Llego a ser alguien

The last few days, I’ve been talking to people about my desire to go to Guatemala this summer to work with the orphans at the children’s village I’ve been learning about.  I’ve been congratulated, and I’ve been scolded.  I’ve been offered support and encouragement, and I’ve heard questions and suggestions.  Why Guatemala? Is it safe there?  You should try to find a safer country, a position where you’ll get paid to do good things.  Wouldn’t it be cheaper just to send them money?  I welcome these questions, because it is an  exceptionally difficult thing to do, and I should be damn sure I really want to do it before I get on that plane.  I should make sure I’ve thought of things that could go wrong.  I should make sure I know why I really want to do this.

And in all of this, it’s occurred to me that Evie’s been right all this time, going on about the self-esteem movement gone too far.  I think a lot of people in my generation grow up expecting that by the age of 30 they will either be Bill Gates or Ghandi.  So many people I know who can’t decide what to do with their lives – not even because they don’t know what they want, but because they can’t decide if it’s what they deserve, or what is the best use of their many talents, or if it’s “good enough.”  Like if they can’t do the exact thing they want to right now, they might as well not even try.  Myself included.  Maybe myself most of all.  But it’s pretty obvious to me when I see Wisconsin assemblymen and women holding meetings out in the freezing cold and snow,  or when I see how my grandmother cooks and bakes for her neighbors when they’re ill, or how my brother and sister (in-law…psh) have gone about raising my niece to be such a beautiful, caring person – and my young nephew well on his way – that there are so many ways to make a better world.  And these are only three examples of the many things we all take for granted.  Not just when other people do them, but when we do them ourselves.  I know sometimes each of these people I just described must feel like they haven’t done enough.  But if there are a million ways to make things better, we should do the one that feels right on us.  If we try to force ourselves to do it in a way that “looks” right, we’ll never be able to do it well.

So why do I want to go and do this?  Because if it’s about my perception of myself as “loving,” or “giving,” then I need to think harder, because that’s not going to get me through the tough days.  But I don’t think it is.  In the end, I really do want to do this because some very basic part of me believes in re-kindling the inherent trust and innocence of children.  Not just giving them concrete things like food and clothing and an education (though of course you can’t do much without those things. You must begin, as Lewis Carroll said, “at the beginning”), but also showing them that someone cares about them.  That they have worthwhile hopes, familiar fears, and achievable dreams.  That even as relatively powerless children, they have value and they deserve to be heard, and there is something in them to love.  That their best is nothing short of miraculous.  And there are a million ways to do this work.  The best way I think I can do it, with my temperament and my abilities, is to be there.  To look them in the eyes and be with them while they eat breakfast, get ready for class, do their chores.  To scold them when they lie, or fight, or steal.  To tuck them into bed at night.

Why does it have to be Guatemala?  It doesn’t.  But reading about this place struck something in my heart, and I haven’t been able to let it go.  Why three months?  Because it’s how much time I have away from my job.  And because kids need some semblance of stability.  Not just a week here and a week there.  And after a few months with the children (because you have to compromise, and I can’t live there full time) I will come back to my work for a while.  Be “reasonable.” Pay my bills.  Maybe save up for a chance to do it (or something like it) again next summer.  Is it safe?  Parts of Guatemala are, parts aren’t.  Like any country.  Also, see my last post.  I don’t have all the answers, and I know it will be hard, but my conviction gets stronger by the hour.  If there’s any way to make it happen by the end of June, you’ll know where to find me then.

And hey, don’t worry, Mom.  Maybe I’ll come home someday.  If Scott Walker gets his way, I’ll be talking about helping all the needy people in 3^rd world Wisconsin soon.

Too far?