Souljournaling

I was born into a military family, spent the first seven years in D.C. with the second seven in California. Nothing memorable, but at age 14, we were off to Italy. On the SS Constitution, we cruised with rich old ladies of society. Mom and sis constantly hurling in their rooms. Dad and I were always navigating topside on the huge ocean-liner that docked us in Genoa, only to continue our journey on winding mountainous roads to Vicenza. How exciting!

My first driving lesson in a fiat, my first drummer boyfriend, my first crushes and loss of virginity, my first meetings with gypsies, a first touch of a fat carnival lady and my first blessings by the Pope plus more were all in Italy.

Life back at home awakened again when volunteering for Peace Corps in West Africa. I was there to serve, but chaos followed - not really. Some actually thought I was soft, betting that I would stay less than six months. I went wild with creativity, passion, a nothing can stop me attitude and a feminist posturing, sometimes, obstructing my path.

Being pursued by one of the richest men in The Gambia, having a fake naming ceremony, being held captive by a troubled Lebanese friend, having my chickens attacked by a monstrous monitor lizard and being visited by hungry mango eating bats were just some of the interesting moments among many wondrous ones, good works that still serve my adopted village today. Needless-to-say, I had signed up for a 3rd year.

Although I experienced culture shock living abroad, returning home was more intense. Loneliness abound, no one to share, no one interested. And, certainly then - no forum existed. My culture of origin was so foreign, so isolated, so fragmented, so inhospitable, so tasks oriented and so me, me, me.

But then, I had the birth of my son, the death of my mother, the breakup of my family, such exciting, sad and depressing times. I realized then that I had compromised my identity, just a father’s imitation, an illusion shattered. Internally conflicted, I hungered for that which could not fill my heart.

Still unsatisfied with graduate school, I ran to Alaska, New Mexico, Florida, and back, a long arduous journey. I found respite, fleeting joy, another way of experiencing and expressing, the rise of my phoenix, floundering, but hoped that it would fly again. But alas, to this day, I realized that I had settled for less. Where is the world I once traveled? Where are the adventures I once lived? How did this happen? How did I end up here?