A Simple Twist of Fate

Yesterday I took a local min-bus to the Peace Corps office in Yerevan, Armenia’s capital. Part of my reason for the trip was to discuss a presentation we are making to the new volunteers on “Managing Stress.” My other reason was to pick up some more vitamins from the health office there as I have felt run down lately. On the bus ride in I could not help but think whether my recent fatigue was just a case of getting older or …. my own stress showing up. The Peace Corps doctor mentioned it was not uncommon to for Volunteers to go through a mid-service crisis.

I wasn’t sure what it was but I did feel a let-down after working as a Camp Counsellor for a week. Interacting with 50 teenagers all day for a week was a pretty high energy event. Then I started to think about the hike I went on a couple days ago. My young Armenian guide had described it as a 3 hour hike but we got lost in the forest and had to bushwhack our way out through the overgrowth. It turned out to be a 9 hour adventure and I slept very well that night.

So as the “marshutni” carried us toward the capital, I noticed my mind looking for answers, ruminating over “causes” and “effects” for being tired. Despite my daily meditation practice, I have discovered my mind is still habituated to figuring things out and looking for answers. So I just plugged in my earphones and laid back to listen to a bunch of old Bob Dylan songs, a gift from another volunteer leaving Armenia next week. Dylan's voice still had that scratchy sound I remembered from the 60’s but his lyrics seemed more interesting than I remembered. The next day I was to find my own “Simple Twist of Fate.”

When I awoke this morning back at my regular work site, I was planning to take the 9:30 bus to work. My Armenian tutor had asked to move our daily language lesson back an hour so I was enjoying the extra time to read and reflect. When I looked at the time, I suddenly realized I had only a couple minutes before the bus would arrive. One can get rather casual when the bus stop is right in front of your apartment. But as I raced out of my building, I heard the familiar roar of the engine and saw the backside of the old red bus chugging down the street.

I had a half-hour before I was due at the office and I thought the walk might be kind of nostalgic, as I used to walk every morning when I first arrived here. But then in November I moved into my own flat further away from the downtown area. That plus my first winter in Armenia was all I needed to adopt the bus as my new best friend. Since then I had reversed my pattern and walked home after work, enjoying the time for some physical exercise and a chance to unwind from the day.

Now the missed bus seemed like a good opportunity to "change things up" as I was feeling a little down, in somewhat of a rut. I had called an old friend in San Diego that morning but just got the computerized voice message. When I called my daughter after that, she was also not available but at least I got to listen to her voice on the message. Surprising how little things can make a difference when you feel a little empty.

Well, my walk to work today was the perfect medicine. I think part of my struggle was a sense that I wasn't doing enough. School was out for the summer so I wouldn’t see some of my students for a couple months. I missed the interaction with the five teachers at the Art School taking Introductory English class as well as college kids from the Business English class. Riding the bus to work and then sitting in my office for most of the day had begun to feel rather isolating..... and boring.

But it wasn’t long into my walk to work that I re-discovered my simple connection with the folks in our city. The first person coming down the sidewalk was a young man in his 20's who crafts souvenir pieces at a local gallery. Just his smile and a handshake was enough to lift my spirits. Then an older Russian man with twinkling eyes and a St. Nicholas beard greeted me from the other side of the street. I see him several times a week out sweeping the streets with a primitive broom and we always greet each other, although neither can speak the other's language. And there were the occasional strangers whose dour faces quickly became lighter with a simple "Barev dzez," the common Armenian greeting. By the time I reached the local tourist information center and the two young people that speak very good English, I felt the cloud over my head had blown away.

It was liberating to let go of my illusion that my value depended on something I did for the people in Armenia. I was actually the one in need and the gift of simply connecting with them was a wonderful way to start my morning. Or as Dylan would say, they dropped “a coin into the cup and of a blind man at the gate and forgot about a simple twist of fate.”