Struggles.

Our departure date is inching closer. Jamie and I have only two weeks left in Policka before we make the cross-ocean trip back to the United States. I must admit that I have never felt so much ambiguity in my life. It seems that all my thoughts about home, about passion, about God, about marriage and about myself have all been shaken from under me. I fluctuate between certainty and confusion nearly every waking moment of the day. I do believe that this is a consequence of living the past year in a completely foreign place from the one in which I grew up. On top of that, the differences between my world back in the United States and the one that I have built up around me in the Czech Republic, are only exacerbated by the fact that I live in Policka, a town of 10,000 people surrounded by farms: it isn't exactly the place of fast-paced life, trendy boutiques or world-class cultural entertainment (even though Policka does have a surprising amount of options in the 'civic/cultural department.')

For the past year I have been fighting with who I am, really. Here in Policka, I am an American. In America, I am a Pennsylvania. In Pennsylvania, I am a Pittsburgher. In Pittsburgh, I am from Ambridge. In Ambridge, I am from Economy. I have pondered this idea of categorizing myself, and I've come to the realization that I do so, because I want those who are being introduced to me to understand that I am not just Jeremy Ault from place ' X .' No, I give a region or a place, because I am hoping to place myself within a story that is greater than just me. When I tell Czechs that I am American, I am not just giving them a piece of knowledge or a 'fact'; I am hoping that they also take from this bit of information what I am really telling them. I am placing myself in the story of America as a nation and as a people. I am coming from the perspective of someone whose eyes are adjusted to the gaze of Washington, of Lincoln, of Jefferson and of Kennedy; whose heart and soul were built by the calloused hands of immigrant laborers at the tipple of a coal mine, on the sweat-soaked, scared backs of the slaves in the Mississippi Delta; by the pious aspirations of a group of religious-puritans on a lonely outpost on a rocky, New England coast; my thoughts are formulated within the context of looking East and seeing the Atlantic, of peering West and knowing that the Pacific is out there somewhere. My world is one where to the North it is cold, to the south it is humid, and in the middle, things are flat. It is the phenomenon that out of all places in this world, I was born in a small part of the Appalachian foothills, in a city traversed by both hill and river, ravaged by both industry and crime. Why was I placed there? Why is my history tied up in such a small section of the world?

Many times throughout my travels in Europe I have heard the conversations of young people much like myself. Most of the time, they are sharing a wonderfully, intrigued story about a past adventure in a foreign land that none of us had ever been to ( a form of 'one-upmanship' I guess). It usually ends with some climatic sense of revelation about who they are and why traveling makes them such an enlightened, better person (which I still think it does). Yet, in an ironic twist, the more I am away from home, the more I realize the necessity of both a 'common ground' and the experiences from the other side. Maybe this is something that I have never really hoped for in my life, because, lets face it, never leaving your home town is not nearly as glamorous as living in an exotic local with mountains, jungles and a wickedly-foreign language.

Recently, I have been reading a wonderful collection of essays by the American farmer/poet/theologian/historian/whatever you want him to be, he is, Wendell Berry. In his book titled The Art of the Commonplace, Berry gives his paradigm for why he lives the way he does. To make a long story short, Berry, a man gifted with incredible talent in virtually everything, lives not in the most powerful of places, but on a farm in Kentucky. He has chosen to reside back in the place where his family has been for generations and where he got hist start as a young child. As I read through his essays, I can sense the love and the passion that pour out from his writing about the old-timey neighbors down the street, the nature that abounds in his backyard and the local history of the region; he knows the woods and the springs of north-central Kentucky as intimately as he knows himself. In fact, it is only through his knowledge of the land from which he came, that he can truly know who he himself IS. This is all wonderful and great, but Berry is challenging me at a very inopportune time: I am still loving living in Policka , not at 'home', and living among people who take my world and warp it almost every day.

Is it bad to say that living 'away' is great!?

But, yet, living 'away,' can't it be lonely? And, at times, doesn't it feel 'fake?'

Yes....

This is what I do all day. My mind goes back and forth like the rocking of a ship. I can't put a finger on any of my opinions, because they are like sand slipping through my fingers. I know that I have changed, but how much? I know that I am looking forward to going home, but I am so nervous about how I will react and what cultural aspects that I will need to adjust to when I am with my family.

I want to be a part of a larger story, but which one!? Where do I feel at home? Why am I here? why? Why? WHY?!

I would like to reflect on the darker side of being a part of this 'story.' Sometimes, when I tell someone that I am American, the story that they get is a far cry from the one that I WANT to be a part of. It doesn't mean that theres is any less false, but it isn't exactly the idealized version that I had in my head. As is the story about today:

Jamie and I had a visit in the Mayor's office this morning. He was really excited to meet us and told us that we were the first Americans he had ever had in his office. He had never been to America, so he was full of questions about our country, culture and opinions --side note: He spoke only in Czech and it was very fast, which made me a little bit nervous; there are times when I get myself into a situation where I know that I am going to figuratively drown in the language, and this was one of them.-- I knew that we were in for a different kind of meeting when the first question the mayor asked me was about my opinions on the economic crisis and its relationship to China. Needless to say, I was a tad bit stunned. Moving on_ I don't want to get bogged down in mundane details_ the mayor would listen to me speak and then would give some of his opinions on the situation. We talked about many things and most of the time he was very sympathetic and a reasonably agreeable person. However, what struck me the most, were the hints of disappointment in his voice when he would speak about the United States.

He assured us that he really loved what the country stood for, but he couldn't understand how some Americans would allow themselves to live such lives of luxury to the detriment of themselves (pointing to obesity) and to others (economic crisis, poverty in other countries). Now, I have heard this complaint so many times since I have been in the Czech Republic that I normally get in my defensive mode, because often times, when people utter these statements, it is coming from a pretty clear notion of aggression. However, he was different; he seemed genuine in his struggle to reconcile the idealized view of American 'freedom'_ a view I'm sure he acquired under 40 years of communism_ with the stark reality of selfish American consumerism. Things got a little bit more intriguing for me when we started talking about religion. The mayor, who is most likely atheist like most Czechs, admitted that he admired Americans for their belief and their dedication to a faith, but couldn't understand how these "pious" Americans could live a life of over-spending (get the economic bend to his thinking?). He went so far as to ponder, out loud, "isn't it immoral!?"

Could you believe it!? An atheist having an opinion about the morality of American Christians!?
I left the meeting feeling a little refreshed. Surprising, isn't it? I didn't want to throw his opinions out the window as just another uneducated thought about American people, because I knew that that wasn't the truth. Instead, I took them to heart and believe that part of me living here might be so that I am able to critically look at MY culture, MY people and MY story and ask those same questions.

Maybe one of the reasons why my thoughts seem so conflicting and confused, is because they are always going against each other: I am yearning for the 'story' and the 'commonplace' that Berry refers to, but I am also getting a good sound lesson from the Czechs about why that 'commonplace' shouldn't be idealized. Maybe coming to grips with this knowledge is a first step in really appreciating home, friends and family. It just sucks that it has to be so damn hard.