Independence Day

Speaking of "rites of passage," I believe I experienced one this past summer on Independence Day. Now I know what that word means.

Jared and I set out to the Barton Creek area to go for a hike before the heat of the day. He had never been in the area, but had seen it on some drives up Mopac. I have had some great experiences down there around Twin Falls before, so I was really excited to get to take him down there, too.

My goal wound up being to find Campbell's Hole. I spotted it on the map at the trailhead, and although I realized we started farther away than necessary, I figured the extra distance wouldn't kill us. It was a fun hike over brush and rocks in the dry creek. Only ever once in a while did we run into anyone else. We kept going that direction, and spotted a group of climbers. After passing a couple others and seeing no sign of Campbell's Hole, I asked a passerby if he knew where it was from where we were. Just up ahead, not too far.

Well, we walked and walked and it wasn't looking promising. There were a couple signs that appeared but they didn't make sense. Eventually I got tired of trying to find this elusive locale and led us up some slope that seemed to just head into the trees. All I was searching for was a good view of the area, anyway. Head into trees, it did. And not much else.

The ground was chalky and rocky on the way up and didn't get any better. There was hardly even a place to sit down. Jared did not approve of my choice. I had landed us in a predicament. The trip down that slope looked incredibly dangerous. We had two choices: either risk slipping on the slope and falling a long way, or find a way to get on top of the overhang above us.

After a good deal of consideration and concern, I felt better about climbing up than sliding down. (Ever notice how it's easier/safer/more comfortable to hike up a steep hill than down it?) I had gotten up into a small tree sticking out of the rocky wall and saw some possibilities. The next question was Do you want to go first, or do you want me to go first? Well, I don't want you to make it and then be stuck here if I can't. I'll go first. I grabbed hold of the rock. I kept second-guessing myself, though. I'm so small, so weak... can I really overcome this? Jared kept telling me to stop thinking about it and just DO it!

I was terrified. He was giving me a hard time and not encouraging me. I needed to feel safe. After a brief discussion, his approach changed. See that crack over there? Grab it with your left hand. Sometimes I didn't believe I could reach. Sometimes I felt like I didn't have the strength. But then sometimes I just had to stand.

There is security in stability. A couple of times I had to stay in one place for a while just to regain my composure. Some positions don't take as much energy to hold on to the rock face. The angles were difficult and the positions were awkward. With Jared's encouragement, I was able to find more courage with every successful move. I kept moving closer and closer to the top. What struck fear in me was knowing that he was not below me and couldn't be. I had two choices: another move up, or all the way down... to the ground, at least a hundred feet below.

Suddenly, I saw leaves and grass gathered in a crevice. I'm almost there! With a final burst of confidence, I pulled myself up by tree limbs and pushed myself up from rocky corners.

I felt like I could do anything.

Of course, in being the first to go, I left Jared down below. I could do nothing for him if he struggled. I was able to give him a few tips, but mostly, he had to do it himself. Not too long passed before we were together again, in some foreign woods. We had a new bond, I believe, because of this monster we had just defeated. The feeling of accomplishment that comes from overcoming something like that is inexplicable. You only have one chance to really conquer your first rock wall.

Navigating

There was so much to say in class today! In particular, on the topic of maps, I am proud to say that I am very good with maps. When I am familiar with the territory, I am also good without maps. Familiarity, however, comes with time and experience.

As I recall my arrival in St. John's, Newfoundland, I remember not knowing how any of the places we first went were spatially related, even though I had looked at maps before I went. The college campus didn't make sense. I couldn't figure out which doors went where. It was not until I walked the routes a couple of times with more observation that I began to figure out relationships I could remember, and I would still remember how to get around if I went back today. It has been nearly two years since I was there.

Only a few days after our arrival, I went with my fellow missionaries to the Confederate Building for Canada Day festivities. We met up with a couple of friends there and for one reason or another decided to walk to the bay (which is really a small inlet of the Atlantic Ocean). We could see it from where we were standing, on a hill at least a mile away. I can still envision the distance. I can still smell the air. I can still see Signal Hill.

We walked straight away, through the field, across a major street, through another field until we found residential streets. We seemed to be following a stream that kept appearing every so often. I was entranced by the plant life simply along the residential streets. Our path was not planned, but we were guaranteed to arrive downtown if we simply continued to head eastward. It was a bit nerve-racking and tiring, but so worth it for the experience of blazing a trail. I felt confident and safe doing it even though I knew I was completely vulnerable.

I had similar experiences during my study abroad trip in Germany. My host pointed out various landmarks to me and tried to orient me on the way back from the airport, but all to no avail. I was completely disoriented, yet again. I followed Tini to campus the first couple of days, taking the bus route she told me to. I remember that I followed her home through many tiny alleys and short-cuts, but how it all worked out was beyond me! Eventually, we turned the corner where she had parked her car the day before and I finally knew where I was.

I took the bus again. I still didn't quite gather what was where. We rode the U-Bahn (subway) into the center of town and then off toward a friend's house. I had no idea where I was in relation to campus or to my apartment for the month. After a party that evening, Tini continued to try to help orient me. We walked in the dark around this corner and that and never went the direction I expected. I obviously still didn't know where I was.

It took me much longer than I had anticipated to figure out it. A lot of that probably had to do with a lack of sleep, too, though. It was when I started putting together the puzzle for myself, when I chose to walk all the way to school and all the way back in the daylight that I understood where I was. It was when I realized that this is where the party was last night that I began to piece together the path we had taken the night before. It was when I remembered little bits and pieces that I understood my surroundings.

I never got hopelessly lost. I always kept my head on straight enough to find familiarity. If nothing else, hop on the nearest U-Bahn and take it to Kröpcke. From there, I know how to get home.

Poor LauraLee... such was not the case for her...

The Wisdom of Martin Buber

I decided to learn a little more about Martin Buber. His writing is more difficult to understand than I care to grasp at this point, but I found a couple of quotes worth keeping and responding to.

"I write [books] as a snake sheds its skins, because I must. But they are not the most important part of my life."
-Martin Buber

I thought this was an incredibly beautiful way to consider writing. Most writers write from their experiences, but it seems that it would be impossible to spend so much time writing if you were always out experiencing something. Buber's statement essentially says, what I write is very much a part of who I am; I have to discard these thoughts; I don't wish to drag them along with me as I grow past them. How cool! Writing, then, is a necessity, directly out of the overflow of a life being lived. Though not much of a writer myself, I too find that there is nothing significant to write about if I have not lately experienced anything of significance.

"I knew nothing of books when I came forth from the womb of my mother, and I shall die without books, with another human hand in my own. I do, indeed, close my door at times and surrender myself to a book, but only because I can open the door again and see a human being looking at me."
-Martin Buber

I spend far too much time reading. I think it is the consequence of being a good student, but I am probably wrong. It may be the consequence of being afraid. Too afraid of doing. Too afraid of experiencing. But I am curious. I want to learn. I learn from books. I don't always have the time, opportunities, or resources to do the things I wish I could. So I read.

But Martin Buber is absolutely right. I will not die with a book in hand (I hope); I will die with another human hand in mine. You do not get life from a book. You get life from living, from doing. Yes, there is value to be found in books, but they are not alive. The shift from book to human as through conversation or a simple change of setting is so much more life-giving than reading something and letting that be that. What a tragic end.

My boyfriend recently got onto me about reading. He wants more of me and less of me with my nose in a book. I feel like that is what I have to do at this point in my life, and that is sad. It is pitiful. My heart's desire is not to sit and read all the time, although I do enjoy it. I want to get out and live. I want to explore the world. Get dirty. Take risks. I just have to learn to put books down. Some things can only be learned by doing.

ich-Sie, ich-du, ich-is, ich-das

At the mention of the I-It versus the I-Thou relationships presented by Martin Buber, I became more curious about this man's philosophy. Being a native speaker of German, it is easier to conceive those types of relationships. In German, when people are referred to as you, they use either a formal word Sie or informal du. These words can be equivalent to the out-of-practice English word Thou and modern you. The use of the formal pronoun is, in essence, a depersonalization of a person. Sie is used when talking to a person you are not familiar with, such a professor, a waiter, or a sales clerk. Du is used with friends and family and other informal relationships. Du is for the people you know.

I began to consider this even further, contemplating German articles der, die, and das (masculine, feminine, and neuter). The various use of these definitive articles for each individual noun is confusing to a non-Native. It takes a lot of practice. I imagine I will never get it straight. I also choose not to worry about it too much, because to me, everything just gets the label the. Might there be cultural reasons for the gender of each article? Das Computer, die Banane, der Apfel. How much work would it take to compile a list and analyze the cultural etymology of a good sampling of words? How do German gender roles function? What correlations can be made between definitive articles and the function (or perceived function) of the associated noun in German society?

And what about nature? What about human relationships with the outside world? How many words in reference to natural things are neutral (das)? My supposition is that most neuter words are those of foreign origin and those that refer to technological things; in essence, things that are not personal to Germans. Things they don't have relationships with, or possibly even want to keep their distance from.

No More 3x5's

Ever since I got a camera in the eighth grade, I have carried one with me at all times. Every year I create a calendar using my own pictures that includes friends, family, and experiences. This is something I value. But without fail, I go through cycles of wanting to photograph things and wanting to experience things. Living behind a camera changes things. I now hate it when people designate me as an even photographer. What they're really doing is pushing me to the background. I come to a point where I realize I'm not actually experiencing things any more. I have had a hard time remembering events unless I have a photo of them. Sometimes this comes in handy when I need to refer to a timeline - I don't have to look back through calendars, I just have to look through my Pictures folder.

In Nabhan's A Child's Sense of Wildness, I saw my habits confronted. Thankfully, this was a trend I was already aware of. Think back through the pictures you have? Which ones do you want to look at the most? The small picture of a big mountain or the big picture of a small butterfly? I know I tend to skip over landscape pictures for the most part. And I really skip over pictures of buildings and monuments. I want to see detail. I want to see life. Those are the things that are exciting. But it's so hard to train yourself not to be distracted by the beauty of being surrounded by a snow-covered world and think, wow, I need to take a picture of that! Landscapes and things of that sort are easier to envision in your mind's eye. Close-up details can become even more vivid when you have a good photograph of them.

I hope it's clear that I don't think there's a thing in the world wrong with taking pictures. Photography is a beautiful thing. But it takes close personal moderation to keep an enjoyment of photographs from invading your ability to live your life. Children are much better at just doing than I and most other adults are. We want to capture the romantic moments that we find in a sunset. But really, those moments are so much better left to our memories and experiences.

Why take a picture of a monument? How many millions of people have taken that very same photograph? It really does come down to a personal collection. It's another box to check off. But what about that butterfly? How many people have ever even looked that closely at a butterfly? This one has a story.

I was leaving the doctor's office and my boyfriend found it on the ground. It was alive but not moving. Perhaps it was upside-down? He picked it up to try to help it get going again, but for some reason it couldn't. Its colors were so vivid, its body so weak. We kept it with us in the car as we drove home and it made a few movements but was never able to fly. Having it in the car felt simply wrong. Butterflies are made to fly. They are made to bring beauty to the air. They are meant to pollinate flowers. When we got home, we of course took it back outside. I took a photo of it upon my sister's bright red car for contrast, but that photo just makes me uncomfortable. A butterfly should never be on a car. Then I put it on the grass. The grass wasn't in the best condition, but that is much closer to where the butterfly should be. And that has become my most recent favorite photograph.