There once was a song...
I'm imagining one of those Planet Earth style cameras that sits on a tripod somewhere for twenty years while a tree grows. Then, we sit on a couch in front of a plasma tv wider than the couch with the surround sound on in super-fast-high-def-down-low-uproar vision, and watch this sucker grow into a titan of living things. The forest blurs across the screen and we get to experience first hand what might be called aural sex...
I'm imagining this camera sitting where I am, at the door of a school building, sheltered, at the beginning of the day in a place exactly like but perhaps not Burkina Faso. We see the sun rise, blazing, above the sparse savannah. People trudge by, faces glistening with sweat. There's a vague haze obscuring everything.
Then the clouds flood in. On this camera, like an invading army, blocking out the sun. Dry from my spot in the doorway, my place on the couch, I feel the humidity of the air. I look for the haze, but can't find it. And it's pouring. I've been somehow, without moving a toe, displaced to the underside of a waterfall as the rain pours off the roof, into lake in front of me, non-existant only moments before.
The rain stops. Clouds still there. The sun sets behind them, and we watch through the night as wind tickles the leaves of trees in full bloom. In the morning, the clouds are gone. The sun comes up. People walk by, faces glistening, haze obscuring. All over again.
Except being here is nothing like watching it on a screen. Maybe Todo did a better job of capturing it.
Monday, July 26, 2010
Saturday, July 24, 2010
24
I wanted this post to be about America. About what shocked me upon re-entry, and about what culture shock looks like from the other end of the swimming pool. But, frankly, I talked about that enough when I was home, and I’ll go through it all over again in another year, where I can tell you all about it in person. And I still haven’t had time to process it all.
What’s on my mind now—and what was really on my mind the whole time I was home—isn’t so much about me as my…what would you call it? Generation? That is, all you buggers I grew up with (not, by any means, to say we’re all grown up).
I was class of ’08. That means two years have gone by since the end of undergrad. In the first year, a lot of us fumbled around and twiddled our thumbs, unsure of what to do next. Unemployed or regretfully employed. I played music and tutored a couple brats (and a few good students) on the side. I read books I’d always meant to read, but never had the time. I played more hockey than I had in years. I was arguably in the coveted “best shape of my life”. The day I flew out last year just about pinned that one year mark. Friends were working, living with their parents, finishing school, gettin’ schooled more. My baby sis was still passing her workdays in lecture halls. Nobody was engaged. Nobody owned a house. Nobody got knocked-up.
Ok, nobody’s gotten knocked up yet. But you’ve all gotten up a notch. By the time I’m done here, I’ll have missed between four and six weddings. Perhaps all of you will have bought houses or condos or at least rent an apartment. I hope you’re all close enough for a weekend visit. Now, don’t mistake my discussion of this as a hearkening for the good old days. I’m not resistant to these changes. In fact, I’m quite the opposite.
With a little sister just out of college, and a year of whatever-the-hell-this-thing-is under my belt, I find myself increasingly excited about what’s going on, about what’s to come. Out of the bubbled, isolated college world, we’ve all got real things to worry about. We’re finally taking our part in reshaping the world—it’s what the old fogies (pardon my bluntness) have been telling us would be our responsibility since before the re-election of Bill Clinton. Lots of you work in energy. An undeniably real problem. Others in psychology and medicine. Others in peacekeeping and business and art. And while the engagements and moves took me somewhat for surprise, it’s just a sign that we’re mature enough to handle that responsibility.
I also know I’m not the only one gambling, every time I take a step, that an earthquake of Haitian proportions won’t crumble beneath my foot. I don’t know what the next few years will bring me. All I’ve got’s whims and wits. But the wits keep growing.
But that’s exactly what makes being twenty-four so exciting! We get to poke our toes in waters we couldn’t before. We get to try and fail, and we don’t have to worry that failure will injure some silly grade point average.
So, I suppose I ought to thank all of you—for getting on with your lives. It shows me I can do the same. Really, could you imagine the degree of messed-up I’d be if I left for two years and nothing changed? I’d have to abandon you at your dead ends just to straighten my own stumbling feet. I can say, honest, that it never once during this vacation felt like “old times”. It was fresh and crisp. I felt the same connection with you, but it was forward-looking, positive. Nothing’s being lost. I feel more assured and confident. I realize that changes will happen in this next year, and I’m excited to jump in and share mine with you.
And as for the fogies: I have nothing to offer but thanks. (I make 3 bucks an hour). Thanks for supporting me in my choice to do something a little off-track. Thanks for providing for me enough that I have the chance to sniff out new experiences. For your endless, reckless enthusiasm. Thanks for pushing me to seek that out. And thanks for the granola bars.
I once described myself as a cynic. And I can’t rightly say if my shirking that descriptor is a result of my experiences here, or if it’s from knowing and experiencing the positive movement of friends. Or if it’s just something natural, a scheduled, coded program of biochemistry. In any case, what’s the fun in moping?
j
What’s on my mind now—and what was really on my mind the whole time I was home—isn’t so much about me as my…what would you call it? Generation? That is, all you buggers I grew up with (not, by any means, to say we’re all grown up).
I was class of ’08. That means two years have gone by since the end of undergrad. In the first year, a lot of us fumbled around and twiddled our thumbs, unsure of what to do next. Unemployed or regretfully employed. I played music and tutored a couple brats (and a few good students) on the side. I read books I’d always meant to read, but never had the time. I played more hockey than I had in years. I was arguably in the coveted “best shape of my life”. The day I flew out last year just about pinned that one year mark. Friends were working, living with their parents, finishing school, gettin’ schooled more. My baby sis was still passing her workdays in lecture halls. Nobody was engaged. Nobody owned a house. Nobody got knocked-up.
Ok, nobody’s gotten knocked up yet. But you’ve all gotten up a notch. By the time I’m done here, I’ll have missed between four and six weddings. Perhaps all of you will have bought houses or condos or at least rent an apartment. I hope you’re all close enough for a weekend visit. Now, don’t mistake my discussion of this as a hearkening for the good old days. I’m not resistant to these changes. In fact, I’m quite the opposite.
With a little sister just out of college, and a year of whatever-the-hell-this-thing-is under my belt, I find myself increasingly excited about what’s going on, about what’s to come. Out of the bubbled, isolated college world, we’ve all got real things to worry about. We’re finally taking our part in reshaping the world—it’s what the old fogies (pardon my bluntness) have been telling us would be our responsibility since before the re-election of Bill Clinton. Lots of you work in energy. An undeniably real problem. Others in psychology and medicine. Others in peacekeeping and business and art. And while the engagements and moves took me somewhat for surprise, it’s just a sign that we’re mature enough to handle that responsibility.
I also know I’m not the only one gambling, every time I take a step, that an earthquake of Haitian proportions won’t crumble beneath my foot. I don’t know what the next few years will bring me. All I’ve got’s whims and wits. But the wits keep growing.
But that’s exactly what makes being twenty-four so exciting! We get to poke our toes in waters we couldn’t before. We get to try and fail, and we don’t have to worry that failure will injure some silly grade point average.
So, I suppose I ought to thank all of you—for getting on with your lives. It shows me I can do the same. Really, could you imagine the degree of messed-up I’d be if I left for two years and nothing changed? I’d have to abandon you at your dead ends just to straighten my own stumbling feet. I can say, honest, that it never once during this vacation felt like “old times”. It was fresh and crisp. I felt the same connection with you, but it was forward-looking, positive. Nothing’s being lost. I feel more assured and confident. I realize that changes will happen in this next year, and I’m excited to jump in and share mine with you.
And as for the fogies: I have nothing to offer but thanks. (I make 3 bucks an hour). Thanks for supporting me in my choice to do something a little off-track. Thanks for providing for me enough that I have the chance to sniff out new experiences. For your endless, reckless enthusiasm. Thanks for pushing me to seek that out. And thanks for the granola bars.
I once described myself as a cynic. And I can’t rightly say if my shirking that descriptor is a result of my experiences here, or if it’s from knowing and experiencing the positive movement of friends. Or if it’s just something natural, a scheduled, coded program of biochemistry. In any case, what’s the fun in moping?
j
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