Mama, I'm Comin' Home

     The day is here. I really don't know what to say so forgive me if this sounds like a lot of rambling. There are a lot of emotions running through my head right now. Some of them are familiar. Two years ago when I was returning home from my first English camp, I felt a lot of the same things. Anger, loss, sadness, frustration. Just writing this is tough. I know it'll take a lot longer than a day to get over it. If past experiences are any indication, I will not ever feel the same.

     Since it's tough to put all my feelings into words, I've organized this short playlist of songs that sort of conveys what I'm feeling today. I write better than I speak (95% of the time). But I think songs do a great job of filling in the space between reading and listening to me speak. If someone else has said it better than me and put it to music, then I'll let them do the talking. I'll link the lyrics so you can read them.

• Atonement by Anberlin lyrics
• Long Journey by Sarah Jarosz lyrics
• Ramble On by Led Zeppelin lyrics
• Have You Ever Seen the Rain? by Rod Stewart lyrics

     In truth, I wrote most of this post about a month ago. My schedule and forecast emotional state on the departure day dictated that. Even then, though, I could feel the first twinges of emotions over leaving. I know it's not, but this departure feels final. Like I'll never see anyone here again. Like I'll never smell the combination of cigarette smoke and fresh-cut dill. Like I'll never ride a marshrutka again. The ocean is a wide, lonely place.
     Think back to 2014. My team has just finished saying goodbye to the last of our new Ukrainian friends. We pass through security, find something to eat or drink and then sit to wait for our flight to be called. In those moments, my depression started to set in. It stayed with me for the whole flight. In truth, it was several days that it stuck with me. Seeing family and friends did cheer me up. But those other feelings remained.
     For the course of the flight, I could barely talk. My mom attempted to goad information out of me about the people I met and my thoughts on the camp. But sitting in the aisle seat, I could think of nothing more than hating the fact that I was going home to my normal life. I'd just had this taste of the big, wide world and now I was returning to my own, tiny corner of it. I stewed in my anger, sadness, and frustration for every one of the excruciating ten hours until touchdown at JFK. It didn't help that every person passing me in the aisle bumped my arm, leg or shoulder. I could only sleep fitfully, if at all. I have a feeling my impending flight will resemble that flight two years ago.
     In their own way, those emotions I wrestled with drove me to where I am today. The trip revealed how much I really desired to change my job. It also revealed new options for a vocation. Again I'm at that crossroads and I'm wondering what the future holds.

     Like I said, this departure isn't final. But it feels like it. People have asked me occasionally for the past couple months if I will come back to Ukraine. I tell them yes, definitely. I just don't know how, when or in what capacity. Whether with a missions organization like MTW, a vacation, or on another short term trip like in 2003 or 2014, I don't know. All I know is that I want to come back. For the moment though, there are quite a few things I need to take care of at home.
     For starters, I think I'll check off the list I made back on July 25th. I need to spend time with family and friends again. I need to get a steering wheel in my hands, sawdust in my nose, and Pennsylvania back into my blood. The simplest goal to express is that I want to be American in America for a while.
     I want to go. I don't want to go. Seriously. I'm vacillating between those two feelings faster than a computer can cycle. I want to go home. I want to see my friends, to hold my cat, to smell the wood dust in my dad's workshop, to hug my parents again. But simultaneously I want to stay here. I feel like I'm abandoning all the friends I've made over the past thirteen months. I want to hang out in the English club, to teach people how to play Spot-It, to explain the differences between "can" and "may," to see people grow in their English skills, and to laugh at jokes in Russian I only half understand.
     Such is the desire to return. I know there is a place for me here if I want to come back. The English club always needs teachers. Big City and Liberty churches always have room for helpers in their outreach programs. There are countless ways to stay involved. It's only a matter of answering the call and going.

One of the first Walking English meetings. (me, Yuri, Anne, Dasha, Olya)

     There comes a point in any situation, usually after a long passage of time, where it feels like you've always been there. I'm at that point. Actually, it happened a while ago. For some people here, they felt it a long time ago that I "have always been here." That's why it feels so wrong to go now. Feeling like I've always been here is strongly related to the feeling of "belonging." For the past thirteen months, it felt like I belonged here. It still does.
     Changing tracks a bit, I know one idea I want to specifically emphasize now is this. If you see me over the course of the next few months, do not ask me "How was it?" I know you may mean well. But not only is that entirely the wrong question, I find it insulting as well. I will explain.
     Those three words, or similar variations, form such a simple interrogatory. Concurrently, they demand that thirteen months of my life be condensed into an equally simple reply. It is insulting to ask me to create a concise answer that will appease passing curiosity. Passing curiosity is the only driver of that question. In modern culture, American culture especially, we focus far too much on the superficial relationships in our lives. We're concerned with how many followers we have on Twitter or how many thousand "friends" we have on Facebook. This isn't a rant against social media. It's an indictment against culture. We too often care about connecting with as many people as possible while, at the same time, forgoing the close, intimate relationships with a few select friends.

How could I possibly explain this through small talk?

     Asking "how was it" is simply an opportunity to check the box on the quick connection quota of the day. Think about the years you spent at college, or as a child, or in the military. If I ask you that same question, how would you distill your multitude of experiences over those years into a short, pithy idea? At the same time, do you feel like I really care about what you did during those formative years? Do you feel like I want to hear more? Or does it feel like I'm just making small talk?
     Massive life events should not be relegated to "small talk" status. Your life is more than a snapshot, more than a soundbite, more than a news blurb (или заметки). By the mere nature of us being human, experiences like I lived deserve more than passing curiosity. That is why "how was it" is exactly the wrong question.
     The point is, if you truly want to know more, put thought and effort in your questions. Instead of asking drab and bland questions, allow me suggest some alternative (and far more intelligent) questions that you may pose.

• What is the biggest lesson you learned in Ukraine?
• In what ways have you grown during the time there?
• Will you go back? If so, then how?
• How can I learn more about what's going on in Ukraine?
• What kinds of spiritual fruit did you see in your ministry?
• How have you changed personally from the thirteen months in Ukraine?

     Was that a little harsh? I prefer to think of it as direct. I guess I'm learning something from my Ukrainian friends. I've learned over the past two years that being direct isn't mean or belittling. Yes, the truth hurts sometimes. But it's always the best option. And yes, it can be tempered with a gentle telling. That does get lost in the typing. I'd say it almost the same way if I were talking to you face-to-face. However, I may cut it down to the highlights of the diatribe. Just the simple parts like "that's the wrong question, may I suggest some better ones?"
     This is not the last post of Brian and Ukraine. I'll write a little more as I get settled back into my American life over the next few weeks. Perhaps about things I miss from Ukraine. Most definitely about what I'll be doing with myself over the coming months. It seems like I've developed a bit of a following here. The world-wide audience might get upset if I suddenly stopped posting. And in the event that I do return to Ukraine, I'll have a familiar and comfortable place to write about it. Keep this page bookmarked and check back soon.

     Well, my flight is about to leave. I want to go. I don't want to go.
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     I'll see you on the other side.