Reflection #1: 05/18

On the Plane from Panama to Rosario:

My parents raised my siblings and me to be good conversationalists: to ask questions, make eye contact, and be empathetic. It wasn’t hard with me; I was naturally curious and observant, with an extremely sensitive disposition and a boisterous love of everyone I encountered. I therefore took a genuine interest in each person I interacted with, and after every conversation, I walked away knowing something more: about the person, a topic they were passionate about, or even myself. But somewhere along the line, urgency and use replaced presence. I began to subconsciously ask, “What can I get out of this conversation?” rather than, “What are this person’s needs, and what do they long to share?” My mother also raised us to be polite and social, convenient masks which concealed the truth of my situation. I had become—like an overwhelming share of my generation—lonely, disconnected, and hurried. Every conversation was a stepping block, every piece of information a data point to be used, every class a means to a degree, every workout a means to a fitness test score, every “hobby” or extracurricular a line on a resume. Even religion became the victim of my navel-gazing. “I’ll go to Mass so that I feel productive and peaceful.” “I’ll go to confession so I can have a new start.” While not inherently wrong nor even sinful, these thoughts revealed a stark disconnect between the person that I was and the person who I was becoming. In fact, I had no idea who I was at the end of the day.

I always thought journeys of self-discovery were stupid and inherently selfish. “Finding yourself” meant expensive retreats and dyed hair and sinning just to learn. I never doubted who I was because I was told who I was: a child of God, an Olohan, a hardworking, passionate girl. On the plane ride to Panama (the first leg of my journey), I picked up David Brooks’s How to Know a Person. In truth, I had no intention of reading the whole thing. A gift from Mr. Pfunder, I decided I would skim the book, maybe seeing a passage here and there that would help me in a later conversation. But very quickly, I found myself engrossed. The mix of psychology, literature, and journalism, as well as statistical analysis, had me over a hundred pages in only hours into my first flight. But this isn’t a book review, and—while an outstanding piece of work—it isn’t the Bible or the Summa (sorry, the friar in me has to give a nod to Aquinas). But what this is is an introduction to my trip. I am to write at least four of these reflections—in the beginning and end, and a couple in between—documenting my experience on this Smith Fellowship. The very open-ended nature of these posts was a bit daunting, but also welcome.

The academic year is over, and while I somehow managed to wrangle good grades and some genuinely insightful takeaways from a hectic schedule and tough semester, I’m taking a break from academic mode. I found myself enjoying Brooks because I wasn’t reading him in order to write an essay or participate in a discussion; I was reading him because I was genuinely curious about what he had to say. This, I believe, is key to the experience I am about to embark on. Those skills I have as a good conversationalist will help me to settle in and connect with those I meet in Argentina. But what is truly important is being present. Over spring break, I had the opportunity to embark on a week-long trip in the Moab desert for the Humanities Program Christ in the Desert practicum. My reflection essay centered around the idea of presence: how I realized it is a gift which most do not partake in because of the distractions of technology and the pressures of an achievement-driven society which lacks community. But the irony is that I did not take my own words to heart. Instead of exhibiting the beauty of presence which I so eloquently described, I continued to live in the “later” mindset. “Later I’ll take a break, later I’ll go on a walk, later I’ll stop and enjoy the moment.” But later turned into never, and I awoke one night panicked at the simple fact that time passes so quickly. How am I already 20? I feel as though just yesterday I was 17, wondering what college I would go to. Always stuck reliving the past in bittersweet nostalgia or preparing for the future, I was neglecting the present.

So, I decided, Argentina would be different. I am not putting too much stock in this experience; I do not expect it to be life-changing, nor do I demand from it more than I am owed. But I do have a distinct shift in mindset. This will not be a means to an end—another thing to put on a resume or a talking point in future conversations to display some apparent wisdom or virtue—this will be an opportunity to live rather than survive. My goal is simple: see Christ in others and in myself. It has never been hard for me to empathize, and I have always found great satisfaction in helping others. But I have fallen prey to this burnt-out world’s distortion of labor, leisure, and love. I need to live my life more than I analyze it and find purpose and value which cannot be quantified. I am a political science and history major on track to become an officer in the United States Army. These next five weeks do not relate to my studies, do not offer a paycheck, and are far removed from the life that I have lived thus far. And so, these next five weeks offer an opportunity which has never been afforded to me before: find who you are in the service of Christ and His children, in a world where no one knows you, and you know no one. This unique opportunity will allow me to see who I am when I am not performing, conforming, or hurrying.