A Note on a Second Thanksgiving Away

Being away from your family on the holidays is notoriously difficult. I was on guard for the pang of separation and homesickness this year, and I thought I had myself emotionally prepared. Yet when the holidays spent away start to compound—say, you reach your second Thanksgiving away from home, as I did today—the jolt of the obvious separation takes on a deeper, hollower quality, I believe.

Today I miss the easy-going, relaxed quality of my parents’ kitchen in the aftermath of a huge Thanksgiving meal: the hum of the dishwasher, wiping grease off the counters, picking at the remains of a casserole dish, catching up with older brother and younger sister. I miss the chill of a Pennsylvania evening in late November, and I miss the blackness outside the windows that accentuates the warmth and light inside. There’s something about feeling sated and a little sleepy, surrounded by loved ones, that’s good for the soul … we all need time to slow down and just ‘be’ in the presence of those we love. I also miss sleeping in the house I grew up in, surrounded by family, even if it only happens a couple nights a year—the way it ties together past and present, paradoxically accentuating the changes like has wrought while erasing all the years that have piled up since childhood … it all gets me in that throat-swelling sort of way.

Here in Peru, we all look out for each other on these days. We flock to the same areas, cook familiar foods, buy each other drinks. We all know that we’re at our most vulnerable, and we take comfort in our shared predicament. I’ve been truly blessed here to have made friends in my region (Tumbes), who I care about very deeply, and who bring laughter and companionship not just to my holidays but to my day-to-day living as well. And beyond Tumbes, I’ve made a few deep friendships with people who I can talk and talk and talk with on the phone, people I look up to, people who inspire me. And while none of my relationships with Peruvians in-site quite hit that caliber, the people in my town are markedly friendlier lately. It’s as though the one-year mark holds a certain weight in their eyes … almost as though they “see” me a bit more clearly.

So while I am finding it extremely hard this year to chalk up yet another Turkey Day away from those I love the most, I am thankful that life has provided loving souls in their stead. I am thankful that my new country has much to teach me still. I am thankful that I have another year of learning yet to do here, because I believe I’ve finally ‘settled’ into my site, and I believe that the cultural interchange that takes place is what makes Peace Corps special. Forget the projects for a little while, forget the goals: just talking and opening up a new space of awareness, adding new characters to your memory, letting people of another culture into your heart … that’s the deepest thing I’ll take away. Two years ago I couldn’t even envision what Peru would look like, anywhere. Now the heat, electric green rice paddies and plantain fields are my daily reality.

And the silver lining today is that, 30 days from now, si dios quiere, I’ll be waking up in my parents’ house on Christmas morning.

A Note on a Second Thanksgiving Away

Being away from your family on the holidays is notoriously difficult. I was on guard for the pang of separation and homesickness this year, and I thought I had myself emotionally prepared. Yet when the holidays spent away start to compound—say, you reach your second Thanksgiving away from home, as I did today—the jolt of the obvious separation takes on a deeper, hollower quality, I believe.

Today I miss the easy-going, relaxed quality of my parents’ kitchen in the aftermath of a huge Thanksgiving meal: the hum of the dishwasher, wiping grease off the counters, picking at the remains of a casserole dish, catching up with older brother and younger sister. I miss the chill of a Pennsylvania evening in late November, and I miss the blackness outside the windows that accentuates the warmth and light inside. There’s something about feeling sated and a little sleepy, surrounded by loved ones, that’s good for the soul … we all need time to slow down and just ‘be’ in the presence of those we love. I also miss sleeping in the house I grew up in, surrounded by family, even if it only happens a couple nights a year—the way it ties together past and present, paradoxically accentuating the changes like has wrought while erasing all the years that have piled up since childhood … it all gets me in that throat-swelling sort of way.

Here in Peru, we all look out for each other on these days. We flock to the same areas, cook familiar foods, buy each other drinks. We all know that we’re at our most vulnerable, and we take comfort in our shared predicament. I’ve been truly blessed here to have made friends in my region (Tumbes), who I care about very deeply, and who bring laughter and companionship not just to my holidays but to my day-to-day living as well. And beyond Tumbes, I’ve made a few deep friendships with people who I can talk and talk and talk with on the phone, people I look up to, people who inspire me. And while none of my relationships with Peruvians in-site quite hit that caliber, the people in my town are markedly friendlier lately. It’s as though the one-year mark holds a certain weight in their eyes … almost as though they “see” me a bit more clearly.

So while I am finding it extremely hard this year to chalk up yet another Turkey Day away from those I love the most, I am thankful that life has provided loving souls in their stead. I am thankful that my new country has much to teach me still. I am thankful that I have another year of learning yet to do here, because I believe I’ve finally ‘settled’ into my site, and I believe that the cultural interchange that takes place is what makes Peace Corps special. Forget the projects for a little while, forget the goals: just talking and opening up a new space of awareness, adding new characters to your memory, letting people of another culture into your heart … that’s the deepest thing I’ll take away. Two years ago I couldn’t even envision what Peru would look like, anywhere. Now the heat, electric green rice paddies and plantain fields are my daily reality.

And the silver lining today is that, 30 days from now, si dios quiere, I’ll be waking up in my parents’ house on Christmas morning.