A Swinger of Birches

                              A Swinger of Birches

There is that classic line from the Thomas Wolfe novel saying:  You can’t go home again. Of course I didn’t think that applied to me. After two years in a foreign culture, it would be nice to finally come home. Many Peace Corps Volunteers who visited home during our two years of service commented how hard it was to return after a visit. There would naturally be an adjustment from the slow pace of Armenia to the hectic pace of America. It might take a couple weeks or a month but I would be fine, home again, at last.



Fast forward three months from my return from Armenia and I am still trying to get my footing. Several of you had encouraged me to continue my blog upon returning. The new focus would be on my AmeriCorps service in Arizona. Sounded like a good idea, especially since my monthly blogs helped me to process the various challenges I met. But now I was hesitant. The Peace Corps suggested that we share our experiences so fellow Americans got a fuller understanding of other parts of the world. But now what?  I had no Post-Soviet culture to discuss or even visits to Egypt, Turkey or India to share. I was in Arizona and hadn’t even seen the Grand Canyon yet. The only dramatic changes seemed to be going on inside me and that is not always easy or even comfortable to write about. So I decided to cut my mailing list down to relatives and friends and just share my current confusion as it was.


The first thing that showed up upon returning was my age and my health. Since I would turn 65 in September, it was time to sign up for Medicare. But it soon became more than a theoretical event as my health took a dip for the worse. After a month of fighting some kind of viral cough, I had my back go out. Now that was really a blow to my ego. If I had been climbing a mountain or running a marathon, it would have more acceptable. But it happened after a tai chi class, that slow motion exercise you see 70 year old Chinese doing in the parks. After a week it returned to normal and then went out again. And then again. Having been blessed with good health most of my life, this was surely a challenge to my spirits.


I say this without any self-pity as the sidewalks of Arizona seem filled with people whose ailments are much more severe. In fact, the first couple months here were kind of shocking to notice how many people are out there in wheel chairs or even pushing a shopping cart with their oxygen tanks in it. I really don’t know if Arizona attracts more people who are the final stages of their lives or whether I had been insulated in my master-planned community in Sacramento. But whatever the reason, I am now much more aware of the harsh physical realities that many must deal with daily.


I used to think that if there were Life Lessons we came to learn, And I was sure mine were compassion and patience. Well, it looks like I am back in School, in more ways than one.  The past couple months have truly been a crash course in life classes. Every day is a reminder that our bodies definitely have a limited shelf-life. When I was younger, I remember seeing senior citizens sitting in coffee shops comparing their ailments. That is not the way I want to write the final chapter. So I have chosen to bring these limitations into my meditation practice and see if I can use them to be more mindful through the day. They definitely provide an opening for patience and slowing down. Funny, I came back to America with the expectation that my ears would be pinned back with the speed of modern life. Instead, everything seems to have slowed way down. Whether signing up for Medicare, finding a new doctor in town, or just filing for reimbursement claims, you don’t have to worry about things going too fast.


And so I go forward in my new life in Phoenix, almost by necessity required to slow down to the speed of life. And with that comes a greater appreciation of the little things in my day. I work as a volunteer in a grade school where the vast majority of the families (about 95%) are Hispanic, and many are just getting by. I watch the families arrive in the morning, mostly mothers but some fathers walking hand-in-hand with their children to their classrooms. And I see the kindness and patience of the teachers and the social workers assisting their wide-eyed charges. Most families fall under Title 1 so the kids are given a free breakfast. I pass through the school cafeteria each morning to put my lunch in the teachers’ lounge. The place reminds me of a hive with all the baby bees eating and buzzing with their neighbors. It is more like an extended family than a school. All it takes is to look at the shining faces of the children, and my concern about my nagging back problem seems to dissolve. We may still be a month away from Christmas, but our cafeteria is already glowing with a thousand points of light from all the smiling faces.


Robert Frost concludes one of my favorite poems, Birches, with the lines:


That would be good both going and coming back. One could do worse than be a swinger of birches.


It has taken me a couple months to accept this experience of “coming back.” But as I hang on this thin branch wavering in my hand, I am slowly coming to accept the uncertainties that come with this journey that is my life. It is an illusion to expect it to be any other way. One could do worse than be a Swinger of Birches.