"Люблю тебя, Петра творенья..."
My last post concluded with the words, "I knew I was home." It's been a week since I returned, and I can safely say that the feelings of home still remain. At the present moment, I'm sitting in Smolny, the same place where I studied two years ago. I see familiar faces, say "привет" (hello) to those I know, and wander halls that once confused the hell out of me (okay, they still do - that's what happens when you turn a mansion into an educational institution). Everyone asks me if I'm studying here or teaching. I want to answer yes to each and every one of them (specifically that I'm teaching, not studying - I need a bit of a break from that), and come here every day as I did before. That however is not where my road is leading at the present moment. I still need to go further East before returning back again надолго (for awhile).
I could say that it's as if I never left, but I did leave. Just as there are familiar faces still at Smolny, there are just as many that no longer wander the halls. Replacing them are already two new classes of students. These faces are completely new to me. It's easy I think to get nostalgic about a place or a person, and I am certainly a person who gets nostalgic quite often, however it does us no good to constantly live in that nostalgia. It can keep us from living and being in the present. First coming back to Saint Petersburg and Smolny, every spot I had been before would elicit memories, both happy and sad, and pictures of the past. I would stare and remember and an urging inside me would long for a return to those times. Everything was so much better, wasn't it? That is to assume, as if the present is worse than the past. It isn't though - the present is alive and moving and open to just as many possibilities as I experienced in the past. Thus, my nostalgia is disappearing little by little.
I noticed it first on the second day of my being in the city. At first I was afraid, thinking "Oh no! This must mean I don't love St. Petersburg as much as I thought!" I walked to places where I had been, searching for something to be nostalgic about, but it became more and more difficult. I was getting worried. Walking the halls of Smolny, I wanted to feel as if I hadn't left - I wanted to remember all that had happened. I couldn't figure this out on my own though and it took a rather неприятный охраник (an unpleasant security guard) to snap me out of this state. It was the second time I came to Smolny and I had my passport ready. Theoretically, they would let me in (there is a law I believe that states that anyone with a passport can be let into state academic institutions). The security guard that morning apparently did not think I was worthy of that law and did not grant me entrance. I was mad. For one whole year I came and went from this place freely. I studied and worked here and now this guy is telling me I can't enter?! Eventually the problem was resolved with some heated discussion led by one of my former professors (my Midwestern temper just wasn't going to do the job). It hit me like a brick just then: I was taking it all for granted. I had assumed they would let me through without argument and I could continue on as before as if I had not been gone for a year. That's not how its going to work for me though. I have been gone for a year and Smolny has survived, but not the nostalgia and that's okay.
Nostalgia has its place of course. Its what drove me in my efforts to return to St. Petersburg and to Russia. Pictures of the past burned in my mind and soul like fuel in a steam engine. Sometimes the expectations about my return were unrealistic perhaps (like being met at the airport by a representative of the Russian government who would give me citizenship), but it was what I needed at the time. Now that I've arrived, I need to (and have to a certain degree) shed those thoughts and embrace the reality of what is. St. Petersburg is still just as beautiful as it was two years ago, but Russia has changed and so have I, and so have the people I knew. To expect that things will be just as they were two years ago is even more unrealistic than expecting the Russian government to grant me citizenship upon arrival (I'm still holding out though, you never know). Nostalgia like that can be harmful. I'm holding myself in a mold that I've outgrown and the same goes for the city and my friends. Thus I cast aside that mold.
When something bad happens in the past, they say you should forget it and move on. It may take some time, but it is important to move that memory to a place where it won't bother you in the present. I wonder if we do the same thing with happy memories? I've "moved on" in a sense from the happy memories I have in St. Petersburg, because I want to embrace the present and not be bound to the past. It isn't the same as forgetting as I still remember my year here with a smile, although the smile doesn't turn into sad longing. It becomes inspiration for the present. The past, whether happy or sad, can unhealthily hold me in one place. If I'm staring at a building I was in two years ago, remembering those times, I may not notice the new restaurant or museum that opened across the street. Whether I stand or move, the world is rushing past, and I want to be in that rush. Thus I keep the past where it is - in the past.
Yours,
Joey
My last post concluded with the words, "I knew I was home." It's been a week since I returned, and I can safely say that the feelings of home still remain. At the present moment, I'm sitting in Smolny, the same place where I studied two years ago. I see familiar faces, say "привет" (hello) to those I know, and wander halls that once confused the hell out of me (okay, they still do - that's what happens when you turn a mansion into an educational institution). Everyone asks me if I'm studying here or teaching. I want to answer yes to each and every one of them (specifically that I'm teaching, not studying - I need a bit of a break from that), and come here every day as I did before. That however is not where my road is leading at the present moment. I still need to go further East before returning back again надолго (for awhile).
I could say that it's as if I never left, but I did leave. Just as there are familiar faces still at Smolny, there are just as many that no longer wander the halls. Replacing them are already two new classes of students. These faces are completely new to me. It's easy I think to get nostalgic about a place or a person, and I am certainly a person who gets nostalgic quite often, however it does us no good to constantly live in that nostalgia. It can keep us from living and being in the present. First coming back to Saint Petersburg and Smolny, every spot I had been before would elicit memories, both happy and sad, and pictures of the past. I would stare and remember and an urging inside me would long for a return to those times. Everything was so much better, wasn't it? That is to assume, as if the present is worse than the past. It isn't though - the present is alive and moving and open to just as many possibilities as I experienced in the past. Thus, my nostalgia is disappearing little by little.
I noticed it first on the second day of my being in the city. At first I was afraid, thinking "Oh no! This must mean I don't love St. Petersburg as much as I thought!" I walked to places where I had been, searching for something to be nostalgic about, but it became more and more difficult. I was getting worried. Walking the halls of Smolny, I wanted to feel as if I hadn't left - I wanted to remember all that had happened. I couldn't figure this out on my own though and it took a rather неприятный охраник (an unpleasant security guard) to snap me out of this state. It was the second time I came to Smolny and I had my passport ready. Theoretically, they would let me in (there is a law I believe that states that anyone with a passport can be let into state academic institutions). The security guard that morning apparently did not think I was worthy of that law and did not grant me entrance. I was mad. For one whole year I came and went from this place freely. I studied and worked here and now this guy is telling me I can't enter?! Eventually the problem was resolved with some heated discussion led by one of my former professors (my Midwestern temper just wasn't going to do the job). It hit me like a brick just then: I was taking it all for granted. I had assumed they would let me through without argument and I could continue on as before as if I had not been gone for a year. That's not how its going to work for me though. I have been gone for a year and Smolny has survived, but not the nostalgia and that's okay.
Nostalgia has its place of course. Its what drove me in my efforts to return to St. Petersburg and to Russia. Pictures of the past burned in my mind and soul like fuel in a steam engine. Sometimes the expectations about my return were unrealistic perhaps (like being met at the airport by a representative of the Russian government who would give me citizenship), but it was what I needed at the time. Now that I've arrived, I need to (and have to a certain degree) shed those thoughts and embrace the reality of what is. St. Petersburg is still just as beautiful as it was two years ago, but Russia has changed and so have I, and so have the people I knew. To expect that things will be just as they were two years ago is even more unrealistic than expecting the Russian government to grant me citizenship upon arrival (I'm still holding out though, you never know). Nostalgia like that can be harmful. I'm holding myself in a mold that I've outgrown and the same goes for the city and my friends. Thus I cast aside that mold.
When something bad happens in the past, they say you should forget it and move on. It may take some time, but it is important to move that memory to a place where it won't bother you in the present. I wonder if we do the same thing with happy memories? I've "moved on" in a sense from the happy memories I have in St. Petersburg, because I want to embrace the present and not be bound to the past. It isn't the same as forgetting as I still remember my year here with a smile, although the smile doesn't turn into sad longing. It becomes inspiration for the present. The past, whether happy or sad, can unhealthily hold me in one place. If I'm staring at a building I was in two years ago, remembering those times, I may not notice the new restaurant or museum that opened across the street. Whether I stand or move, the world is rushing past, and I want to be in that rush. Thus I keep the past where it is - in the past.
Yours,
Joey
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