Five years ago, I was working on a television show I would
never watch. Fifteen-hour days, six days a week, no life. On Sundays, I would
sleep most of the day and for the rest of it, I would walk around the apartment
in a haze, not enough time to do anything productive, but much needed time to
just do nothing at all. Standing outside in the frigid New York cold, catering
to the whims of celebrities, running around to make sure we were getting the
shots, I felt the life being sucked out of me. I could keep pulling on it, but
my life was not my own; I was working for someone else’s vision and for what?
Meager wages. Nothing gainful. I was working for other people’s stories but
where was my own?
Several months before, I had started the application process
to become a Peace Corps Volunteer. It was always a “wait and see” process,
taking each little step until the big jump. First I filled out the online
application, then it was the in-person interview, medical screenings, placement
interviews—and then the big moment: I received my official invitation packet in
the mail. I would be living in the Dominican Republic.
Yet during this yearlong process, I just wasn’t sure if this
was right. I would be leaving a “career” (in the film/TV biz—maybe that wasn’t
so hard), stability, cultural comforts, my family and the love of my life at
the time. Big risks, yet potentially big payoffs. So I kept sticking by the mantra, “We’ll
see how this goes. I can stop anytime.”
One day while on set for the TV show, I noticed the office
building that housed the Peace Corps New York regional office across the street.
Then moments later, a bus passed with the poster, “Peace Corps: Life is calling.
How far will you go?” Yes, I knew this to be my calling, but would I pick up?
Did I have the guts? Then, my sister texted me out of the blue and asked me to
give her friend advice on the Peace Corps process. We never talked about the Peace Corps, but there it
was—another sign. And then—several hours into the long shooting day—I received
a call on my cell phone from a Peace Corps placement officer after months of
silence. I spoke to her and assured her that I was ready for this experience,
yes, I realize the risks, yes, I was willing to commit to two years despite my
serious romantic relationship.
After a short career of doing for others, serving them for very little validation, stressing over whether they would yell at me or think I
wasn’t good enough, I departed for my life in the Peace Corps—to do for others
for little validation, but I gained so much more. I know what the wind
through my hair feels like. I was with myself everyday and I loved it. I had stories to tell. I
experienced and appreciated true beauty—birds flying beyond the sunset, magical laughter of
people who really knew me, the warmth of a culture so welcoming to strangers,
the unbreakable resilience of the human spirit.
Now, my life is split into two sections: Before Peace Corps
and After Peace Corps, and while my life hasn’t been as exhilarating since
I came back two years ago, I still think of those good ol’ days of Peace Corps
life, and I’m so much more full. I want to dedicate my life to serving others,
making people happy, spreading laughter, working for a higher purpose, making
everything better.
The day I boarded that plane for the hot, jarring climate
of the Dominican Republic, I went off the deep end. Well, really, I jumped intentionally.
And I swam and thrived. So now I can look at every new experience as jumping into
the deep end and forcing myself to swim, forcing myself to live.
