beginnings

It's time for a beginning. Again. In what I feel like has been a year and then some of stops and starts, frustrations, new beginnings, and a general feeling of rootlessness in various locations, I'm embarking on a definite new beginning, one intended to be more or less semi-permanent. I've spent much of this summer applying for dozens and dozens of jobs outside of Virginia Beach, wanting to settle down for a while in a new place - "What does he know of Virginia who only Virginia knows?" as Mr. Holmes would say. I've taken a job with nonprofit organization in downtown Boston, starting in just a few days!

I always get nervous about big changes and new beginnings. I guess everyone does, but the reason I usually end up deciding to make a change is because it feels right. I'm a Myers-Briggs F (for feeling, as opposed to thinking) for sure, weighing pros and cons, considering all of my options, but ultimately making the decision that feels best. It's an inexact science, but so far it's worked well enough for me, because even though I always find myself nervous and resistant to change in the days and weeks right before a big change, and still uncertain when I arrive in a new place, I always settle in and am so happy I did what I did. I'm confident the same will happen this time, even if the beginning is tough.

On my third day of high school in 1999 (11 years ago?? where did the time go?), I was walking briskly through the rain after school, trying to find my bus in the area where dozens of buses were parked waiting to take their riders to various places all over the city. I knew the number, and had ridden it already my first few days of school, but that didn't necessarily make it any easier to find, as it took several minutes to walk from the front to the back of the area where the buses parked, and as many of them were double-parked, there were a lot of numbers to look at before identifying the right one. I was hurrying to find the right one before they started to leave, just five minutes or so after school got out, and even though the rain seemed to be clearing up, the grassy areas between the school and the sidewalks had quickly turned muddy. As I cut through the grass across one sidewalk corner, I suddenly found myself sitting on the ground - my feet had seemingly flown out from under me and I had landed, in khaki-colored pants, on the muddy ground. I was 14 and surrounded by approximately 2000 people, all of whom I was already pretty certain were cooler than me, and that was before I was sitting in the mud. All that was hurt was my pride, but that's a significant enough injury when you're a freshman, on your third day of school, wishing that your ankle was twisted or your wrist broken instead of your dignity being so badly bruised, having to face a 20 minute ride home with muddy pants. It was fine and I was glad it was the end of the day, not the beginning, but I knew I had nowhere to go but up in my remaining weeks, months, and years at Princess Anne.

I could tell too many stories of falling down in public places (at least two significant ones from college come to mind), but one more really sticks out in my memory of beginning new adventures. In December 2007, after ten weeks of training, I swore in as a Peace Corps volunteer in Antananarivo, Madagascar, and headed up to Vohitsara, a 200 mile drive to the northeast, to begin my two-year (or so I thought at the time) service. I was being installed at my site along with Kristen, south of my site, and Ben, to the east, and my site was the farthest from Tana, so we took a few days to make it to Vohitsara. After spending a night in Moramanga and two in Ambato, I headed to the best, excuse me, west coast of Lac Alaotra with Linda Jo, a PC staff member who was charged with the task of "installing" me at my site - serving as sort of a liaison to important people in the community I would meet, helping me buy things, translating in my early days of being mahay teny gasy, etc. - and Johnny, a really awesome driver who worked for Peace Corps and was definitely a favorite in the Alaotra area - he was really helpful with a lot of the same things, and of course was an expert at tying things to the roof of the 4x4, driving in places most cars couldn't, and maybe the most important area of expertise when installing three people with a smaller car, fitting a LOT of stuff into the car along with five people.

We arrived in Tanambe, Vohitsara's big brother to the west, and had lunch with Greggory, who brought me my first mail to arrive in Tanambe! Already! Then the four of us piled into the car and drove out to Vohitsara, just five miles or so down the road but a bit longer of a drive than you might think due to the quality of the road. We spent a while unloading my stuff, cleaning the cobwebs out of my house, putting new locks on the doors, and trying to get basic things set up - somebody of influence in the town secured two tables and two chairs that I was allowed to borrow from the town hall for free for the two years, and Johnny got my self-igniting (!) gas stove hooked up to the gas tank I'd bought in Ambato, and then set to work on my bike. He was quite the handyman, which was fortunate because my bike was brand new and at this time was still in a box, not really resembling a rideable bike yet. I had some basic bike tools and a pump, furnished by Peace Corps, and he used those to put it all together, and then we all stood out in front of my house while he told me to take it for a spin, just to make sure everything was in working order. I took the bike out into the main road, right in front of my house, where there were no bikes or cows coming. I didn't realize that the tires weren't really inflated well, or that the bike was in a really low gear, until it was too late; I did realize that the seat was too high, but figured I'd do my best for just a quick ride. I hopped on, with Linda Jo, Johnny, Greggory, and probably at least 15 neighbors who had gathered to look on, watching, and started pedaling, realizing when it was too late to correct the situation that I was about to fall over. I fell over. In the middle of the main road. On my first day, maybe my first hour, in my new town. With many Vohitsarans watching, as they always were whenever I went anywhere or did anything. Again, I was fine, able to easily pick myself up and dust myself off, and realized it wasn't my fault, that the confluence of many factors had made this new bike not quite yet suitable for riding, but that didn't change the fact that probably twenty people saw me fall off my bike, and probably many more would hear about me falling off my bike, and I would never have another chance to make a first impression. I like to think I lived it down a little bit over the next year and a half, but although it wasn't the last time I fell off my bike (a high quality mountain bike lends itself to daring adventures), it was the only time I fell off it in the middle of a flat dry road, with many of my neighbors watching.

The beginning may be hard. Leaving the old things to move on to new things may be hard. I might fall off my bike or slip in the mud at a pivotal moment. I might make embarrassing impressions. But I might also find myself, after the dust clears, in a place I love, a new place that becomes familiar, that's sad and impossibly hard to leave when it's time for the next new beginning.