Transformation

When I applied to the Peace Corps, I did so with the hope of becoming more like the returned volunteers I know. I wrote about them in my application letter: "My RPCV friends carry patience and strength in their demeanors, a quiet testament to all they have learned." There's just a certain something that RPCVs possess, and I aspire to understand it. I aspire to be more like them (and now, RPCV friends, you are probably chuckling at me).

Having nearly finished my three months of Pre-Service Training, I am faced with how hard and how slow personal change is. You see, the thing about transforming yourself is you have to still be yourself. You can't just take a break and set yourself aside for renovations. "Coming soon! Grand re-opening: June 2019!" It doesn't work that way. My biggest challenge in Peace Corps training has not been the 7 noun cases of the Ukrainian language, the multitude of forms to fill out, or the pickpockets on the Kyiv metro. No - my biggest challenge has been the fact that I'm still... me.

Sure, I have a new home, a new language, a new group of peers, a new title, a new job - but I'm still me. I carry with me the 10-year-old Cortney who was an obnoxious know-it-all, the 12-year-old Cortney who raged at herself over every little mistake in the horse show ring, the 16-year-old Cortney who was so afraid of her first serious crush that she would hide behind a book, and pretend not to see him so that she could escape having to be the first one to say "hi." I still get a bit pretentious when I drink whiskey,  I still find a classroom more comfortable than a casual conversation, and I still never know what to do with my hair. In other words, I might have neglected to pack peanut butter, but I remembered to bring along every little thing I don't quite like about myself.

When I stop to think about this, though, I feel a little better about it. Change is hard. I suppose my anxiety and self-criticism mean I am out of my comfort zone, and inching ever slowly and steadily along the path toward being a better person. For example, I haven't fully eliminated my tendency to be cruel to myself when I make mistakes, but I have certainly pushed that habit out of some arenas of my life - like horse shows. Now I just need to learn to be kind to myself when I do something like move several thousand miles away from all my friends and family to a place where I don't know anybody and don't speak the local language. And maybe while I'm at it I can keep working on that know-it-all thing; it's still going strong, but at least somewhat less obnoxiously, and it does sometimes come in handy for this whole learning-to-speak-Ukrainian thing.

I'm not sure if I'll ever be able to talk to cute guys, though.





I am required to say, "the content of this website is mine alone and does not necessarily reflect the views of the U.S. Government, the Peace Corps, or the Ukrainian Government.”

On Ukrainians

This is not a blog entry about Ukrainian culture or “the Ukrainian people”; I am not comfortable writing in such sweeping terms. However, this is a blog entry about Ukrainian people – at least, about some of them. I wanted to write a little something to introduce my friends and family back home to the people who surround me in Chernihiv (although I won’t be identifying any particular individuals).

Below are a few lines that might best be thought of like impressionist sketches: they are quick glimpses of different moments and different people that came to mind today as I thought about what I wanted to share from my past few weeks in Ukraine. My writing here is neither thorough nor analytical. I just hope that after you read, you can imagine – and feel a little closer to – the people who are now my friends, family, and community.

On Ukrainians:

They might think you’re crazy if you drink tea without eating any sweets or baked goods along with it. Or they might not; maybe they’ve just learned that resistance is futile when baba wants to feed you.

They love their dogs: athletic German Shepherds, immaculately groomed Yorkies, old chubby chihuahuas, little mystery-mutts... You’ll see people walking their dogs around town, and waiting patiently in neighborhood parks while their dogs take care of “business.”

Or maybe they prefer cats.

These dogs are actually strays, because I have't yet gotten up the nerve to ask random strangers if I can take pics of their pets. Ukrainians are working to manage stray dog populations. In some cities, strays get ID tags, and are usually spayed or neutered by agencies working on the issue.
For pictures of household pets, I highly recommend following the #dogsofukraine hashtag on Instagram! 

They feed the pigeons in the park, and plant flowers in front of the church. Or maybe their baba does that. Or maybe, these days, they just go to the park to play poker and smoke with the guys, and they are too old to have a baba.

They might confess to you their weakness for fine cheeses. Unless, of course, they prefer to go non-dairy and make raw vegan tarts of the kind one gets in the US for $10 a serving at Whole Foods. Or maybe they really couldn’t care less about fine cheeses and raw vegan tarts; they’re too busy planting this year’s crop of beets and potatoes.

They probably won't let you leave the house without your daily apple. 

They can teach you how to say “selfie stick” in Russian or Ukrainian if you find yourself wanting to learn (you probably will, while taking selfies with them). Although it’s also possible they’re the type to stick with a landline, and spend more time talking on the phone with friends than taking selfies with them.

They dance zouk and bachata in the town square. Or maybe they don’t. Maybe they’re former ballroom champions, and they prefer to dance the cha-cha-cha while telling tales of their glory days. Or maybe they don’t dance at all – they’re content just watching and then putting it on YouTube.

They can throw themselves fully into the most lighthearted of endeavors even as they solemnly and tragically mourn their dead. They will laugh and cry on the same day, because the war does not stop the festivals, and the festivals do not hide the war.
Have a look at this article for pictures of a remembrance ceremony that preceded a major city festival. My pictures were unfortunately lost when my phone was damaged. 

They’ll invite you over for a backyard barbecue on holiday weekends. Or if there’s no backyard, maybe you’ll head out for a picnic in the park, where they will make daytime campfires and set out bottles of wine on a tablecloth adorning an old tree-stump. Or maybe you’ll just people-watch, and admire all the dogs as they walk by.

I am required to say, "the content of this website is mine alone and does not necessarily reflect the views of the U.S. Government, the Peace Corps, or the Ukrainian Government.”