It snowed a few days ago here in Riga. It wasn't a big storm, and what snow it managed to deposit on the sidewalks and rooftops and park benches has now all but disappeared. I did a peculiarly sensible thing - peculiar for me, anyways - while it was snowing and stayed inside. I abandoned my morning run,¹ enjoyed a good book, and spent some time doing some organizing and unpacking - a seemingly never-ending task - around the flat.
The next morning - Saturday - I ventured out for my first run of the winter. The snow of the previous day was, by this point, compressed into a microscopically thin layer of clear-coat icing over the sidewalks and streets, pavement and cobblestones. Running in a straight line was a minor issue. Turning and stopping were major ones.
Somehow, I survived without any major catastrophes. I'm not the most coordinated person in the best of circumstances, and traversing icy sidewalks is definitely not the best of circumstances. I've had my share of falls and tumbles,² so to return with both my body and my dignity intact was a source of great pride and satisfaction.
At least, it was until the next morning. Upon awakening, it seemed as if every muscle in my body - legs, back, arms, even my neck - had decided to age about fifty years overnight. After all the miles I logged this past month, I did not expect a low-intensity morning run over a middling distance to leave me feeling crippled the next morning.
Have you ever been in a Wal-Mart? If you're an American, then surely you must have at some point. Have you been in more than one? Have you noticed that the layout of most of the stores is very similar but not identical? I find this phenomenon to be incredibly disorienting. You walk in, and there's enough visual cues to give it the air of familiarity. But no two are the same. Something's always different, and that's what causes the synapses in my brain to misfire and throw me into utter chaos.³ If you expected it to be different, it'd be no problem, but because it looks almost the same, you anticipate a structure and layout that exists only in your memory.
Have you ever driven on the other side of the road? You know which side I'm talking about.⁴ The one that takes you off of autopilot and makes you think about every single little thing you're doing while driving. You don't notice how much effort it takes to drive until you've had to re-learn how to navigate and shift and even turn, for goodness' sake. The weird part about it is that it feels so incredibly similar to driving on the usual side of the road, but something's just not quite the same. It's incredibly disorienting. You sit down in the driver's seat, and there's enough visual and even tactile clues to give it the air of familiarity. But it's not the same. If you expected it to be different, it'd be no problem, but because it looks and feels almost the same, you anticipate a structure and layout that exists only in your memory.
Welcome to culture shock.
The hardest things to acclimate to are not the obviously different, but the subtly dissimilar. They catch you unawares, stretching muscles you thought were well-conditioned and tasking your brain with mental exercises it long ago relegated to the realm of the unconscious.
Sort of like running on ice.
You expect a phrase spoken in a language you understand to mean exactly what you think it does.⁵ This is how you purchase something in the supermarket, since it feels and looks so similar to the ones back home.⁶ When you cross the street, this is the direction you look and that is the moral compass you use to decide whether you can cross on red without breaking the spirit of the law.
So familiar.
So foreign.
At the end of my run, just about when I was beginning to feel firm on my feet,⁷ and while I had cautiously begin to congratulate myself on making it so far without any dramatic flailing and falling, I saw something which made me realize just how far I had to go:
A woman crossed the road right in front of me.
Running at a full sprint, so as to beat the traffic light.
In high heels.
Across icy cobblestones.⁸
Respect.
Despite having spent a fair amount of time here in Latvia over the past several years, I'm constantly reminded of the following fact:
I know nothing.
I try and repeat it to myself at least once a day. It helps. It re-orients. It puts the focus on learning, and not on assuming. It makes me stop, look, and listen. It explains sore muscles, tired brains, and baby steps on icy cobblestones.
If I know nothing, then I can learn something. (I hope!).
Most importantly of all, by embracing my own ignorance, it helps point me towards Jesus, where I know I can find the strength and wisdom I need to walk these familiarly different roads.
And hopefully when the inevitable and ungraceful swan-dives onto the pavement do occur, I manage to keep the injuries just to myself, and avoid taking anyone else down with me.
"If you think you are standing strong, be careful not to fall."⁹
¹Needless to say, I've dialed back down the mileage after reaching my goal of traversing the length of Latvia before leaving England. My legs have been rejoicing at the lighter load
²Three broken arms, two broken ribs, and a broken collarbone, foot, and toe (all at different times, thank goodness) would all attest to both my clumsiness and frailty
³Slight over-exaggeration here
⁴I'm intentionally avoiding using the word "right" to avoid being accused of attributing value to one side of the road over the other. Even though one side is clearly the right side.
⁵It doesn't.
⁶It's not.
⁷Mostly because the ice had a good start on melting by that point
⁸I neither recommend this particular activity, nor do I hold it up as the pinnacle of cultural acclimation. It merely serves to illustrate the fact that it doesn't pay to pat yourself on the back for accomplishing pedestrian tasks.
⁹1 Cor. 10:12
The next morning - Saturday - I ventured out for my first run of the winter. The snow of the previous day was, by this point, compressed into a microscopically thin layer of clear-coat icing over the sidewalks and streets, pavement and cobblestones. Running in a straight line was a minor issue. Turning and stopping were major ones.
Somehow, I survived without any major catastrophes. I'm not the most coordinated person in the best of circumstances, and traversing icy sidewalks is definitely not the best of circumstances. I've had my share of falls and tumbles,² so to return with both my body and my dignity intact was a source of great pride and satisfaction.
At least, it was until the next morning. Upon awakening, it seemed as if every muscle in my body - legs, back, arms, even my neck - had decided to age about fifty years overnight. After all the miles I logged this past month, I did not expect a low-intensity morning run over a middling distance to leave me feeling crippled the next morning.
Have you ever been in a Wal-Mart? If you're an American, then surely you must have at some point. Have you been in more than one? Have you noticed that the layout of most of the stores is very similar but not identical? I find this phenomenon to be incredibly disorienting. You walk in, and there's enough visual cues to give it the air of familiarity. But no two are the same. Something's always different, and that's what causes the synapses in my brain to misfire and throw me into utter chaos.³ If you expected it to be different, it'd be no problem, but because it looks almost the same, you anticipate a structure and layout that exists only in your memory.
Have you ever driven on the other side of the road? You know which side I'm talking about.⁴ The one that takes you off of autopilot and makes you think about every single little thing you're doing while driving. You don't notice how much effort it takes to drive until you've had to re-learn how to navigate and shift and even turn, for goodness' sake. The weird part about it is that it feels so incredibly similar to driving on the usual side of the road, but something's just not quite the same. It's incredibly disorienting. You sit down in the driver's seat, and there's enough visual and even tactile clues to give it the air of familiarity. But it's not the same. If you expected it to be different, it'd be no problem, but because it looks and feels almost the same, you anticipate a structure and layout that exists only in your memory.
Welcome to culture shock.
The hardest things to acclimate to are not the obviously different, but the subtly dissimilar. They catch you unawares, stretching muscles you thought were well-conditioned and tasking your brain with mental exercises it long ago relegated to the realm of the unconscious.
Sort of like running on ice.
You expect a phrase spoken in a language you understand to mean exactly what you think it does.⁵ This is how you purchase something in the supermarket, since it feels and looks so similar to the ones back home.⁶ When you cross the street, this is the direction you look and that is the moral compass you use to decide whether you can cross on red without breaking the spirit of the law.
So familiar.
So foreign.
At the end of my run, just about when I was beginning to feel firm on my feet,⁷ and while I had cautiously begin to congratulate myself on making it so far without any dramatic flailing and falling, I saw something which made me realize just how far I had to go:
A woman crossed the road right in front of me.
Running at a full sprint, so as to beat the traffic light.
In high heels.
Across icy cobblestones.⁸
Respect.
Despite having spent a fair amount of time here in Latvia over the past several years, I'm constantly reminded of the following fact:
I know nothing.
I try and repeat it to myself at least once a day. It helps. It re-orients. It puts the focus on learning, and not on assuming. It makes me stop, look, and listen. It explains sore muscles, tired brains, and baby steps on icy cobblestones.
If I know nothing, then I can learn something. (I hope!).
Most importantly of all, by embracing my own ignorance, it helps point me towards Jesus, where I know I can find the strength and wisdom I need to walk these familiarly different roads.
And hopefully when the inevitable and ungraceful swan-dives onto the pavement do occur, I manage to keep the injuries just to myself, and avoid taking anyone else down with me.
"If you think you are standing strong, be careful not to fall."⁹
¹Needless to say, I've dialed back down the mileage after reaching my goal of traversing the length of Latvia before leaving England. My legs have been rejoicing at the lighter load
²Three broken arms, two broken ribs, and a broken collarbone, foot, and toe (all at different times, thank goodness) would all attest to both my clumsiness and frailty
³Slight over-exaggeration here
⁴I'm intentionally avoiding using the word "right" to avoid being accused of attributing value to one side of the road over the other. Even though one side is clearly the right side.
⁵It doesn't.
⁶It's not.
⁷Mostly because the ice had a good start on melting by that point
⁸I neither recommend this particular activity, nor do I hold it up as the pinnacle of cultural acclimation. It merely serves to illustrate the fact that it doesn't pay to pat yourself on the back for accomplishing pedestrian tasks.
⁹1 Cor. 10:12
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| icy cobblestone street in Old Riga |