First, some background. After the collapse of the Soviet Union in the early 1990s, the Cuban economy went into a tailspin, having lost its principal benefactor. Many Cubans were desperate to leave the island, and in 1994, Fidel Castro announced that his government would not stop anybody who wanted to emigrate. Thus, thousands of Cubans built makeshift rafts—often by tearing apart their homes for the raw material—and embarked on the dangerous 90-mile journey to Florida.

Balseros (literally, "rafters") traces the stories of several Cubans who successfully emigrated, as well as the families they left behind. The filmmakers begin in Cuba during the exodus, and we are witness to carnivalesque scenes of throngs of people crowding and cheering the brave souls carrying their boats from their makeshift "shipyards" to the beach. We get a little background information on each of our protagonists, including their reasons for emigrating (some want to reunite with relatives in the U.S., others just want to provide a better life for their kin). As with many migrants who attempt to sail to Florida, the subjects of Balseros were intercepted by the U.S. Coast Guard and sent to the U.S. Naval Base at Guantánamo (well-known these days for decidedly different reasons). Even though they had to wait in Guantánamo for several months, the emigrants eventually received admission and were relocated in various states around the country.

The real power behind this documentary lies in its long-term approach. The filmmakers allowed their subjects to settle down, and then they returned several years later for follow-up visits and interviews. This helped them to avoid overly romanticized views of emigration, achieving the "American Dream," etc. The subjects of Balseros had very different experiences and—for lack of a better term—success rates. It is important to note that the most poignant and heartbreaking scenes involve not the subjects' financial situations, but rather, their family dynamics. One family was reunited and grew stronger as a result of the emigration; others broke apart, whether because of adultery or other negative circumstances.

What struck me most about the subjects was how little their experience changed them. Sure, their lives were altered radically by the emigration, but their personalities, motivations, and idiosyncrasies remained largely intact. What I found particularly sobering was the implication that people actually do not change substantially after a certain point in life; it is almost as though each of us reaches a chronological barrier after which we no longer become, but just are. Perhaps old dogs really can't learn new tricks.

This leads us back to the theme of place and the questions that Paul Marchbanks raised several weeks ago. While the old boundaries of geography have been decimated by technology—a phenomenon with tremendous practical effect on our lives—the really important question is whether "place" changes us on a fundamental level. It seems that if we are conscious enough of who we are (or at least of our habits and motivations), then place has a relatively minor effect on us. At some point in our human development, we learn to critique, modify, or abandon places before they can affect us. As mentioned, despite the major practical changes wrought on the lives of the emigrants in Balseros, they remained fundamentally the same people.

Thus, if place doesn't matter, then should we worry about privileging career over geography (or vice versa)? It seems that instead, we should be concerned about our motivations, which affect both the kinds of jobs we want to obtain and the kinds of places we want to inhabit. One can choose either a job or a location for selfish, shallow reasons that avoid the call of God. On the flip side, one can choose a job that in some way, large or small, furthers the Kingdom; one also can choose to live in an area (perhaps a poor neighborhood or country) so as to be ready to love and serve one's neighbor. Perhaps my response to Paul seems indecisive, but that's my point: We shouldn't get hung up on career vs. place but rather, focus on the state of our motivation.

(It is, of course, helpful to remind ourselves that the job-vs.-location anxiety—one which my wife and I experience—is a product of wealth and privilege. Being relatively sure of finding a job, regardless of location, allows one to indulge in such thinking. The subjects of Balseros, experiencing the brunt of Cuba's economic meltdown, didn't have much of a choice. Yes, they could have chosen to stay at home, but they knew that any significant opportunity to escape poverty was found 90 miles to the north.)

My sentiments remain the same in regards to the question of settling vs. moving. I, too, have wondered whether the itinerant life is somehow more noble; after all, if Jesus and the Twelve had no "permanent address," then is the middle class preoccupation with finding a good neighborhood or town (usually for the purpose of raising children) problematic? Again, the important issue is motivation. While many of the concerns of middle class Americans are problematic, they are not intrinsically so (e.g., if one has a child, it's not necessarily wrong to look for a good school district). In addition, those with itinerant lifestyles do not necessarily move around for selfless reasons; some folks are easily "bored," and their constant movement reflects a general lack of focus or commitment.

I highly recommend that those reading my words watch Balseros. For most Americans, it is a healthy reminder of the relative wealth that we enjoy and the lengths that some will go for a sliver of it. More importantly, it reminds us that at some point in our lives, place and geography become ephemeral, even immaterial. The real choice that we must make lies not between two points on a map but between this world and the next.