Well, most of you know, but I'm stateside again.
I came home about ten days early and I've been home about 13 days now. This makes it really tough to finish filling in about the African adventures that didn't make it into the blog before I left. It's weird, and oddly anxiety-provoking to go back and write about what happened a few weeks ago, but I do want to talk about some of what happened, so I will try to get to it eventually.
For now.... I'm in Hingham.
I have a part time job, I'm riding horses once in a while and planning on going to hockey clinics soon, and I'm starting a pottery class next week. I'm also woking on transfer applications for finishing my last two years at a University other than Vermont. I'm working winter camp, bumming around A2 afterwards, going on a ski trip with the fam, and finally leaving for study abroad in Switzerland on January 17th, 2010. I'm also waiting for bloodwork results. I've been tired with headaches and dizziness for a few weeks now, and I finally went to get it checked out yesterday.
It's weird to be home, back here, in my parents' house. I'm trying to learn how to do it well, since I wasn't very good at it the first time around.
Stay tuned for memories of Africa and my lame attempts to process the whole thing.
Hope you had a nice holiday!
Saturday, November 28, 2009
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
Strangers
The blog is called Something Cliche... and if you're not in the mood for exactly that, you should absolutely 100% skip this entry. You've been warned.
The subtitle of this blog is taken from the lyrics of one of my favorite songs, "Strangers" by The Kinks.
Where you going I don't know
I've killed my world and I've killed my time
Well where do I go, what do I see?
I see many people comin' after me
So where are you going to I don't mind
If I live too long I'm afriad I'll die
So I will follow you wherever you go
If your offered hand is still open to me
Strangers on this road we are on
We are not two we are one
I first heard this song in one of my favorite movies, Wes Anderson's Darjeeling Limited. It plays during an intricate traditional Indian funeral procession- a stunning example of artistic direction- and it always grabs at my heart strings when I hear it. Do you ever hear like your insides are literally a harp? Like you have harp strings instead of heartstrings? That's what it feels like when I listen to it. It's like someone is grabbing my "harp strings." It's everything I'm feeling and everything I've been looking for. Peace in wandering, the ability to "just be" instead of always having to "be something", maybe the chance to learn from mistakes instead of learning the hard way over and over and over again. And over again.
So you've been where I've just come
From the land that brings losers on
And we will share this road we walk
And mind our mouths, and beware our talk
Until peace we find tell you what I'll do
All the things I own I will share with you
If I feel tomorrow like I feel today
We'll take what we want and give the rest away
Strangers on this road we are on
We are not two we are one
It can be lonely. I've been grateful and happy to be here everyday. I have also been homesick every day. Homesick for camp, for family, for friends, for foods and weather. I've found more peace here than I expected. In all of my frustrations and through all the harassment, there has been a lot of learning and development. Growth is cliche, and I don't know if it's the right word. Development in personality, beliefs, goals, passion, drive, anger, forgiveness. Riding the daladala still makes me want to throw myself in front of a daladala, but we live for experiences, right?
I'm a little ready to go home. I twist and rage and gloom over leaving without seeing more, doing more, learning more, but I'll be ready to arrive home three weeks from today. As I said in my last entry, it's hard to know what I'm "passing up" to leave here. On the phone with my Padre the other night I confessed through tears that I was scared to get home, look back on this, and feel like I had messed up somehow- like I didn't make the most of things. It's a little tricky because the friends I have here now are staying longer (or some of them live here) and they are all older with more travel experience. I keep up just fine because I've been here longer than some of them, but I'm still processing a lot of things that they are encountering for the second, third, one hundredth time. When I shared this with my dad he said "It will take months or years for you to process what has happened for you on this trip. And you'll go back. You know you'll go back." After hearing him say things like that, I felt a lot better. Shocker, eh? Sometimes I just need to throw something out there and have someone throw it back from the dark. So I'm okay with it all at this point. I've started lists of memories and lessons in my journal and going back and reading old blog posts. I've been frantically sending the last stack of postcards. I'm doing my best to enjoy my last few weeks here and brace myself for returning home... and it's complicated sometimes.
Holy man and Holy priest
This love of life makes me weak at my knees
And when we get there make your play
Cause soon I feel you're going to carry us away
In a promised lie to made us believe
For many men there is so much grief
And my mind is proud but it aches with rage
And if I live too long I'm afraid I'll die
I'm glad I'm here. I'm glad I came. I'm glad I'll be going home in a few weeks. It was the perfect amount of time for this sort of adventure. All last week I was thinking that if I stayed here longer I would understand this better. I was afraid to leave without some sort of processing period, some greater awareness and acceptance of these changes and this place. I don't think I would find that by staying, and I don't think it will magically appear by leaving. I've stepped up my game by coming here, I've engaged in the calm madness of growing up even if I did look at this trip as "running away to Tanzania."
I feel like I'm on the road now. Here for the here and what is the what. I feel older than before and younger than I ever have all at once.
I'm still a stranger, and the road is long.
Strangers on this road we are on
We are not two we are one.
The subtitle of this blog is taken from the lyrics of one of my favorite songs, "Strangers" by The Kinks.
Where you going I don't know
I've killed my world and I've killed my time
Well where do I go, what do I see?
I see many people comin' after me
So where are you going to I don't mind
If I live too long I'm afriad I'll die
So I will follow you wherever you go
If your offered hand is still open to me
Strangers on this road we are on
We are not two we are one
I first heard this song in one of my favorite movies, Wes Anderson's Darjeeling Limited. It plays during an intricate traditional Indian funeral procession- a stunning example of artistic direction- and it always grabs at my heart strings when I hear it. Do you ever hear like your insides are literally a harp? Like you have harp strings instead of heartstrings? That's what it feels like when I listen to it. It's like someone is grabbing my "harp strings." It's everything I'm feeling and everything I've been looking for. Peace in wandering, the ability to "just be" instead of always having to "be something", maybe the chance to learn from mistakes instead of learning the hard way over and over and over again. And over again.
So you've been where I've just come
From the land that brings losers on
And we will share this road we walk
And mind our mouths, and beware our talk
Until peace we find tell you what I'll do
All the things I own I will share with you
If I feel tomorrow like I feel today
We'll take what we want and give the rest away
Strangers on this road we are on
We are not two we are one
It can be lonely. I've been grateful and happy to be here everyday. I have also been homesick every day. Homesick for camp, for family, for friends, for foods and weather. I've found more peace here than I expected. In all of my frustrations and through all the harassment, there has been a lot of learning and development. Growth is cliche, and I don't know if it's the right word. Development in personality, beliefs, goals, passion, drive, anger, forgiveness. Riding the daladala still makes me want to throw myself in front of a daladala, but we live for experiences, right?
I'm a little ready to go home. I twist and rage and gloom over leaving without seeing more, doing more, learning more, but I'll be ready to arrive home three weeks from today. As I said in my last entry, it's hard to know what I'm "passing up" to leave here. On the phone with my Padre the other night I confessed through tears that I was scared to get home, look back on this, and feel like I had messed up somehow- like I didn't make the most of things. It's a little tricky because the friends I have here now are staying longer (or some of them live here) and they are all older with more travel experience. I keep up just fine because I've been here longer than some of them, but I'm still processing a lot of things that they are encountering for the second, third, one hundredth time. When I shared this with my dad he said "It will take months or years for you to process what has happened for you on this trip. And you'll go back. You know you'll go back." After hearing him say things like that, I felt a lot better. Shocker, eh? Sometimes I just need to throw something out there and have someone throw it back from the dark. So I'm okay with it all at this point. I've started lists of memories and lessons in my journal and going back and reading old blog posts. I've been frantically sending the last stack of postcards. I'm doing my best to enjoy my last few weeks here and brace myself for returning home... and it's complicated sometimes.
Holy man and Holy priest
This love of life makes me weak at my knees
And when we get there make your play
Cause soon I feel you're going to carry us away
In a promised lie to made us believe
For many men there is so much grief
And my mind is proud but it aches with rage
And if I live too long I'm afraid I'll die
I'm glad I'm here. I'm glad I came. I'm glad I'll be going home in a few weeks. It was the perfect amount of time for this sort of adventure. All last week I was thinking that if I stayed here longer I would understand this better. I was afraid to leave without some sort of processing period, some greater awareness and acceptance of these changes and this place. I don't think I would find that by staying, and I don't think it will magically appear by leaving. I've stepped up my game by coming here, I've engaged in the calm madness of growing up even if I did look at this trip as "running away to Tanzania."
I feel like I'm on the road now. Here for the here and what is the what. I feel older than before and younger than I ever have all at once.
I'm still a stranger, and the road is long.
Strangers on this road we are on
We are not two we are one.
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