How Long is Two Years?

Perspective is everything. When I first considered joining the Peace Corps at a career fair at the beginning of my junior year at Michigan Tech, I still had two more years to go, which felt like an eternity. There was no way I could see myself giving up that vast amount of time to serve as a volunteer in another country. The idea seemed interesting; it struck my adventure bone. But it hardly seemed possible to me at the time.

The two years passed. I graduated. I joined the workforce, in one capacity after another after another.

In two years’ time after graduation, I had held at least four jobs, as well as spent a considerable amount of time traveling. I wished I could stick to one thing, but I couldn’t seem to commit to a job for longer than 10 months (and during that time I took a month off to backpack Europe).

Mountainside Village in Switzerland

And then, suddenly, I looked back on my life, broke it into two-year increments, and that time period didn’t seem so long anymore. I realized I had committed to certain things for two years, or even longer, and that hadn’t killed me. I’d had a ROTH IRA for two years and that seemed to be going okay. I gave four years of my life to college. I dated a wonderful guy for five years. I had worked on and off for the same company for three years and was planning on giving it another summer. My passport was good for another six years, which suddenly seemed a short amount of time.

I decided I could easily commit to a two-year stint out of the country. Two years? Pshaw! A mere drop in the bucket of my life!

But what about other peoples’ lives? What about all the stuff I would be missing back home? When you come from a big family like I do, there is constant change.

Since I came here, I already have a new niece and a new nephew, and there is at least one more on the way. My fourth brother is getting married this spring. And, of course, all the little ones will grow up. Those who couldn’t talk or walk when I left will be running around yelling, like their pants are on fire, when I get home.

I was looking at pictures the other day from my last month in the U.S. before I came to Armenia: My nieces, my nephews, my friends’ kids, my younger siblings. I find myself wondering again, “How long is two years? How much will have changed by the time I see these kids again?”

A lot will have changed. In kid time, two years is quite significant.

So here I am, 8 months into my 27-month commitment. Has it felt like a drop in the bucket of my life? No way. More like a deluge of water, overturning my bucket and making me wonder if there isn’t a better metaphor to describe “Peace Corps Time.”

While you’re in Peace Corps, a day can feel like a month, but then you can blink and a week passes like an hour. Two years? As if I were a little kid again, I can barely fathom what that means anymore.

But that’s why it’s all about perspective, because two years from now, I will be sitting on my balcony, bare feet up on the rails, holding a huge mug of coffee, eating a scone, and telling you, “Two years ago, I was a Peace Corps volunteer in Armenia, freezing in my room, watching the snow falling outside my window and wondering if winter would ever end. Where did the time go?”

P.S. Two years ago, almost to the day, I started my Peace Corps application.