An Homage to a Home

Malta

Almost exactly two years ago, I wrote The Homage to Going Somewhere Else in which I wondered aloud about how I’d ended up in Brasilia. Now, the day after my last day at work down here, I’m wondering why I haven’t lived in the same home or apartment for more than 9 months throughout the past 9 years.

All summer, people have been asking me where I’m from. The short answer is that I’m from DC. The long story is that I was born in Salt Lake City, grew up in DC, and now live in San Diego and my parents have moved back to Salt Lake City. I guess the only reason this is complicated is because the short answer is a place where I was neither born, nor currently live, nor where my family is based. The other complication is that I don’t know where I want to live.

I’ve been in Rio for a couple of months, a marvelous city, but a city with a lot of problems. I’ve been lucky to work with some great people at the Committee for Democracy in Information Technology (CDI) who are dedicated to solving some of Rio’s problems and I’d like to think I’ve helped them a bit, but I keep finding myself haunted by the realization that I left a city with problems of its own when I left San Diego.

Comparing San Diego’s problems to Rio’s might sound ridiculous, but problems are problems nonetheless. And while I don’t think there’s anything wrong with lending my help to Brazil per se, I’ve found that in whatever way I’ve been able to help CDI, my ability to help solve Rio’s problems is severely handicapped by a number of factors.

First: language. I can converse in Portuguese and even hold an engaging conversation with several people at a time. Nonetheless, I’m no expert and my inability to understand the nuances of the language prohibits me from working at my fullest in a professional Portuguese-speaking environment.

Second: culture. Let it be known that when I say I love Latin Americans, I mean it. I love being in Latin America and I attribute most of this love to the people here. I love the people I’ve worked with, dined with, danced with, worshipped with, etc. We laugh! I feel very welcomed and at home here, I feel as though I have a robust understanding of the culture, but…there’s a membrane, something barely there that—for all I’ve tried—I can’t penetrate.

The fact is, that despite my scattered roots within the United States, I’m a full-blooded United Statian (let’s be aware) and there’s nothing I can do about that. There’s also nothing I want to do about that. I love my country and my fellow United Statians, passionately. And, thanks to this divide, it follows that I’m not Brazilian.

Third: I don’t want to live here. While more time immersed in Rio could probably solve the first two factors, that’s not going to happen because I’d rather live in San Diego than live here. I could level some criticisms at Rio and/or wider Brazil, but I could do the same for San Diego and/or United States. It’s not that there’s anything wrong with Brazil. The simple fact is that part of the priceless perspective I’ve gained from traveling is that my home is somewhere in the United States. Right now I feel like it’s in San Diego.

Whatever work I do down here is diminished by these three factors. The first two factors entitle me to a kind of special treatment because I’m often exempt from heavy work because my colleagues often assume that I don’t understand (due to language) or don’t get what’s going on (due to culture). Furthermore, if I’m ever feeling lazy I might be tempted to play the “I’m a foreigner card” (Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I’m just a caveman.) to get out of any hard work.

It’s the third factor, however, that I believe is most crucial. Admitting that I don’t want to live here is hard for me because I really do love it here and I’ll be sad to leave. I love working with the people I’ve met here. However, part of what makes me love this so much is the fact that this place is foreign to me. My mind is constantly stimulated by the newness of the experience, but that’s not going to last.

Much of the glaze of my life down here is owed to the brevity of the experience. If I were to stay longer, not have a fellowship, have to make a living, etc, my life would become more of a grind no matter what. What’s more, I’d feel like I’d abandoned a lot of family and friends in the United States.

It’s this brevity that I want to talk about most. Except for some fleeting fantasies, I’ve never seriously considered permanently transplanting myself to Rio, Brazil, or anywhere outside the United States. This, more than anything, has shielded me from having to fully immerse myself in the work we’re doing at CDI.

One of the most poignant experiences of my Mormon mission in Venezuela happened towards the end of it, six years ago. I walked, mentally surveying some of my accomplishments as a missionary in the city where I’d been living. I soon found myself overwhelmed by the feeling that much of what I’d managed to build there would eventually crumble and whatever impact I’d had would soon be forgotten or unnoticeable. Then, I suddenly found my hope restored by my faith that, somehow, everything would be alright (the essence of hope and most rock and roll).

Now, that was a nice faith-building experience for me and I can take comfort in that hope as I leave CDI, but I feel like I’m reaching a time when I should commit myself to something other than finite service projects in places that aren’t my home. To me, knowing that there’s going to be a time when I can retreat from whatever problem I’m tackling and go home inhibits me from giving my all.

As I mentioned before, San Diego has problems. Why am I not excited to tackle them? Well, because those problems keep coming, and I can’t walk away from them when I get tired. Because saying that I’m going to Brazil to work for a non-profit, sounds much sexier than building a life in San Diego and volunteering at the library and being a good neighbor. Because if I tackle problems in my home, I have to own those problems and they’re cumbersome by definition.

Besides the fact that I believe I’d work better in my “home” environment, I hope that some discipline and permanence will allow me to actually develop a real expertise (perhaps a fourth factor keeping me from giving my all down here). Perhaps in a few years, when I’m really good at something other than traveling, I’ll be able to come back down here and lend a much more helpful hand.

Discipline. Stay put. Hold still. Discipline!