Nostalgia for a Life Less Ordinary...

I've been thinking lately about a piece of advice I got shortly after Peru, which I blogged about near the beginning of my stay there: don't compare your new country to your old. Don't come with the expectation that things will be "the same." It's a whole new ball game, and should be treated as such.

Ironically, I think I and quite a few other former interns with the mission have struggled with following that advice in coming back to the States from Peru. (Note that it's been nearly 2 years since I got back from Peru, and I'm still talking about it!) Frequently heard comments: Living abroad was such an adventure. You never knew what was going to happen next. The people were so warm and friendly. The food was so good. There was a real sense of community. We were doing something meaningful.

These are all true, and I've struggled quite a bit to adjust back to the insulated, consumeristic American lifestyle. People here have the same need for adventure, and friendship, and meaningful work, but they seem too burdened down by their mortgages and distracted by shoppertainment to do much about it.

However, it always strikes me that there is a disparity between the exciting, challenging experience Americans have while volunteering abroad and the experience of ordinary people who live there. One illustration of this disparity is the expat publication Living in Peru, which I still read for the Westerner's take on Peru. From reading this newspaper, you would think that life in Peru is one big adventure, with fashionable shows and restaurants to go to every week (all in Lima of course), robust economic growth and endless business opportunities.

Now this is true if you're an expat or upper-class Peruvian living in Lima, which is presumably the main readership of the publication. I've met several of these business types while at various pituco functions in Lima (like the Rotary Club breakfast at the Marriott Hotel, or the UPC conference on Latin American economies), and I bet they easily make 20 times the average Peruvian. They could easily rave over 4-star hotels that charge $200 a night while the average Peruvian would be lucky to make that much money in a month.

I think part of what me and my friends have found hard about coming back to the States is that, while we lived on a fairly modest budget in Peru by US standards (my standard hotel when I stayed in Lima charges me $15/night!), we were actually quite wealthy by Peruvian standards. We had means. We could go on vacations and fly instead of take the bus. We could live in upper-middle-class apartment complexes. We could eat whatever we wanted, whenever we wanted.

Here we are ordinary citizens. We are the ones struggling to make ends meet. We are the ones with limited options, who might feel shame when we can't find work, or just find our work mind-numbingly boring sometimes, compared to being subsidized to create our own job descriptions to make the world a better place!

In Peru, as a foreigner, doors open for you all the time. Everyone wants to be your friend. It's partly Peruvian culture and a sense of community in a still-traditional society, but it's partly that you're Donald Trump and everyone else is Joe the Plumber. You're automatically a VIP. Even if you're not trying to be one, or take advantage of your advantages, it's fun to be treated so well. Ironically, living in a less-developed country and being exposed to the harsh realities of poverty from a safe distance can be another way of living in a bubble.

As much as living in the real world again sucks sometimes, I think it's a good spiritual discipline to be ordinary again. I grew a lot in Peru through the many ways I was pushed outside my comfort zone; I've grown more slowly now that I'm back to ordinary life, but am appreciating that this is also because it's a harder kind of growth. I think a few years ago the only way I knew to be bold and step out in faith was to leave my life and go to a foreign country. Now I realize this was the easy way out. The harder call is to stay - and be bold and step out in faith in my own neighborhood.