I started this week by ringing in the new year at a party in an abandoned Soviet-era metro station/bunker and finished it up with a snowball fight on top of a frozen sea. In between, I was able to have my first unscripted, reactive conversations during Russian lessons, I thumped out the first 12,000 words of a new book, and finally got tickets to see the Novosibirsk professional hockey team play. It’s been a good new year.
As the end of 2016 approached, I saw a distinct trend online: an incredibly high percentage of friends posted sentiments to this general effect: “I know I’m supposed to think 2016 was miserable, but it was actually a pretty good year for me because…” And then the obligatory addendum: “But, don’t get me wrong, it was still a bad year because politics happened and people died and so on.”
I’ll offer the same addendum. Some awful things happened. All over the world, good people died, bad people had success, worse people treated others poorly, and the protestors of the poor treatment were ignored and met with more ugly behavior. But the trend of people having quietly good years under this backdrop is hopeful. Because at the end of the day, most of has have control of nothing more than our own quiet lives. I’m of the opinion that our job as humans on this earth is primarily to be as good to each other when we’re able, to resist and attack evil at every opportunity, and to work together toward these ends when possible. I wish that my sphere of influence were larger. I wish I were in charge of producing a list of presidential cabinet nominees, and that I were in charge of determining whether the people with whom I share a national identity were capable of being racists, criminals, or generally bad people. I think I’d make some pretty reasonable decisions on those fronts, but unfortunately, I don’t get to.
What I do get to do is interact with the great people I love, and to engage in work that I hope will inspire other people to make better choices about the concepts listed above.
Simply, I refuse to be bullied into adopting the idea that personal misery is a badge of honor. I plan to do what good I can for as many people as I’m able, to engage in my work in a way that lifts up as many people as possible and encourages them to be loving and gracious, and to resist panicking about the things I can’t change. That’s been my mode of operation so far in 2017, and it’s yielded new friends, professional success, and new possibilities. That doesn’t mean I won’t find complaints and faults with the world around me and even my community. But for me, personally, the collective handwringing at which so many of us have become so skilled just isn’t effective enough any longer. I’ll spend this year, and hopefully those after it, working to be the best human I can be and producing the best work I can in hopes of helping others to become better, too.
The hockey game I witnessed Tuesday afternoon was particularly interesting, partially because of the opponent. Novosibirsk defeated Yaroslalvl Locomotiv in a shootout. If Locomotiv sounds vaguely familiar to you, it’s probably because of a devastating event. They team’s players, coaches, and support staff were killed in a 2011 plane crash, eerily similar to the 1970 crash of the football team’s plane for which my home campus, Marshall University, is so well known. Similar to the NCAA’s relaxation of some rules to help the MU team get back on its feet, the Kontinental Hockey League relaxed some rules about foreign players, and Yaroslavl is once again a national powerhouse and a national symbol of a team working to overcome adversity.
On Thursday, I got to spend some time withFulbright alumnus who returned to Novosibirsk to visit friends, faculty, and students from his time in the community. A group of us trekked to the Ob Sea, an enormous man-made lake south of central Novosibirsk. We spent a couple of hours walking on the frozen sea, engaging in some pretty compelling snowball fights, and generally enjoying the season. Playing in six-foot-deep snowdrifts might not be everybody’s cup of tea, but when there’s been snow on the ground nonstop since mid-October, you’re eventually forced to make a decision about the world of powdery white around you: sulk in your room or learn to enjoy it. I think the attached photos should give you a pretty good idea of which direction I chose on that question.
Tomorrow is Russian Christmas. One of the Russian customs I’ve taken to heart is the way that parents teach their children to interact with the holiday.
Russian parents take their children to see Ded Moroz (Russian Santa, essentially) just like America parents, but with one notable difference. Instead of the children presenting a list of wants and demands, the children recite a poem as a gift to Ded Moroz—often one that they’ve composed themselves. Then, they accept whatever he gives them with gratitude.
Now, certainly I understand the origin of the Santa wish list: it’s a great way for parents to gather information about what their kids want. But what a great lesson to teach. Give before you ever expect anything in turn, and be grateful whenever something unearned comes your way. Also, the tradition doubles as one big, national poetry workshop, and you simply can’t go wrong with that.
Next week: more hockey, more writing and—wait for it—more snow.
Fulbright Disclaimer: the views represented in this blog are my own and do not represent the Fulbright Program or the U.S. Department of State.