Final Reflection: 06/22

 

Final Reflection

There’s a saying that goes, “If you want to hate America, watch the news. If you want to love America, drive across it.” I think this holds true for most of the world. Argentina may be known to some for its food or wine, or to others for its more negative aspects—an unstable economy, homicides, drug problems. To me, however, it is known for its kindness.

The people I met in Rosario welcomed me without hesitation—with open arms and a beso on the cheek. They overwhelmed me with gifts, food, letters, and hugs, and sought to know and love me in a way that most people will never be fortunate enough to experience. From strangers at the airport and on the plane, to the sisters, the school community, and the voluntariados, my entire time here was filled with kind people. They asked me countless questions about myself, my life, and my country. As a parting gift, Mr. Pfunder gave me Arthur Brooks’ How to Know a Person. I devoured it on the plane and absolutely loved it. I found myself putting its lessons into practice, rereading certain passages and memorizing favorite quotes. I do not think a single person here has read that book, but you would think they had based on the way they live. They truly see those around them, and as Brooks argues, to be seen is to be loved. From that recognition, love naturally flows. Community is valued above productivity or success. Here, I learned a great deal about peace, presence, and empathy, and I know I will find myself thinking of the people I met here for a long time to come. Argentinians are also an incredibly proud people. They love their country, their history, and their traditions. Two patriotic holidays occurred during my time here, and it was beautiful to watch them celebrate. Through traditional dances, lapel ribbons, and flags displayed everywhere, they enthusiastically remembered their nation’s struggle for independence and freedom. Even the youngest students could tell me about el 25 de Mayo, the flag, and General Belgrano. The older students loved asking political questions and teaching me about Perón, the political parties, and the structure of their government.

My primary goal for this Fellowship was to see and serve others while slowing down enough to remain present in each moment. Over time, I noticed my mindset shifting from “only one more class until break” to “another opportunity to meet and know more people.” This change was monumental for me because I often find myself counting down or focusing on the future. People spend all day waiting for 5 p.m., all week waiting for Friday, and all winter waiting for summer. In doing so, many never truly live at all because their attention is always fixed on what comes next. Here, however, both in my service and in every other aspect of life, I became more intentional. I was literally forced to slow down in every interaction in order to understand, translate, and respond. That intentionality gave me presence, and those pauses gave me time. I know that everything happens for a reason and that God sees all. This truth empowered me to live one moment at a time. One of my favorite quotes, found on the helmet of a soldier, reads: “I wish I was where I was when I was wishing I was here.” Whenever I found myself rushing ahead or dwelling on the next thing, I reminded myself of those words. Be here now. See, feel, and experience all that God has placed before you.

The personal questions I sought to answer—as described in my initial reflection—can best be answered through a song. Two lines from Zach Bryan’s “Lucky Enough” help define my experience here:

If I'm lucky enough, I will get through hard things / And they will make me gentle to the ways of the world.

Stripped of many of the comforts and familiarities I had enjoyed up to this point, this Fellowship was difficult at times. The language barrier, differences in food and culture, limited mobility, and even unexpectedly different religious practices were sometimes isolating or frustrating. This was challenging in a way I had not anticipated. Previously, “hard” simply meant physically difficult: a run, a ruck, or a workout. Perhaps waking up early or studying for a difficult exam could fit into that category, but generally I reserved the word for physical challenges. I now understand that “hard” can also mean intellectual, emotional, or cultural challenges. Admitting that something is difficult is not admitting weakness, nor is it admitting defeat. The hardships I encountered were not particularly significant in the grand scheme of things. They were mostly discomforts and first-world problems. Yet they were still difficult in the moment. And I got through them. More importantly, they changed me. The tough, fiercely independent persona I often tried to embody was stripped away by the humility required when you are completely dependent on others for everything from food to communication. Seeing the conditions in which some of the poor here live was both shocking and difficult. It filled me with gratitude for blessings I too often take for granted. It also made me more empathetic. We are all products of our environments. I learned not to be so quick to judge. Those who act out, struggle with addiction, or seem distant are often carrying burdens that are invisible to others. My mother has always been a strong advocate for giving people the benefit of the doubt—a philosophy I once dismissed as naïve or overly soft. Now, I understand it. I have become more gentle not only in how I speak, but also in how I think about others.

If I'm lucky enough, I'll make it exactly to where I'm taking this breath now / Lay my head upon the earth and laugh at passing clouds.

Among the words I would have used to describe my expectations for this Fellowship, “peaceful” would not have been one of them. I would have spoken about service, love, and perhaps a desire to become more present. Yet what I found here was a profound sense of peace, rooted in faith in God and a deliberate commitment to living in the present moment.Walking through the park behind the school, sitting along the riverbank in the sun, and praying with the sisters became reliable moments of calm. In those simple and beautiful moments, I was able to breathe—to reflect on everything for which I was grateful and to slow down enough to recognize how good my life already is. Almost every day, I spent time in KAIROS, silent prayer with God, in the garden behind the school. Someone once told me, “We feel closest to God in the garden because that is where we first met Him.” During those moments, I began to understand what Saint Paul meant when he wrote about a “peace which surpasses all understanding.” I realized how much I needed prayer to remain grounded. Even a single hour each day oriented me toward virtue and away from temptation. Too often we fill our spare moments with social media, snacking, or work. Yet those things rarely provide the rest we truly need. Real rest is found in God and in His creation: nature, meaningful relationships, and the temperate enjoyment of food and drink.

This Fellowship taught me many things, but perhaps its greatest lesson was this: life is not something waiting for us in the future. It is happening right now. And if we are willing to slow down, pay attention, and trust God, we will discover that we are already surrounded by far more beauty, love, and grace than we realize. I am so incredibly grateful to all who made this possible, and to all who made my time here so transformative. I now keep in my prayers the hundreds of people who gave me a second home; the students, the sisters, the volunteers, strangers. Upon my departure all showered me with gifts and well wishes, and promised that I always have a place there. In return I assured them that they always have a friend in the United States. I hope to one day be able to return the favor, or to help another student like myself experience this opportunity. To my friends in Argentina: gracias por todo, los extrañaré muchísimo.