WAITING FOR THE WATERS TO RECEDE

The deeper I get into Vincent van Gogh’s letters, the more inspiring his admiration of the ordinary becomes. As his body of work demonstrates, he has an uncanny ability to find beauty and depth in the banalities that most only gloss over over, and it’s aroused in me an unsettling recognition that I’m growing stagnant these days.

I’m at the point in my service – eighteen months and two days in country, to be precise – where no longer does each day provide a unique and engaging experience for me. Especially during Ramadan, where monotony of routine reigns supreme, I find myself unchallenged, unstimulated, and underwhelmed with my surroundings. After fighting to expedite integration, I find that I’ve now grown too comfortable in my place; an admission that leaves me feeling both antsy and sluggish.

The ebb and flow of both emotion and antipathy is commonplace for those in extended periods of service (or any field, I imagine), and is something to be expected at this point in the Peace Corps game. The physical manifestation of these emotional tides – sleeping excessively, over- or under-eating, quiet depression, elaborate fantasies about the future, or considering the fact that you need to wash your hair a valid excuse to say in the house all day – is taxing.

There was a point where I, like van Gogh, found unorthodox beauty in a homeless man’s torn djellaba, meetings that last for more than three hours, or the act of getting coerced into dining at a perfect stranger’s house. He would sketch and paint his surroundings, and I’d write about mine. On these dragging summer days, however, I don’t even find myself humbled by the mountains that surround me.

I pray that accompanying the looming change of season is a change of heart.