I'm Getting My Money's Worth (and you are, too)

Is there always a crisis at the half-way point?  So many movies have been made about the now infamous male mid-life crisis that you'd have to be crazy, just absolutely crazy, to doubt its existence.  In spite of the fact that a young blonde bombshell always seems to solve the moviestar-male mid-life crisis, she really does nothing for me in times of crisis, though I must admit that I have never actually saught the help of a blonde bombshell, so who am I to talk? 


Peru and I recently celebrated our 5 month anniversary, and noted then that we were beginning the second half of our limited time together.  The first half was generally successful; I would describe it as being marked by ingenuity and creativity in spite of a shifting game-plan, a somewhat reluctant doggedness, a patience that often surprised even me, and a delighted discovery of this new homeland.  Sounds like paradise, and indeed it was, though as often happens to me, and maybe to you (?) I started to get beaten down by the roadblocks (of the literal and figurative kind), the roundabouts (literal and figurative), and the long, meaningless detours (literal and figurative).  I found myself saying things that I had only ever heard the high school version of myself utter immaturely and inconsiderately in times of supreme frustration: "Are you serious??" "Gawd!" "Really?"  "Ughhhh I hate this place."  I was disappointed in myself for being so disapproving of a different culture simply because it wasn't what I was used to.  I had become the "better-than-thou" character that I hate, and I was making a mental list (and referring to it more often than I't like to admit) of all the things I absolutely. could. not. stand.


It was as if I were running a marathon, got to mile 13 and decided resolutely that I could not, would not, did not want to continue.  Because I don't look quite as Peruvian as I could if I underwent serious plastic surgery, I attract a lot of attention when I am walking around, and during these months of frustration, I'd hear what sounded like a cat call, and my insides would revolt, sparks would shoot out of my eyes (figuratively) and I would contort my face into something so ugly that I'm sure it is burned into their memory forever.  One day, about two weeks ago, I recieved the typical "ay, muñeca, eres preciosa" (oh, doll baby, you're precious) and to my surprise, I kept walking, smiled to myself, and thought "I'm glad you think so!"  My drastically different response to my reality of life in Peru convinced me that perhaps it wasn't yet time to through in the towel, and sit the rest out,  but that, just as I would in a marathon, I was getting my second wind.


I am smiling more, chuckling at the peculiarities that just two weeks ago made me grit my teeth,  and once again becoming involved in my own life.  There are a number of things that have contributed to my change of heart.  I am planning a Two-Week English Immersion Camp for professors at the pedagogical institutes, working at a high school in Miraflores (the neighborhood where I am living) on Tuesday afternoons, and teaching a different high school just outside of Lima all day Thursday and Friday.  I am taking yoga classes, going to the gym, eating balanced (though sometimes somewhat haphazard) meals, and augmenting my friends group.  Because I am paying for this gym and yoga membership myself, I am doing everything I can to get my money's worth!  I joined last week and am proud to report that I have already been four times! 


And you, dear American tax-paying citizen, are getting your money's worth, too.  I am busy working to improve English in the teachers' colleges and at local high schools so that our Peruvian counterparts have access to at least a fraction of the English-speaking world and can work with us to create a more welcoming, just, forward-thinking world.  So, thank you for believing in me (and I'll try not to suffer from any more mid-grant bouts of paralyzing frustration).