La final (At the end)

Well, anyone who's been keeping tally of the frequency of my posts (and, I mean, why would you?) over the past 2 years will note a definite drop-off in recent months -- and maybe earlier. When I first arrived in Romania, I could hardly contain myself: the words and images seemed to flow out of their own accord, desperate to be committed to paper (or at least to computer screen), desperate for the light of day. Probably much to the chagrin of my readers, I positively fell over myself trying to document every road-sign, every pothole, every dog, cloud, apartment bloc, train, man, woman, boy, girl, chicken, doorway, gathering of more than 1 person...positively every twitch of a finger, be it someone else's or my own. And I suppose this is a natural response. I think many would agree that much of the documenting (words, images, etc.) we do of the world around us in our lifetimes isn't so much for others as it is for ourselves -- as though we need continually to reaffirm to ourselves that we were here, doing this, in this moment. After all, perception and memory are fickle, delicate creatures, products of evolution whose purpose may well have been simply to keep us alive ("don't eat those leaves", "don't enter that forest at night", "hitting yourself repeatedly on the head with a hammer. Bad"). Yes, we're all generally good at remembering the good and shedding the bad from past experiences -- even as we realize that these "memories" quickly (perhaps immediately) morph themselves to our own little editorial tweakings and revisions. Is this why we journalize, why we snap that photo, as some sort of stark, incontrovertible truth? This really happened...in this way?

What ever the reasons for why we do or don't document, I think it's true for myself and for many of my finished and almost-finished fellow Peace Corps Volunteers that we have, in many ways, stopped trying to explain the intricacies of our experiences -- at least with the same fervor we once had. There's the sense that the specific, substantive reality of the experience (good or bad) will never really be captured again, in any form. And you just become more and more aware of this as time goes by. Don't get me wrong: I've truly enjoyed trying to describe for all of you how and in what forms my life has taken shape while in Romania. But I've also begun to realize that, in some ways, it's a futile enterprise. For that matter, how could I ever hope to understand the lives even of other Peace Corps volunteers around the world -- Mali, El Salvador, Tajikistan, Vietnam. Each circumstance is so fundamentally, almost painfully specific to that place and time. Yes, it is a thing of beauty, maybe one of the most beautiful experiences of my life: living with and sharing myself with people from somewhere else in the world. And naturally it is an exchange that I hope will continue to bare fruit in coming decades (and centuries?) for myself, my Romanian friends, and for my fellow volunteers and their communities around the globe. But there is also something about that beauty that lives within that moment alone -- sharing a meal, a walk, a handshake and a glance -- a beauty that will shimmer for a brief instant, and then fade. Endlessly fragile. Indescribably brief. Our lives are all populated by these moments.

My Peace Corps service officially ends at the end of July and then, like so many other volunteers (and travelers and expats) over the years, I'll presumably find myself in that odd, "fish-out-of-water" stage of trying to reintegrate into the culture of my birth, and yet that I may not be entirely equipped for. 2 years is no time at all...and it's an eternity. Returned volunteer friends of mine tell me their stories, which are alarming and funny all at the same time: of the expansiveness and variety of an American grocery store driving someone to seek terrified refuge in her family car; of hometown friends' eyes glazing over after gamely making it through the first 5-minutes of a Peace Corps story; of a volunteer hording plastic bags, toilet paper and small-change for months after getting home (items perennially lacking during the PC years). The family of one returned volunteer once described him as wearing a permanent "deer in the headlights" look for a solid year after getting back. Hmm, maybe I should stay here a while longer.

I don't know much about history, or biology...but certain facts stand on their own, resolute, unwavering. They read as follows: a) I have spent almost 27 months in the Peace Corps in Romania; b) It has been an extraordinary and foundational experience, and I would recommend it to anyone; c) Romania is a country filled with kind, wonderful people who generally want simply to claim the prosperity and global respect they have long deserved. There. If I get nothing else across about my experience -- at least you have that. Enjoy.

I also know that, after I get back to the US in early September, I plan on hitting the good ol' American road (assuming gas doesn't surpass gold in per-ounce price). I finally have, uhh, let's just say a little opening in my datebook, and a little money saved up. Not to mention all those belated wedding-gifts I'm going to have to hand-deliver. SO: Anyone who is just dying to get a visit from me and have your ear talked-off about things you don't know or care about...let me know! Maybe my Grand Tour will make a stop in your town. And being a Peace Corps volunteer, I'll be happy to sleep in your tub, eat the green, malevolent goo on the bottom of your fridge -- and I won't even use your shower! It's a win-win situation here.

Just let me know, and maybe I'll start putting a rough itinerary together for what I may call the Post-Corps Moore Tour. Until then, don't expect any last greeting card from Romania. I mean, I never sent you anything else...so why should I start now? Check out my new photos. And keep smiling. To borrow a friend's normal mass email sign-off:

"You've always been my favorite."