"What, exactly, do you do?"
"What does your average day look like?"
"Can you explain what you're doing in Latvia?"
"Do you have a job? Or something? What do you do?"


I'm a student.¹


This is my go-to reply when asked any of the questions above, or various and sundry other permutations of them. Sometimes people just want a simple answer that they can categorize, define, and shelve away for future reference. "I'm a student" gives them the freedom to do that, but it also helps remind me of my primary role here.


I'm a student in the traditional sense, as I'm enrolled in a full-time masters program at a university here in Riga.² It's been a great chance to meet some other students, learn about the education system from the inside, and get some more training and experience along the way. The university has graciously offered to include a language component in the study program as well, which makes it an even more worthwhile opportunity.³ It's been a learning experience on every level imaginable so far, and I'm sure will continue to be so through the remainder of my study program.



Beyond just my university studies, though, I want that label - student - to categorize how I approach my entire life. If I hope to become fluent in the culture as well as the language, then I need to begin with the understanding that "I know nothing."If I'm able to recognize and absorb that concept, then it puts me in a place where I'm ready to learn everything.

In order to arrive at what you do not know
You must go by a way which is the way of ignorance.
In order to possess what you do not possess
You must go by the way of dispossession.
In order to arrive at what you are not
You must go through the way in which you are not
 


A few weeks ago, in a small group I meet regularly with, a discussion started on a controversial topic. As it happened, this particular topic has been of great personal interest to me, and about which I've done quite a bit of personal study and research in the past. So I had, as I felt, something to offer, something to communicate, even something to teach.

But as I sat there listening, I realized that even though I understood what was being said, I lacked the words - not to mention the mental processing speed and acuity - to be able to jump into the conversation. Once I conjugated my verbs, formulated semi-coherent sentences from my meager vocabulary, and inserted myself into the flow of conversation, enough time would have passed that my comment would drag us backwards in the discussion, not forwards

So I sat there, internally chafing away as I thought of intelligent and clever questions long after the time for them had passed, frustrated with myself and my poor language skills. 

But then the thought slowly dawned on me that I did have the opportunity to contribute something meaningful; to sit, to watch, to listen, to learn...

And to pray.

Isn't that a valuable contribution? Perhaps the most valuable?


A Psalm I've been reading from recently says this:

"Let all that I am wait quietly before God." 

To be here - to really be here, in a fully-present and fully-functioning sense - I need first to learn how to sit, to watch, to listen and to learn. 


To be immersed and observant at the same time.

(In other words, to pray).


And you know what? It's hard. Really hard. And it doesn't matter what country or culture I'm in, the struggle is the same. Because to be a student means admitting that I don't know it all, that I need to learn, that I'm not the center-of-the-universe, master-of-everything that my inner ego often tries to convince myself that I am.

Each of us is born with a series of built-in confusions that are probably somehow Darwinian.  These are: (1) we’re central to the universe (that is, our personal story is the main and most interesting story, the only story, really); (2) we’re separate from the universe (there’s US and then, out there, all that other junk – dogs and swing-sets, and the State of Nebraska and low-hanging clouds and, you know, other people), and (3) we’re permanent (death is real, o.k., sure – for you, but not for me).
Now, we don’t really believe these things – intellectually we know better – but we believe them viscerally, and live by them, and they cause us to prioritize our own needs over the needs of others, even though what we really want, in our hearts, is to be less selfish, more aware of what’s actually happening in the present moment, more open, and more loving. 

Self-identifying as a student gives me the space - and the grace - to learn. 
And to be reminded that it's less about what I have to give, and more about what I'm willing to learn. And that its not about me, as much as I'd like to think that it is.



I'm here to be a student, and I hope and pray that I will become one in the fullest sense possible.






¹I'm more than just a student, but I can only cover one facet at a time- two more to come soon
²By the way, if you're ever considering higher education, you should strongly consider getting it overseas. It costs me the same for an entire year in a Master's program what I paid for one class when I was working on my Bachelor's degree ten years ago. 
³At least, that's the plan; it still hasn't happened yet, but will hopefully occur soon. Things tend to happen in a more spontaneous and informal way here. 
I wrote some more about this idea last year here
From Four Quartets, by T.S. Eliot
Confession time: I've been unfocused and unmotivated when it comes to my language studies this term. Sad but true. I say this here to hopefully motivate myself into a more consistent effort in the new year
I have skills, gifts, talents, experience, wisdom, and so much more to offer. For sure. But am I offering it from a place of power or a place of prayer? That's the question
From Psalm 62
From a NYT reprint of a speech by George Saunders





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