Faithbook: I Think, Therefore I Am... Confused - On Faith at washingtonpost.com

I Think, Therefore I Am... Confused

On the plane ride to Russia, I read a few chapters of Crime and Punishment, wrote in my journal about my expectations for the trip, did my best to memorize the Cyrillic alphabet, and finally in a trance watched the plane tracker and stared out the window, following in real-time as the little white plane-shaped blip arched its way toward Moscow. In short, I thought a lot about Russia. On the way back, however, I watched every mindless sitcom Delta offered on its in-flight programming. There was too much to think about. I didn't want to think, and The Bill Engvall Show proved a particularly apt tool for that job.

In fact, I put off writing this blog post for a while, too. How could I condense my eight weeks into a snappy five paragraph post with a coherent message and a singular, decisive headline? Well, I can't, which is why I'm only six sentences in and rambling already. For two months I lived, worked and ate with people I'd never met before, saw the sights of a country completely foreign to me, and attempted to speak a language knowing absolutely no verbs. I also built a deep connection to my group of 12 toddlers at the babies' orphanage where I worked--while simultaneously questioning the entire concept of international volunteerism. I knew I got exponentially more out of my experience than any of the Russians I flew across the world to help. And, though I knew they appreciated an extra hand, I couldn't help but wonder what the nannies thought of this wide-eyed, Nike-clad American girl coming in and working for her summer vacation then hopping on a plane home, while they continued with life.

Thus, I watched sitcoms, and for 24 hours straight, Yaroslavl to Moscow, Moscow to Atlanta, Atlanta to Cedar Rapids, Cedar Rapids airport to my house, I didn't think. Another week--out with friends, running my old routes, visiting with family, eating peanut butter again (finally!), I didn't think, or I didn't think much, at least. When I was in Russia, I felt like Russia was my home, what I did there was my life, the people I knew there were my family, and life in the U.S. was a little fuzzy something somewhere across the world. Now that I'm back, Russia seems so distant and I am repeatedly struck with the feeling "Did that just happen?" The confusion escalates when I realize, again, I really don't know how I feel. I tell people I had a wonderful time, because I did. I tell people I am so grateful I had the opportunity to travel out of the country, because I am. I tell people I love Russia and the Russian people, that I got a new perspective on the US, that I hope our governments can improve relations, although the conflict in Georgia isn't helping. But do I feel like I really did anything? I grew a lot. Where helping others is concerned, staying home and donating my plane ticket to charity may have had more net value. So, what is the point?

Confronting a new situation made me do exactly what I was trying to avoid on my plane ride home. We strive to do what is right; multiple people applauded me for "giving up my summer" to volunteer, but I wanted to say "No! You don't understand--it's not that at all," though I almost wished it was. I wanted to help, to feel like I sacrificed something, but I didn't at all. I got so much more from the Russian people than I could ever hope to give back, continuously reminding me of that similar conundrum integral to the Christian religion. The best we can do is be grateful, all we can do is pray and reflect. And now that I'm home and I'm running out of excuses, I think it is time... to think.

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I Think, Therefore I Am... Confused