Every two weeks I have to send a self-assessment letter of my time to the HNGR office, describing everything I'm doing and how I'm feeling about it, etc. In my latest one, I described myself as "incandescently happy". It's pretty true. Definitely not all the time! Sometimes- often- I am grumpy, exhausted, sick of trying to speak another languge, thinking longingly of the concept of personal space (not a Bolivian value!), etc. But most of the time, guys, I seriously am having such a blast.
I love this city. I absolutely adore my work with the girls,
my host family rocks, and I couldn't be more excited about my independent study. I'm having a sweet, sweet time.
Yet, about two days after I wrote the incandescently happy remark, I was sitting on a bus after work, leaning against a window, gazing out at the streets going by, and thinking sad thoughts. I was thinking to myself about how in a few weeks all of my friends are going to be back at Wheaton without me. And picturing their faces (as well as many in Maryland!) and thinking how much I freaking MISS THEM! And thinking how great it would feel to have a hug from someone who's known me longer than two months. And imagining how much fun I would have if right now I was
running errands with Mary, or helping take care of my beautiful mentor
Mary and her new BABY, or going to downtown Naperville with
my roommates, or studying at Caribou with
Matt. *BIG SIGH*.
(I know, right, they should make a Lifetime movie about me).And then I remembered that I had just described my time here as wonderful and myself as incandescently happy. Whoops!
The thing is, I really was (am!). I meant that remark and I think it is true. Yet, as I pondered the direction my thoughts had taken on that bus ride, I realized that they represented a pretty consistent pattern for me... that of having what almost seems like two separate experiences here, in my mind.
There are two Emilys in Bolivia!!!! One is ecstatic with disbelief at the uniqueness of this experience. She is, though frustrated at times, truly excited to be learning a new language. She loves exploring this city, doing homework in parks, having quiet times in cafés, going home at the end of the day to wrestle with host siblings and be loved on by host parents. She's making friends with missionaries and Bolivian college students, she's falling in love with the girls at work. She can navigate public transportation (well, usually) and she knows which street vendors have the best empanadas. She is overwhelmingly grateful to be doing HNGR, and thrilled to be in Bolivia!
Yet there is- I won't even call it an undercurrent, because that suggests that it's deeper than Incandescently Happy Emily, which isn't true. But there is another, very real side to this experience. Where I am checking the calendar on my cell phone almost every day to count weeks and see if I can rearrange my days off to get home a little bit earlier. Where I am constantly remembering the last weeks of the semester and my time at home and how it felt to be with my family and my closest friends, and rehearsing favorite conversations and memories over and over in my mind. Incandescently Happy Emily is too present now, two months in, for me to wish I hadn't done this. I really do love it. But the Other Emily is here, too. (She doesn't have a name yet. Any ideas? Did Jane Austen, from whom I stole the incandescently happy remark, make any apt descriptions for homesickness?)
So, I'm learning two main things from the Two Emilys.
One, is that I have a constant choice which Emily I choose to be. I could have continued that bus ride (it's long!) thinking sad thoughts and sending myself to another place in my mind instead of being in the incredible opportunity that I am. Or, I could choose to give myself a little shake, remind myself of where I am, and go grab a papaya juice, call a Bolivian friend to make plans, try out my newest Spanish words on someone, and head home to play a loud and competitive game of cards with the host fam.
I've thought much about this quote from Henri Nouwen:
"...
It is important to realize how often we have had chances to be grateful and have not used them. [In every circumstance], there are very concrete reasons to offer thanks: be it with words, with flowers, with a letter, a phone call, or just a gesture of affection...
we are faced with the freedom to make a decision. We can decide to be grateful or to be bitter.
We can decide to recognize our chosenness in the moment or we can decide to focus on the shadow side. When we persist in looking at the shadow side, we will eventually end up in the dark... When we keep claiming the light, we will find ourselves becoming more and more radiant."
I have a constant choice here, to choose to be grateful to God for this opportunity or to be consistently focusing on the hard parts and what I'm missing. It's not just something I get to name as my M.O. for my time and call it done; every single day, here, sometimes multiple times in a day, I need to be re-choosing gratitude, re-choosing wonder and thankfulness and presence here, in Bolivia.
There is a second thing I am learning from the Two Emilys, though, particularly from the second, sadder (still unnamed) Emily. Often, that sadness and lack-of-presence is reflecting my choice not to be thankful. Or because it's just easier to think about people from home than to go to work a little early or go over the Spanish subjunctive one more time.
But sometimes, it is real and actual pain, and I need to pay attention to that. Though it's not about Bolivian culture or whatever, missing home and people from home IS an
actual part of my HNGR experience, whether I think it should be or not. My BFF
Sarah sent me wise encouragement to "make a conscious effort to sit with and be attentive to your painful experiences". At times when I can manage to do this without being self-pitying (which isn't always, because I am really quite impressively good at self pity!), I have tried to think about what exactly is going on in my heart and mind when I am longing for home and specific people so much. I've learned a lot from that (how much God meets me in my loneliness, and how much I fear change, for starters, but I'll save those for other posts).
One of the biggest things that's happened from reflecting on those things, though, is that this time has turned into a season of total rejoicing over my relationships from home (Sorry, I know "Season of rejoicing" is complete Christianese, but it's true anyway :-)). I remember this from freshman year of college, too, actually, that being a step away from my support system resulted in a new gratitude for it and recognition of just how incredibly blessed (or "charmed" as Matt Maloy put it once) my life has been. I didn't expect this to be one of my main lessons on HNGR, but the theme of amazement and thankfulness for all of the people at HOME is weaving itself throughout my entire time here.
So, I guess Second Emily isn't totally useless, as long as I can keep her from whining too much :-).
