To My Constituents
To My Constituents:
Today I made the acquaintance of several men at my work place's gym. Hmm... that's a little misleading. Let's say I made conversation with a couple guys today. One of them was the reason for this post.
He and I had met briefly last Friday during the Inauguration. We were not attending the Inauguration. We were the only two guys in the work place gym on a Friday. A Friday when no one in the federal government was working.
He saw me lifting dumbbells and coached me on my form. I swung too much, as I am wont to do. We made some conversation about working out, menamen, and left it at that.
Today I saw him towards the end of his workout and he swung too much. Of course I had to return the favor. We then had a short conversation and introduced ourselves.
His name was Girma.
Dead give away.
We then had a 20 minute conversation, or maybe he had a monologue, not quite sure. He explained to me how he had been taught by Peace Corps volunteers when he was in high school and how he always remembered them. How they inspired him. He said they were the reason he became academically inspired and taught him to be curious.
Girma wouldn't give me a year, but simply said this was a 'long time ago'. Girma became a doctor and traveled around Ethiopia providing medical care for years. There's a missing middle piece of his story, but he has been working in public health policy for roughly the past decade in the United States.
Since roughly August of this year my life has been a bit of a whirlwind. Tanzania, consolidation, coming home. Finding a job to help me pay for gas. Relying on family and friends' generosity in feeding me, clothing, piecing me back together. Drinking an entirely inappropriate amount of Jameson on a Wednesday.
I know I'm not alone in having this kind of experience, but that such an experience is quite a lonesome one.
You are probably not in dire need of a succinct, sagely conclusion if you have the level of patience great enough to endure my loquacious writing habits.
What I'm trying to say is I have been all sorts of messed up in the past several months.
I have had to say goodbye to people I have a deep love and respect for. Friends and family have been instrumental, absolutely. Being patient with myself, yes another proverbial notion, has been helpful. Volunteering with Ethiopian refugees in DC and providing a warm welcome to folks who just moved into their new, scary home, in their own language, has made me feel like I, personally, am a cool person.
What almost brought me to tears in the testosterone laden work gym (emotional, not olfactory tears) on a Monday evening after a normal day of work was a sweaty, hairy guy named Girma. In his cotton tank top. Explaining to me how I was a part of something bigger than myself. And how the people I worked with will never forget it. That I'll never truly know the impact of volunteering in Ethiopia. But that it's an indication of a greater good that I am a part of. Something that was so sincerely vivid in his mind, an approximated 40 years after he was exposed to it.
So this is me. Saying that, if as a fellow volunteer, or VAC representative, or friend, or family member have never said anything of value ever to you. Or have never sufficiently thanked you for keeping me alive, or supporting me while I was away for 2 years in Ethiopia, or supporting me while I was your friend for 2 years in Ethiopia.
And if you never have the good fortune to run into a sweaty Girma amongst your trying "readjustment". If you are unable to go scuba diving in Egypt as a means of doing something awesome to tide yourself over, and you start to feel like the coolest thing you will ever do is behind you and no longer relevant. Remember this:
Girma thanks you.
:)
Today I made the acquaintance of several men at my work place's gym. Hmm... that's a little misleading. Let's say I made conversation with a couple guys today. One of them was the reason for this post.
He and I had met briefly last Friday during the Inauguration. We were not attending the Inauguration. We were the only two guys in the work place gym on a Friday. A Friday when no one in the federal government was working.
He saw me lifting dumbbells and coached me on my form. I swung too much, as I am wont to do. We made some conversation about working out, menamen, and left it at that.
Today I saw him towards the end of his workout and he swung too much. Of course I had to return the favor. We then had a short conversation and introduced ourselves.
His name was Girma.
Dead give away.
We then had a 20 minute conversation, or maybe he had a monologue, not quite sure. He explained to me how he had been taught by Peace Corps volunteers when he was in high school and how he always remembered them. How they inspired him. He said they were the reason he became academically inspired and taught him to be curious.
Girma wouldn't give me a year, but simply said this was a 'long time ago'. Girma became a doctor and traveled around Ethiopia providing medical care for years. There's a missing middle piece of his story, but he has been working in public health policy for roughly the past decade in the United States.
Since roughly August of this year my life has been a bit of a whirlwind. Tanzania, consolidation, coming home. Finding a job to help me pay for gas. Relying on family and friends' generosity in feeding me, clothing, piecing me back together. Drinking an entirely inappropriate amount of Jameson on a Wednesday.
I know I'm not alone in having this kind of experience, but that such an experience is quite a lonesome one.
You are probably not in dire need of a succinct, sagely conclusion if you have the level of patience great enough to endure my loquacious writing habits.
What I'm trying to say is I have been all sorts of messed up in the past several months.
I have had to say goodbye to people I have a deep love and respect for. Friends and family have been instrumental, absolutely. Being patient with myself, yes another proverbial notion, has been helpful. Volunteering with Ethiopian refugees in DC and providing a warm welcome to folks who just moved into their new, scary home, in their own language, has made me feel like I, personally, am a cool person.
What almost brought me to tears in the testosterone laden work gym (emotional, not olfactory tears) on a Monday evening after a normal day of work was a sweaty, hairy guy named Girma. In his cotton tank top. Explaining to me how I was a part of something bigger than myself. And how the people I worked with will never forget it. That I'll never truly know the impact of volunteering in Ethiopia. But that it's an indication of a greater good that I am a part of. Something that was so sincerely vivid in his mind, an approximated 40 years after he was exposed to it.
So this is me. Saying that, if as a fellow volunteer, or VAC representative, or friend, or family member have never said anything of value ever to you. Or have never sufficiently thanked you for keeping me alive, or supporting me while I was away for 2 years in Ethiopia, or supporting me while I was your friend for 2 years in Ethiopia.
And if you never have the good fortune to run into a sweaty Girma amongst your trying "readjustment". If you are unable to go scuba diving in Egypt as a means of doing something awesome to tide yourself over, and you start to feel like the coolest thing you will ever do is behind you and no longer relevant. Remember this:
Girma thanks you.
:)
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