never having worked a day, which was nice, I guess. Obviously, I would have preferred working.
So after turning down a sick post in Colombia for something closer to home, fate dropped a bomb. I was back at square one: twenty-five, living at home, no job, no plan.
October was a dark month for me. I questioned my decision to stay in Michigan instead of peacing out for the Response position. I even briefly regretted not taking the preschool position, even though it did not appeal to me in the least. I just wanted to leave home. I was ready. So ready.
I felt the same pressure from back in 2011 as a clever graduate who had to move back home with his parents. I was suffering the same fate as other Millennials, this time without a hefty prospect like "life-changing international service" in my future. Life was wide open for me, and I had to choose something, anything.
I didn't know what to do. So I made one compromise. And then another.
I'm guessing most of my friends and acquaintances don't know I worked as a seasonal package handler for UPS, or that I was a substitute teacher for a few months. I wasn't too forthcoming with that information because I was ashamed. Ashamed that I had to settle. Ashamed that a "real" job had not materialized for me by then. Ashamed that, after doing something as amazing and worthy of countless anecdotes as Peace Corps, my answer to the final question when catching up with friends and family ("So what are you doing now?") was always, "Umm, living at home and floundering."
Frankly, I was pissed. What was tough was seeing other people doing better, some from the same situation as me, who had found their way first. Volunteers from my group were working or in grad school in San Francisco or Washington, D.C. or Chicago, adjusting to a new life. Many friends from college and beyond had stable jobs, lived on their own, and were functioning adults. Even my brother, who had lost his job around the time I got back, got a new job and moved out of the house and into a place with his girlfriend.
So I took a job with people who hadn't gotten a degree, or who hadn't gone to Michigan, or who hadn't done Peace Corps, but were on the same pay level as me. I had to check all that ego, that tendency to self-aggrandize (that, ladies and gentlemen, is the Michigan Difference!) at the door.
Each job was a chance to make money. Each day was a chance to prove myself. Instead of thinking that I had already distinguished myself from the pack by being young and college-educated and well- traveled, I set myself apart in other ways. By being punctual. By being persistent. By being zealous and innovative. I was never late. When UPS mistook me taking a day off as me saying I never wanted to work again, I pushed until they put me back on the schedule. After a day subbing at a new school, I made a point to introduce myself to all the Spanish teachers and leave them my contact info. And as I knew from my mom's guidance, I was always super nice to the secretaries. I worked every day, even in assignments I didn't want, because at that point, being idle was no longer an option. For something like subbing, you've got to build connections and have people work for you. Slowly, as I worked in schools and met people, I had teachers putting my name in and requesting me. Slowly, things improved.
In late November, I auditioned for another musical. Spring Awakening. This one was meant to be, because I got a really great part. I could gush for an entire post about that experience, but in this context, let me say that it was the turning point. It brought me out of a deep frustration. I was finally able to do something I love, and got recognition for my hard work.
During the rehearsal process, I went from unemployed to temporary UPS guy to substitute teacher. Then, toward the end of the run of the show, I finally heard back from the shelter job, and learned that they had gotten the green light and would start again in March. It was so symbolic: the show was about the struggles of growing up and new beginnings. Just like it did during Avenue Q before I left for Peace Corps, this show hit so close to home. I summoned tears for 11 shows (not including rehearsals) from genuine emotion, but learning that months of sacrifice and compromise had finally paid off really set me over the edge into legit waterworks.
Of course, a year later, I can look back and say that I learned something. I can affirm my mom's insistent prayer-like sentiment that it wasn't meant to be in September, and that something good would work out for me, because it had to. It did, I suppose. But this is certainly not it for me. I don't plan to work in my childhood home long term. Even if I moved out of the house. Doing that would force me to drive further to work, which is something I would like to avoid. High on my priority list is living close to where I work. But it's working. I'm working. I'm making money. I'm less stressed. For now.
Work brings its own challenges. Perhaps later I'll describe those challenges. I'll finish by saying that I made it a year back home. This was one challenge. Many others have presented themselves, challenges where I have come face to face with cultural differences of my own country, my own people, and the new me, the new sensibility I bring with me having lived abroad and served internationally for two years. I still have my feet on the ground, my eyes to the sky. These are my Post Peace Corps Essays, and I hope you will join me on the journey.
