Looking for the glass that´s half full

Just arrived in El Paraiso for the start of Field Based Training and am experiencing my first downward spin on the roller coaster of emotions that defines life as a peace corps volunteer. The emotional ups and downs are just about the only thing thats constant in this environment. Well, that and rice and beans for dinner. That´´s also a sure thing.
I´ve been in country for a month, which is just enough time to start to realize that I´m about to make a 2 year committment to live alone in a foreign country. Up until this point this trip has felt more like a vacation rather than a 'semi' permanent move.
Last weekend Í talked to one of my PC buddies about all this stuff and he said something really interesting that caught my attention. As a buddhist, he strongly believes that there is no such thing as a self, that, according to Buddha, we´re all connected and that one man´s suffering is every man´s suffering. It struck me as a refreshing and invigorating way to look at my situation, that instead of dwelling on the small inconveniences I´ve encountered, like hand washing my clothes and constantly scratching at a gijillion mosquito bites, that I should focus on the bigger picture, the reason I came to Honduras in the first place, which was to make a difference, to be a part of something so much bigger and more powerful than me. And I´m only starting to understand what a humbling experience that can be.
I know deep, deep down in the bottom of my heart that I can do this, that I have the chops, otherwise theres no way I´d have made it this far. But that doesn´t mean all my fears of failure and self doubt simply melt away. Rather, with all this down time to think, I find they´re magnified, and it´s made managing them that much more difficult.
I´ve never known what its like to be totally and 100 percent alone, and I think the fear of that isolation, which is inevitable for at least part of my service, is a major source of my anxiety. How will I know if I´ll survive it until I´m in the thick of it... it´s a scary and uncomfortable thought.
At the same time, I´m also slowly starting to recognize that this is just a part of the much, much grander picture, that in 2 years I´ll be on a plane back home without knowing what hit me and wondering where the time went, and probably balling my eyes out because Spanish isn´t the official language in the States. Because lets be honest, Miami is an anomoly. As is practically all of southern Texas. And Langley Park.
In two years I hope that I won´t remember the nights I spent crying myself to sleep feeling sorry for myself because I don´t have air conditioning or a semi comfortable bed. Rather I hope to remember nights like last Sunday when I played cards with Jose Noah, a young Honduran boy who stayed at our house with his mom for the night after returning from the states. A non profit in Calif had paid for him and his mom to travel to the states so he could get a life saving operation on his heart. One of 7 children, Jose was close to death when the organization found him. His father is a campesino and his mother makes and sells corn tortillas. They had no resources for health care for Jose. I can´t begin to describe how much this boy touched my heart. The irridescent smile that he proudly wore from ear to ear made my heart melt. He was 14 years old, but because of his heart condition his growth was stunted and he didn´t look like he could have been older than seven. When he reached down to pull his shirt over his head to show off his foot long scar and jokingly nicknamed himself ''pescadito'' ... little fish, so as to say he´d be gutted open like a pike... I started bawling. His smile was the most honest and beautiful testament of the human condition that I´ve ever experienced. It made my heart hurt. That this 14 year old boy has been able to survive all that he´s been through with such a brilliant smile gives me all the hope in the world that I too will survive this experience. And what´s more, that I´ll come that much closer to truly understanding what it means to be grateful. Grateful for what I have, at peace with what I lack, but most of all, accepting of the fact that I can´t control the future. And maybe learning how to smile with Jose Noah.
Paz y amor.