Time & Money: What is Luxury Anyways?

It’s about noon on a Tuesday and me and my friend Chulo are sitting in my galleria on a couple of new, shiny white plastic chairs I had just bought with my Peace Corps move-in allowance. There’s no school because the teachers in my school wanted to plan a surprise birthday party for the orientadora. Yeah, that’s right. School was canceled for a birthday party. Chulo is my age exactly, 24. But he likes to remind me frequently that he’s five months my elder. He’s tall and slender and has flawless dark skin.

[Side Bar: How do Dominicans have such excellent skin? If I ate chips for breakfast and suckers for dinner and drank two tablespoons of water a day like they did, I would be one large, walking pimple.]

We’re talking about Dubai for the umpteenth time this week. According to Chulo, the roads are made of porcelain and everything is plated in gold leaf. Real luxury…kind of like in the States he mentions. We’re talking about this luxurious Middle Eastern paradise because Chulo mentions wanting to live in the States, and me, the valiant volunteer, am trying to quitar this unfounded obsession with my complicated country.  He hits my privileged-ass with: “you come from a place that lives ten-times better than we live here.” I can’t necessarily argue, but I don’t necessarily agree. I tell him that while we may have 24-hour luz, safe running water and access to things like hospitals, Americans don’t have time for the things that matter. We work all day, bouncing from one commitment to the next; when we return home after a long day all we can muster is a Netflix marathon until we fall asleep. The weekends we’re equally as exhausted.  A short meeting is a major selling-point; we know efficiency like the back of our hand. “Hey, how have you been?” “Oh, you know, work’s so crazy. I’ve just been really busy with work…but you know...it’s ok.”

Even though our intensive, three-month long Peace Corps training does its best to prepare us for the realities of working in a cultural context different to our own, the first committee meeting I led was…awkward. Awkward in that I couldn’t get my inner American efficiency to chill the hell out and jibe with the suave Dominican business rhythm. The meeting faded into conversation about the rain, about their kids, about where Casimira got her head scarf. I stumbled my way around the meeting-turned-hang-out-sesh and tried desperately to give everyone a quick overview and assign out some action items. That’s not what they wanted. They were genuinely enjoying the time we were spending together. My asshole American self was trying to get everyone to quick hurry up and leave while they were laughing, sharing jugo remedies and discussing last night’s heated game of Dominoes. 

Time is different here. It’s less of a scarce resource that must be squirreled away and more of a bountiful possession to be spent on drinking hot coffee with your friends and visiting your family at lunch time. You don’t have to quick rush from one thing to the next in order to accumulate ten minutes here to add to your twenty minutes there to sum up and spend on a half an hour grabbing a drink with a friend. The capitalist, consumerist American inside of me who’s been reading the Economía tab on BBC Mundo every morning interprets this as low opportunity cost. If you don’t remember your 300+ person Econ 101 course from sophomore year, “opportunity cost refers to a benefit that a person could have received but gave up to take another course of action…” –My sister’s Microeconomics textbook.

In the U.S. we use our bountiful money resource to save on our scarce time resource.  Automatic dishwashers, people to cut our grass, washing and drying machines, valet parking, etc. In the DR, people use their bountiful time resource to save on their scarce money resource. They wash their clothes with a cepillo, they cook beans completely from scratch for nearly each meal and they fix every single thing that breaks with a chín chin de coqui.

When I first arrived to country I remember getting anxious when I wasn’t doing something my American brain determined as “productive”. If I sat in a white, plastic chair too long, my mind would become haunted with vivid images of my to-do list. A small post-it of action items would pop up on my left shoulder and whisper in my ear things like “3. Email Professor Young”, “12. Finish Monthly Report”. Eventually I began to calm my inner time-obsessed precisionist by training my brain to think “Literally what else would I be doing right now?” My life began to take on a low opportunity cost. I learned to value less those imagined tasks that I once thought should govern my life and value more what was happening in the moment. I’m not giving up anything by playing a third straight hour of Dominoes with my neighbors because “literally what else would I be doing right now?”.

Opportunity Cost also applies to decisions. There’s this famous social science study on marmalade. The first group of people was directed to choose a flavor of marmalade from a grocery store isle which had dozens of options. The second group was directed to choose from a much smaller selection. The groups were later asked to rate their marmalade satisfaction. Group two, the people with less choices, reported being significantly more satisfied with their selection. Their minds were focused on enjoying the strawberry jam they put on their morning toast and not on the organic fig preserves that were right next to the strawberry jam that they had on their afternoon peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Less choices means your mind isn’t thinking about what it’s missing out on. When I bring home mustard my local colmado, I’m not thinking about how much I want Grey Poupon Wholegrain Mustard, I’m fucking psyched that my colmado had mustard. “Literally what other mustard would I be eating right now?”

This ‘low opportunity cost life’ has been allowing me to disfrutar without thinking of what I’m missing out on. Spending your bountiful time in the moment with people you care about takes priority. Can I judge cancelling school in order to surprise a valued work companion on their birthday? (Well yes, American work culture still permeates each and every thought that passes my mind. Contradictions. Maybe I’m more patient with it now.)

A couple hours have passed since me and Chulo have started talking. We’ve migrated from my shiny, white plastic chairs to the weathered yellow chairs under the shade of my community’s main colmado. His bright orange, long-sleeve shirt contrasts with the lush green backdrop of chinola vines crawling up the red side wall of the colmado. The conversation drifts back to Dubai and the gold-plated lamp posts, which apparently exist. He’s describing the lujo of cleanliness, public porcelain water fountains, of all gold everything. Fluffy bath robes and hot showers instead of cold bucket baths. Air conditioning and Lamborghinis. He kind of stops mid-sentence and looks up at me from his yellow gorra. “Luchia--don’t get me wrong, you’re still from a lujoso place where you live ten-times better than here…but you know what? Our lujo is that we have time for our family and friends.”

Shout-out to Chulo for teaching me just as much about my own culture as he does about Dominican culture.

DAYUM.

DUCKWORTH.

Fui criada un suburbio donde sembrando plantas era un pasatiempo para las unemployed housewives. Cuando las matas de fresa se llenaban de fruta al principio del verano Minnesotanese, las unemployed housewives llenaban funditas de Ziplock EZ-Close™ y las repartían a los vecinos. Era un sentido tierno que ellas regalen algo que hicieron con sus propias manos. Pero se no había lluvia, la tierra no llevaba los suficientes nutrientes o los muchachos del barrio robaban la fruta dulce de su jardín — no se apurre, vaya para Cub Foods y cómprese una vaina de fresas DOLE. Se tú jardín, tú experimento, tú pasatiempo no tenía éxito — no hace na’.
Los jardines del suburbio eran un lujo, un oficio agradable que daba sentido a las vidas de los unemployed housewives. Era una manera para educar a sus hijos que las frutas no son facturadas en una fábrica. Maybe throw in a lesson on photosynthesis.

LUST.

Desde mi suburbio seguro, yo fui a universidad y pasé un año trabajando para el colegio de agricultura. Fue aquí donde la agricultura se convirtió en una competición. The most yields, the best taste, the fastest growth and the biggest fruits. El campo fue un viaje fácil de 15 minutos en carro, fue plano, fue organizada en hileras y había todo disponible de mano de obra, de las herramientas, de los vehículos, y de los consultorios de unos de los profes más adelante en su pensamiento agricultor en el mundo. Todo disponible para lograr cualquier meta y para tener the most excellent excelencia.

GOD.

Cut scene from my beige jungle of manicured suburbanite lawns and perfectly measured quest for ag knowledge to the oft-forgotten Caribbean mountainside. Aquí se sigue la luna poiche es el dios del agua. Ella regla la onda del océano y el ritmo del agua dentro de las plantas. Aquí sigue los consejos de tu bisabuelo que trabajó en la mi´ma tierra. Ore a dios cada noche que mañana haya lo suficiente agua para que crezca fuerte tu cosecha. Ore a dios que no haya demasiada agua que se pudran tus víveres, tu vida, la vida de tu familia, de tu comunidad, allá debajo de la tierra.
 Ver lo que hace mi don, the víveres farmer, cambió mi pensamiento con respecto a la comida, la vida de los agricultores y la risky reality of poverty. Tu vida está apostada en el dicho “Si Dios Quiere”. He escuchado a mi don con lágrimas en los ojos la historia de su accidente en moto. Pasó dos meses con la mandíbula cerrada con alambre, acostao en la cama de su casa poiche no había cuarto para mantenerlo en el hospital. “Es por dios que sigo viviendo hoy día,” dice mi don. No podría actualizarse con el crecimiento de su paisela y arruinó la cosecha de todo el año. Pasaron un año de hambre.

HUMBLE.

Para conocer más sobre la vida de los agricultores, me levanté un día a las 5:45 de la mañana para acompañar a mi don, the víveres farmer, a la paisela. Él montó en moto y yo fui a esperar una guagua que por fortuna, pasa cada 15 minutos en horario. Me broché el cinturón de seguridad y me junté con él en la entrada de su paicela. Hicimos una subida steep-issimo lleno de lodo, piedras resbalosas, plantas con espinas, cercas de alambre y a la misma vez evitando las raíces de los árboles. Su paisela no fue organizado en hileras y las únicas herramientas que tenía disponibles eran su cuerpo, su querido machete y la oración a Dios que recitó cada mañana. Su paisela fue una colección de plantas y víveres hod-podged together like a grandmother’s quilt drapped over a green mountainside. La meta de mi don no fue de tener los víveres más bonitos o de tener las frutas más grandes. A él no le importa tener la paisela más excelente en toda la comunidad. A él le importa tener lo suficiente. Sobrevivir.
 Mi don es un hombre pequeño que pesa más o menos 90 libras. Cuando lo vi por la primera vez, pensé que era un viejito flaquito que no podría ni si quiera levantar un palo. Cuando lo vi saliendo del baño en una toalla por la primera vez, me asustó. “¡Guau, pero tiene el cuerpazo de un 20-y-pico,” pensé definitely in my head and not out loud because that’s weird. Pasamos un día entera saliendo, bajando, brincando, paleando y chapeando. Al fin del día mi don y yo no podíamos ni levantarnos del mueble. Y como las unemployed housewives de mi tierra before me, I felt fulfilled. I was good. I have money. I’ll have food. El próximo día lo pasé acostada en mi cama. Mi don, the víveres farmer, se levantó otra vez a las 5:45 de la mañana, montó en su moto y volvió a trabajar en su paisela.

Campo Cocktails

A young Dominican man who had recently left the Evangelical church made me a cocktail one night. Evangelicals in the DR are famous for not drinking. It had been two months since had tasted his first sip of the devil’s libation which was made blaringly evident by his cocktail technique. He handed me a tiny, plastic cup of thick, red liquid and asked me to guess what was in it. A game I am very good at. Which is the Islay scotch out of these three? Which white wine is the Albariño? Which of these brandies is the Solera Gran Reserva?
My question to him was: “Is there or is there not medicine in this?”
He responded with: “Close! I crushed up some cough drops and shook them with some sweet red wine (La Fuerza), sugar and water.

[end scene]

I made my own bitters…because although I live in a wood hut, use a latrine and bucket shower outside…ya gurl has to get her bouge on sometimes.

1  At the nearest Colmado (convenience store) purchase

a.       Cinnamon sticks

b.       Star Anise

c.       Cloves

d.       Nutmeg

e.       Malaguetta (I don’t actually know what this is…)

f.        Coffee

g.       Mamajuana, this is the bittering agent. V important

h.       Get some sun-dried cacao pods from your neighbor. Use four pods.

i.         Flask-sized shitty rum

j.         1 heaping spoon of sugar

k.       If you’re feeling ballsy, ask your doña about tea leaves. You’ll probably get a good hour-long tour of the yard and circa 5 different leaves that you could make tea bitters with

l.         Honestly, add whatever your terroir-conscious heart desires!

How-To Guide to Campo Bitters

1.  Toast all the spices over low heat for about 5-10 minutes.
2. Add all ingredients to the rum and let sit for two weeks. Agitate daily.
3. Separate the solids from the liquids. Put the liquids in a jar and let it sit for one week. Boil the solids with circa one cup of water for circa 10 minutes. It should evaporate down to about 1/2 cup.  Put the water and the solids together to create a potent tea. Let this sit for one week.
4. Strain the potent tea and add it to the rum mixture (add about ¼ cup). Discard solids (or make dank-ass tea). Add the sugar. Let it sit for 3 days, agitating daily.

Now to make a campo version of a Singapore Sling! (Apologies to my bar manager, Mike Lu, for the bastardized version of this classic cocktail. Desperate times call for desperate measures…)

Campo Singapore Sling

2 oz. Gin
2 oz. Lime juice
½ oz. Manaschewitz Cherry Wine
½ oz. Triple Sec
4 drops of bitters
2 oz. Pineapple juice (b/c if not, it won’t be sweet enough for the Dominicans)

Hard shake in a cocktail shaker with ice. Serve in a tiny, plastic cup. When the Dominicans complain that it’s not sweet enough, have some sugar on hand that they can scoop into their drink. 

lice.

Written for our beloved 17-01 PCDR cohort--

A reality of the life of an Educator anywhere: LICE. One sunny day in Río Arriba, Mistty sits in a white, plastic chair as the neighbor girl brushes through her hair with an all-too-fine comb when — all of the sudden — a pajarito (small unknown bug of any class) falls onto her shoulder. She quickly tries to flick it off her shoulder, knowing there’s a possibility of it being a lice. Her head has been uncontrollably itchy the past 2 weeks. By the way, lice will make herself known, as neither Head And Shoulders nor dry scalp oil treatments will remedy the itch. Her neighbor gets to the pajarito before she has the chance, and as any good daughter would, she verifies the species of pajarito with her mother, asking “Mira este pajarito, que es?”, with a sigh of relief from MIstty, the Dona repilies “eso no es na”….. Needless to say, this foreign pajarito developed into full-fledged lice. It took several one-on-one sessions of me (haaay, Lucia here) combing through Mistty’s trillion strands of yard-long hair with a variety of lice repelente. We gathered advice from the PCMOs, but also from bonafied doñas with lice haircare experience. Next thing you know, I have lice and then my host sister gets it too. I’m sure my doña is delighted…

If you call PCMO’s, they’ll recommend you purchase a certain class of piojo veneno. While we do not officially discourage PCMO advice, we have found that Avispa does wonders (@Avispabrand, where our endorsement check at?) It comes in a 300 ml bottle, which is good enough for two treatments on Mistty’s hair and like 4 for mine. You can purchase it in the toiletries section of Sirena, or at your local pharmacy. IT ALSO COMES WITH THE COVETED LICE COMB!

This herramienta is essential to lice extinction. BEWARE: PCMO’s will only reimburse you for what they prescribe. You can always call before purchasing and say that the pharmacy only carries Avispa.They will also prescribe una pomada para quitar los huevecitos. Just skip it. I slathered this green tar all over each strand of hair. To return my hair to its former fluffy self, Mistty had to shampoo it for 30 minutes straight and I had to scrub my scalp with dish soap three times daily for one week.

Mistty preparing to scrub the green pomada wax from my hair

You can pull off some pretty rad styles during lice treatments by plastering your hair to your scalp with mountains of hairspray. Accessorize with a top-tied bandana, hoop earrings and red lipstick to maintain the visage that you are a clean, healthy, seria mujer who don’t succumb to no lice.

How to:

1. Acquire Avispa and lice comb

2. Utilize confianza to find a buddy to help you comb out lice. If you must, proceed alone. There’s a certain primal bonding that happens between ser humanos when they groom bugs from each other’s fur, em, hair.

3. Divide hair into tiers, working from the bottom-up as if you were passer-ing una plancha. Start the comb at the root and comb out to the end. Little huevecitos will get stuck in the comb. Maybe a few live squirmy guys. Pick them out as best as you can with a serviette and enjuage the comb in water, changing the water regularly.

4. When you are finished combing, apply Avispa and follow box instructions.

5. Repeat combing daily/ twice daily for three days. Repeat Avispa application in seven days. This is because lice eggs are laid and hatch in 7 days. Any suckers that don’t die the first time around as eggs will die the second time around as “mother lice”.

If you want to go balls to the wall and really make certain you don’t re-infect yourself: change pillow cases/ sheets each night for 5 days and boil all of your headbands, brushes/ combs. Enclose your helmet, which you’ve obviously been wearing, in a plastic bag and let it sit out in the sun for a week before wearing again.

Mother lice will be about the size of the eye of a needle. They are dark in color and lay eggs near the scalp. There are certain “hot spots” that they seem to prefer: the crown of the head and the nape of the neck. Mistty describes the huevecitos as dried honey drops that are attached to the hair follicle and are difficult to quitar. After applying Avispa, they darken in color (perhaps because dey dead?)

This is what the lice eggs look like

To prevent lice, Lucia recommends never hugging children or allowing them to touch your hair. Carina has recommended always wearing your hair up when working in the school. Anna recommends using lice shampoo weekly.

Good luck. If you have any preguntas, you know who to call: LICE BUSTERS.

ps — or skip all steps and shave your head.

#fitfam

Preparing for the next PCV beach get-together? Yearning for the Dominican booty? Is there not a gym in a 100-mile radius of you? Viveres catching up to you? Feelin’ flaca after that last parasite? Are you broke af but still tryna look gooooood? Then THIS workout is for you! 

Vivere: any starchy mass of food that is served boiled, seasoned with salt and vegetable oil. Platano, yucca, potato, auyama, ñame…

If it looks gross, it's because it is 

Staying fit during Peace Corps service takes a special kind of effort. All the doñas want you to eat their heaping plates of assorted viveres and drink their syrup coffee. If you want to escape the sugar, you can’t. Because it is *everywhere*. Ketchup is tomato syrup. The meat? Secret ingredient= sugar. They even have this dish called “beans with sweet” which is essentially a bowl of sweetened condensed milk, beans and viveres. This insane sugar presence is evident in the many amputees and blind folks you see in communities that lose appendages or sight to unchecked diabetes which turns into glaucoma.

There are so many delicious vegetables here, but people don’t eat them because being full is considered being properly nourished. Eating a plate of viveres costs probably about 25 cents and will keep you full the whole day…and honestly the next two days too. Eating a balanced, parasite-free meal of rice, beans, meat, vegetables and a side of fruit would cost probably 2 dollars and would keep you full for the average amount of time that food keeps one full. I sometimes think that the reasons Dominicans move so slowly and always sit is because they’re undernourished.

Clearly also there are no gyms in tiny villages. So I made one.

Here’s my 10 pound weight bar, my 14.4 and 15.2 pound cans of cement and my 8.6 pound water jugs. I got the jugs of oil at the colmado. I got the giant cans of beans from the cafeteria at school and I found the wire outside. I traded this dude named Henry who was constructing his house an ice cream to fill my two cans of beans with cement. 

I have an ab wheel, jump rope, yoga mat and foam roller (all from the States)

Wrk Out Twrk Out:

·         Abdominals

o   20 ab wheel extensions

o   20 sit ups each side with one leg extended out on the ground and the other extended up like you’re doing a scissor kick (“Tylers” for short b/c my sister’s bf Tyler showed me this)

o   2 minute plank

o   100 lateral side swipes (“Annas” for short b/c my PCV soul sister, Anna showed me this)

o   50 reps using the cement can as a medicine ball

·         Legs

o   20 squats with bar and cement cans (40 lbs.)

o   20 walking lunges with bar and water jugs (25 lbs.)

o   15 Bulgarian squats each side with bar (10 lbs.)

o   30 Kettle bell swings using the cement can (15.2 lbs.)

·         Back/ arms

o   10 push ups

o   15 good mornings with bar (10 lbs.)

o   10 standing rows with bar water jugs (25 lbs.)

o   5x5 Deadlifts with bar and cement (40 lbs.)

o   15 dips

·         Idealistically, end with 10 minutes of easy, stretching-based yoga and foam roll out your legs. BOOM, go take a cold bucket bath, bb. You deserve it 😉

So I’m not doing snatches and cleans and my sister is probably stronger than me right now (uhg, sibling rivalry)….BUT my campo gym is keeping me PEACE CORPS STRONG ©. It’s like “Army Strong”, but better because it was obtained through love and peace and good will and sustainable practices.

¿Who Are You?

Who are you? Are you what you’ve done? What you do? Are you your dreams? Drawing on five years of bartending and watching countless first dates from the inconspicuous sanctuary that is “behind the bar”…I can tell you that each time two people are getting to know each other the following are covered:

o   What you’ve done.

o   What you do.

o   What you want to do.

To an American, much of what makes a person a desirable friend, mate, network opportunity or new hire has everything to do with doing.  Places you’ve worked, cool-ass trips you’ve taken, bomb concerts you’ve attended, what you studied in school, your current job and what your intentions are for your future. We like drive and plans. The worst insult you could call us is “lazy”.  Professional doing, personal doing, academic doing. If you’re not doing, you’re not improving. And if you’re not improving, you’re stagnant. And if you’re stagnant, you’re a failure.

I’m comfortable with meeting people in my culture because I know how to act and react to the dance of questions that comes with meeting someone new. I can pleasantly and engagingly answer the interview questions that one poses and genuinely reciprocate with well-timed and thoughtful follow-up questions. Conversations are bartender’s greatest work of art (and working Freshman Orientations also helped).   

Cut scene to a tranquil, lush mountainside community of humble Dominicans. In places with little opportunity, doing isn’t who you are. It can’t be.

The members of my community can’t talk about what they studied in school because most have a 5^th grade education. They can’t talk about the cool show they were at last weekend because tickets cost about how much they make in a week.  They don’t talk about what they do for a living because they work washing clothes, or driving a bus, or selling lottery tickets.
The first questions I’m asked are if I’m married and if I have kids. Upon meeting the hundredth woman my age who’s married with three kids… I often awkwardly blurt out some unintelligible question dealing with her bean cooking preferences. Followed up with the equally awkward weather talk. Literally how do you talk about weather in a place where it is ALWAYS THE SAME?!

I’m discovering how to meet people without talking about doing. Here you are less of what you do and more what they call your forma de ser or “way of being”. You are how much you give to others, who your family is and how much you pass by to say hello. You are also how many times you bathe a day, the clothes you wear and how good your beans are (women only). Many Dominicans live extremely relaxed lives in which no one ever really has anywhere they need to be at any specific time, they aren’t trying to conquistar that promotion or get one kid to clarinet practice and the other to soccer at the same time on Thursday evening. As such, their extremely extroverted selves are always such a relaxed and loving joy to be around. Perhaps this is why they don’t allow themselves to get stressed out….because it would negatively affect their forma de ser and then they would be a social pariah. Kind of me right now. JUST KIDDING. Am I? Could go either way.

Adding to my social pariah-ship is the fact that in spaces of “poverty” like this, 100% of your forma de ser is around 100% of their forma de ser 100% of the time. They see you struggling to learn how to wash your own underwear by hand in the backyard. They notice when you’ve gone to the bathroom 8 times a day for the last 3 days. They see you before bed hunched over, awkwardly trying to brush your teeth while juggling a flashlight and toothbrush in one hand and a water bottle in the other. They see you in a towel enter and exit the outdoor “shower” and notice how sweaty you get when they make soup for lunch on an 88° day.* 

You can’t present the best side of yourself because everyone sees everything: hiding the bad things and presenting the good parts doesn’t exist here.  It’s scary because they find out quickly how (who?) you really are.

So then this is the question: Who are you minus all the doing? I’m still figuring it out. It’s been interesting meeting people via only their formas de ser. Maybe it makes me insecure. I am so comfortable as myself in American culture but I don’t yet know how to construct my “Dominican self”. 

How can someone know me without knowing everything I’ve done? How can I know someone without knowing everything they’ve done?

I’ve seen parts of these people that most Americans reserve for only their most intimate friends…but it’s different, and sometimes I feel like I’m living around strangers who will never understand me, and sometimes I feel like these people have seen more sides of me than many of my people in the States.

*All random examples that have definitely not happened to me.

Millennial Development Goals

About the name…

The Millennium Development Goals are a list of eight goals dreamed up by the U.N. in the year 2000 to be completed by 2015.

I first learned about them in Professor Moeller’s International Education class my sophomore year. She presented this list of inspiring, unifying, future-driven goals. Then, in few words, she told us how they were all bull shit. I remember leaving the class upset with how negative my university education was (I later learned that this is what they call “critical thinking”).

These lofty goals were made in a room filled with representatives from 1^st world countries (former colonizers). They were made to “develop” the 3^rd world (previously colonized countries), without the consult of the 3^rd world.

Development is, as I understand it currently, the point of the Peace Corps (more on this over the next 2+ years?) Side note: what even IS development? I like to think that Peace Corps is of the grass-roots, bottom-up, inclusive pedagogy. Vamos a ver.

Millennials are the greatest generation. Don’t just take it from me! People write books about us, yo. We just want to change the world and make it better. We’re idealistic and believe in individual uniqueness and the power of diversity. This is reflected in how we think about building inclusive work settings, friend groups, and our rejection of colorblindness. We are constantly working towards bettering, whether it be our environment, our politics, our social systems, ourselves or our communities. We are volunteers and activists and apparently we tend towards irreligion. They call us the “Peter Pan Generation” because we stay in our youth longer by waiting for marriage and kids. We were raised by Baby Boomers and Gen X-ers and reacted to their teachings.

The Baby Boomers (1946-1964) were famous for a distrust of government. They expected that things would change with time, but still were active in social change, especially surrounding the Vietnam War. Oppositely, this generation is also the wealthy, white, men that are currently in power (don’t worry—not for much longer!) They believed in conservatism and were famous cynics and maintainers of the status-quo.

The Gen X-ers (1960-1979) are a small generation because the birth control pill was introduced in the years leading up to 1960. They were born when society was less focused on rearing kids, and more focused on adult development. They are known as the “latch-key” generation because there was reduced adult supervision due to an increased divorce rate, an increase in maternal workforce and lagging childcare options. Gen X-ers are famous for being slackers, cynical and for being the “unfocused 20-somethings”. Think of the hit TV show “Friends”: self-involved, fun, aimless. 

Us millennials reacted to the teaching of our parents. We took some things, rebelled against others and created the best generation to date. Here are some conversations I have with my fellow millennials make me excited for the future:

• ·         A young man I went to high school with wants to open his own innovative furniture business.  The dream is to bring it back to his community so that he can teach kids who normally might not even finish high school a sustainable trade.
• ·         A boss-lady and dear college friend of mine got into the field of college success for low-income college kids because she struggled throughout college making ends meet, dealing with debt, the financial aid office and transferring between schools.
• ·         My sister wants to go into the field of international human rights via NGO work because she thinks that violations of human rights are worth dedicating your professional life to.
• ·         An inspiring young man and good college friend got into making music. Not just because he’s ridiculously talented, but to open a dialogue about diverse realities in the U.S., and to celebrate being black and brown.
• ·         A young woman and dear college friend decided that two years of her “prime” were best spent in a rural town in Uganda working alongside local agriculture workers and learning the language Runyankole-rukiga, so she joined Peace Corps.
• ·         Literally every human in my 17-01 cohort here in Peace Corps Dominican Republic. One of the most inspiring group of genuine people who expand my mind, nourish my soul, call me on my shit and push me to be the best possible human being I can be. Shout out to #famsquad!

Millennials get a lot of hate from old people. Probably because we challenge the status-quo and because we don’t like the world that they left us. The future is female (©, probably.) It’s black and brown and powerful. It’s inclusive and collaborative and respects the environment. It’s activist and changing. And it started when millennials began taking positions of power.

So I call this blog “Millennial Development Goals” because I work in “development”. But also because Millennials are so obsessed with constantly improving themselves and their world. I’m interested to see over the course of my life how my beautiful, sparkly generation decides to take on “development”. SHINE ON, MY 20-SOMETHINGS, SHINE ON!

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Here’s a cool quote about being an optimist (because for some reason people assume that optimists are ignorant or stupid):

“To be hopeful in bad times is not just foolishly romantic. It is based on the fact that human history is a history not only of cruelty, but also of compassion, sacrifice, courage and kindness.
What we choose to emphasize in this complex history will determine our lives. If we remember those times and places—and there are so many—where people have behaved magnificently, this gives us the energy to act, and at least the possibility of sending this spinning top of a world in a different direction.
And if we do act, in however small a way, we don’t have to wait for some grand utopian future. The future is an infinite succession of presents, and to live now as we think human beings should live, in defiance of all that is bad around us, is itself a marvelous victory.”
--Howard Zinn