Airport Words & Lines

It's been a strange trip to Ohio and back for the holidays.

First: It was short. I never realized how little time seven days was. I loved the time I had; but, how limited it was.

The nostalgia caught up with me fairly quickly. It really is amazing how much you can build up around a place when you are not there, only to have that idea completely disputed or disproven entirely. But not in a bad way. Recreated to make not what you wanted to see, but what is actually there.

I guess this is pretty universal.

The only way to know reality is go experience it in real-time.

But isn't it something, that we try to create this whole world to describe to others, and ourselves? This entire experience, where it is easily discernable between black, and white. Or black, white and grey. Even the "third way" still limits us to a range which does not exist.

Humans tend to be complex, rich, and fibrous beings, with complicated pasts. Landscapes are that way too. "Place" is a word that is often thrown around now to describe a state of being, along with a location. The almighty geotag.

But what is that place? Can we prick it to map using one pin only? Yes, that is where we "were". But that is only one place, sometimes not correctly positioned, where we were in one moment of our lives. It becomes incomprehensible to determine the paths we take in our geographical landscape.

Perhaps that is why we make "places". To narrow down, and discern where exactly we lay. The lines which comprise our lives make endless amounts of polygons, concave, and convex alike.

That is one goal of my career right now, is to make sure everyone has the ability to draw lines and make the irrelevant shapes which comprise their days. My dream would be to one day compile these lines, and see what we can see. A recording of a human trail.

For if we mapped our routes for the first migration out of Africa, why can't we do it today?

There are only a couple of more people and a larger distance to cover. Seems doable to me.

New Years

And with a flick of a second we roll into a new set of integers, all at 24 official set points (with some in between). What a thing, to consider time. A day, spaced across a sphere... What distance it holds, what wonders we celebrate.

Parachutes and Rails

So here I am involved in the best the transportation world has to offer:

I carpooled to a train station, and am currently taking the train to the airport to catch a plane to Ohio.

There are so many people with luggage going to the airport. It feels like a sea of drifters, except with more happiness and purpose. It's Christmas, what else do you expect?

I love the feeling of being whisked along on rail. It's so much more graceful than bus. The rocking motion, the speed of the ride, and the objects as they blur past you. It's exhilarating.

But what of the people themselves? Where are they going? What are there lives up to? Does it ever make you wonder if they themselves are making new choices, new leaps?

Much like transit, do their lives stay static and fixed, our do you decide to deviate to explore? Stay with the path, but make sure you go on some side journeys to help those aspects of your life which most need it?.

A Supplement to Placefulness & Geography

For wistfully carrying on about place and placefulness, I sure am troubled by it often.

Today I felt different feelings on place and geography, with the realization that the place I am in now simply does not "fit"me well. I guess one could allude to it as a simile for clothes:

A place you are familiar with fits well. Like a new jacket you can't take off, or the perfect fitting pants. Sometimes it takes breaking a place in... For a long, long time. Other times, it happens like magic, where you fall into... place... and its like putting on the correct fitting shirt, and scanning the tags on the shirt on the cash register while you are still wearing it as you leave the store.

Barcelona was a lot like a good pair of sneakers for me. I was a bit wobbly putting them on, not quite finding where I was, and how to deal with the new lumps of sole underneath my feet. But once my feet became adjusted to them, the soul of Barcelona fit me like a malleable track fits a runners shoe. I never took those shoes off, and it was sad that it was mandatory to return those pair of shoes after six weeks.

Southwest Washington, and mostly Vancouver, is like that shirt. You put it on, and at first it fits just right. You wear it throughout the day, and it sits well on you. Then... that one time you get out of your chair, it just catches on some invisible force on your shoulder, and you can't quite fix it.

This city is perplexing. It is solidly defined in contrast to its "other"... Portland. The city across the river (in Oregon) is very hip, cool, and has a couple of TV shows about it or based in it. It is the alternative scene, where bikes are the thing, weird shops abound in places across from the local supermarkets, and the weirdness of it is just charming enough to bring people in... but weird enough for them to be able to leave after a week. The city is also very, very community oriented. The sections of the city all have their diverse and distinct flavor, and you will know it when you travel between the two (I didn't believe I would at first, but trust me... It happens.)

Vancouver on the other hand is distinctly not Portland. I was attracted to this at first. (Not trying to sound too hipsteresque here...) Vancouver was a welcome relief to "normalcy" compared to Portland. There are distinct social classes in Vancouver, deserts of suburban emptiness, and a quirky small up/downtown area, charming enough to draw in regional tourists. It is also very historical compared to Portland, with priding itself on being A. Older than Portland, and B. More historical sites and a greater consciousness about its history. Vancouver politics are local community politics, whereas Portland works much more in the national spotlight.

So naturally, I loved this contrast. This subtle "We are more normal & more complex than you" sort of feel. The city brings you in with the welcoming "Come this way child... You can rest easy away from the strange city of Portland over here in the safe environment of Vancouver Washington..." Over here there are bigger box stores, more people drive their cars places, and in general a more middle of the road approach to life. But keep in mind, this is all in contrast to Portland.

(I.e. Compare say... Lancaster to Vancouver... Lancaster would probably see Vancouver as the "wierdos across the river.")

So how does this not fit right? Well... It gets a little too... Not historic... Nothing physical or popular in Western historical thought here goes back past basically the 1830's. There is no sense of decline and dismay, much like the industrial rust belt across the Midwestern and Mid-Atlantic states on the east coast. There are no "giants of industry" here, only small firms which employ lots of people. No "one value or staple" can make or break the community. There is a Port, yes, but it has A. Never gone out of business and laid of tons of people, or B. Been a huge employer to begin with.

The identity of the place is very fractured. Many people are from elsewhere, combobulated into this space where they can make a living and provide for them and their families. Their families. Lots of new families are here. And they all identify on loose strings, if any at all. The most thing people here have in common is that they... all live in the same geographical area. Very few, if any, families are staple dynasties, there is no major industry to identify around, and there is not really any "downfall" to rally against. Its like everyone does their own thing, ... together(?) , but not to go anywhere or pioneer anything..., except to make money, and to support themselves, so that they and the neighborhood kids can place nice?

As always, these things are best compared and identified when looking at something else. Here, if you could not tell or are not from the rust belt or the east coast in general, is where I compare and otherize this place via my own home region: The Heartland.

The Heartland is the region which lies south of the Great Lakes (basically south of Canada), North of the Ohio River, and East of the Mississippi River. Westward it extends basically until it hits that other unique region of Appalachia. (And try to define those borders. It doesn't work well. Trust me.)

The Heartland is characterized by its reliance on agriculture as its staple and lifelong industry. Yes, fewer farmers are working in the fields, but people still identify with "the crop" and still see it as a vital part of the region. Many people work in urban centers while living in suburbs, and some small outlying rural towns (Hey! That's like my town in Ohio!) Many people work in business, and technology, and the service industry. This is only because the once glorious industrial powerhouse of the Heartland (and Mid-Atlantic) pretty much pulled up shop and moved abroad in the mid 1970's to 1980's. Since then, tons of people have searched for work in different fields, but! within the same region. People stay put, and rarely migrate outside of the region itself, but mostly from rural areas to urban areas.

The Pacific Northwest (or at least Portland and Vancouver) is characterized in opposite of this by wild boom and growth in the technology sector, along with skilled workers who come from near and far to work in this industry. People readily move up from California, and down from rural Washington, and! westward from the plains states and open prairies. The growth rate of industry here has brought more people than the local region could ever supply, so we get migrants from out of the area, especially from those plains and high desert states to the east, in between the Rockies and the Cascades. And the area just keeps growing! People keep coming into the area for jobs, and don't leave. They set up shop here, and make more people!

The quality of life tends to be pretty good in urban areas, while rural areas are completely depleted of youth and innovation, because all of them either left for the cities a long time ago, or the new youth (very few) are getting the hell out of Dodge once they graduate high school. So we are left with a once logging boom, which kept much of the population evenly distributed between urban and rural, to a massive growth in urban areas to a depletion of population in rural areas, while still bringing in more people from outside the region to fuel the job and career engine.

I guess this is why this doesn't sit well with me. There is too much changing and diversity of people coming in. The place can not only not decide on a solid identity, but really has no basis to work on yet. The area is in such flux, that the "leftness" of the Pacific Northwest is about the only thing that binds people together, along with their eco-consciousness and desire to have a good education system and pay workers living wages. Progressiveness.

There is dissent, but it is so little, it rarely gets noticed. This in comparison to back east, where the dissent is well known, and there is a battle to the death over ideals and the future. Maybe its because we have seen the boom bust cycles of capitalism, and we want stability from our leaders and for our futures. In Portland and Vancouver, it seems as though there is so much progress, the people don't know the dangers of the bust cycle that may or may not be coming their way. The logging industry felt this, but the effects were felt mainly in the rural areas. When will the urban fall come for the cities of the Pacific Northwest (or the West Coast in general?)

Now that I am done with my Wikipedia entries and horrible over generalizations; here is a little food for thought:

Make it a challenge to seek out these places and stay in them for a while. From my experience, even if the shoes squeak and the shirt snags, there always becomes a happy medium. The longer you live in a place that "doesn't fit you well" the more, and better, skills you will learn to see that place from the perspective of the people who live there. The better you learn how to understand the viewpoint of another human being, and the life and culture they live and participate in. And I think that is a pretty valuable skill to have.

Hotels, Home, and Reference Points

So I'm sure you have found yourself in a place where you are returning to wherever you are sleeping for that night, and just instinctively call it "home". Then a friend asks "Home? Its just a hotel?" And you catch yourself wondering "Hummmm... That's odd. Why did I call that home?"

It seems like the place where you will lay your head for the night is a general term for home now a days. I think it is also a clever short hand for a place that you feel comfortable staying, along with being a hub for your operations in whatever area you are staying. What does this say about people, or at least my friends, in today's age?

Last week I did some trainings with my VISTA group on communication and dialog across cultural differences. Now while the training itself wasn't about place, there was an exercise we did where we had to listen to a person, uninterrupted, for three minutes. It was harder than you think.

The topic of place came to up with one of my partners. She talked about her lack of place, and how she felt deep connections with every place she has lived in her life. She then explained that even though those connections were deep and meaningful, she still felt troubled by the fact that she didn't identify with one place versus another. Is there a societal norm that says we have to choose one over the other? Why can't we feel invested while living on a multi-way bridge between different places?

I guess the ultimate reason is that it boils down to a need for concreteness. In today's quickly changing world, we still have a desire to latch onto and establish a solid base. Perhaps that is our nature? To categorize and settle?

But more and more we are transforming these ideas of roots into moveable roots. Its easier and easier to split and graft different species onto one another across the globe. So ones mobility determines how one sees the world, and what identities and agencies arise out of that.

So more and more it can be said people are becoming more independent in their thinking and identities. We see this in the "global citizen" identity, especially in environmental movements. No longer is ones view tied to a nation or state, but increasingly to the globe.

There is resistance though. Stronger local identities can assert themselves in conflicts, and this is okay too. We are battling millions of years of agricultural evolution, where staying put meant you lived longer and survived. That paradigm is changing at an incredible rate, and change at today's pace is difficult to deal with. So we have to navigate this mine field of local versus global. How do we do it?

It first starts with managing this transition with as little harmful conflict as possible. There are numerous theories and methods out there for this management, but killing and destroying physical beings is not going to stop and win the local versus global debate. Once we can hone this conflict into a non-harmful interaction, then we can start to forge something new.

I like looking at the rapid change in today's society as a new flavor of the human state: hyper-interconnected migrants. We move. Its what we've done for a while now. We have just done it very very slowly in the past. We should let ourselves become hyper-connected migrants. We can share ideas literally at the speed of light, such as I am doing now. This quickness brings more people into the solution creation process, and allows for even more individualized reference points for the world. People can create their world as customizable as they wish via this new digital migratory revolution. They can embody themselves as much, or as little as they wish, because in this new world, having the choice and liberty to determine your own direction is the new norm.

So next time you log into Facebook or Twitter or any other online medium, remember that you are participating in one of the biggest and most customizable ventures our species has undertaken ever. And that it is okay to claim a place, but it is also okay to live on an impossible bridge that connects limitless landmasses and cultures. The world is yours, so be amazing in it.

The Times Roll By (on Faith and Other Things)

Tonight I find myself mobile blogging from under the covers of my nice warm bed.

I was listening to the TED Radio Hour on NPR tonight, and the old question of belivers versus doubters was the subject. TED seems to handle these things very well, and I will leave it to you to listen to some of their programs if you haven't already.

Tonight though, I am wondering about the cyclical-ness of life. (Inspired, no doubt, by the program tonight.)

One thing I struggle with in my own life is to find a balance not only between believing or not, but contrasting the many different subjective cycles I see with my want and inspiration for a single objective and universal Truth (with the capital T).

I like to be very light hearted with religion, beliefs and certainties. It makes conversation in a secular section of society much easier and enjoyable. Light-hearted jokes about ones' devotion, or the many stereotypes (be them true or not), allows for a commonality between people, and I think that is a good thing.

But when I get to thinking, I do get thinking.

I like to say I began to believe in God* when I saw the Sagrada Familia in Barcelona. I believe it was the fact that such a concept could inspire a mortal (Catholic) man to create such an amazing naturally deviant place of worship. When I went in I was breathless by the sight, and could not stop looking up (which is what basilicas and cathedrals are meant to have you do anyways). The 1000 seat choir and the immense size and color of the stained-glass windows were so much to take in all at once. I quickly combatted this by fleeing off to the more manageable parts of the church, giving my senses a little relief.

After looking at the spire artwork, and investigating the tomb, I went back to the main hall. I began to take it all back in, only this time with peace. I wandered up to the place of worship in the middle, and was told by the curators that I would need to be absolutely quiet and non-disruptive to the people in the area. I had already read this on the signs, but I was giving off my American more than usual that day by gawking so much at my surroundings.

While on that bench/pew, I felt emotions which I have never felt before in my life. I felt love, calm, peace. The sounds around me mysteriously disapated into silence as I stared ahead to the alter (another very peculiar creation, look up pictures if you wish to see it.) The feelings were not warm, not terrifying, and not beautiful. They were shaking, moving, and made me question my existance and faith in the utmost factor.

I, for the longest time, did not want to leave. I wanted to bask in this curiosity for as long as I could, to try to figure of what it meant. But such is life to leave us in mystery. Something compelled me to get up and leave, and forever admire a still unfinished piece of art.

This leads me to now, when I bid farewell to one of my friends as she heads off from her VISTA position to begin and continue her life in California. It brings up the question for me: Is this just a part of a cycle where shufflers get shuffled, the deck gets rearranged, and we start a new hand? What if I don't like that?

What if I had just settled down to a comfy college lifestyle, yet to have it completed, compacted, and presented to me in a piece of paper?

Or in contrast: Do I even want to try to seek stability in my life right now? Having an anchor is good, but pulling it up when you have finally gotten to know the harbormaster allows you to continue on the journey across the ocean.

What or where is that balance? Is there even supposed to be a balance? What happens when a grand adventure goes wrong, and you find yourself stranded in the doldrums... Alone and by yourself.

Is there a cyclical wind which will pick you up again, or should you have faith that a solid anchor, with enough work and time, will bring the continents to you?

Bringing Me Back To Those Hills

The presence of my college keeps breaking through to me like Rose's faintly heard messages to the Doctor, or the crack on the bedroom wall that was not supposed to be anywhere.

The memories keep coming back about how much a wonderful life I led at that place. Up until now, I have seemed to work on a routine, always going four years, dropping down, beginning anew, resetting the equation. But now... Now I don't want to forget. I don't want to start fresh this time.

I want to go back. I want to continue with what was once was.

High school was miserable. I wanted a complete reset in life, one to start again from square one. I feel, looking back on it, I left some people in the dark, some people I highly regret leaving there... But at the time, I wanted the change.

So I had it. I went off to college some odd 400 miles away. Enough to drive in a day, but not enough to drive on a regular basis. A good distancing from my old life. And things were great. The world was a mystical place, full of new experiences and potential.

Then came the wear and tear of academic life. The sleepless nights, the endless fun with friends, the constant research. All of it came to a point of acclimation. I had figured it out. I had done the best, and completed the curriculum. I had won college.

And then, in a blur and flurry... Graduation.

And summer.

And VISTA.

And now... Well... Now(?)

Now that I have had time for it to sink in... I am not going back to that wonderful environment that I had adjusted to so well. It was lost, only to be relived and remembered in snipets available at certain times and certain places.

But here I sit, wanting to admire. Wanting to hold my college up high, hold my place and my friends up in a glory of pride!

Pride? Is this what it feels like to be proud? I have not really felt such feelings so strongly for a place, a lifestyle, an area. What I miss so much, and what I love so much, and what I feel so much for is my four wonderful, amazing, unbelievable, and miraculous years at that institution.

I want to share that feeling, help others to love that college! I want to make sure every student who wants, gets the chance to experience something like I did! To have the opportunity to live the four best years of your life thus far in that amazing, pretentious, and life-changing oaken and ivory chair that Wilson strives to tear down and recreate from the ground up! To let you work with your hands, appreciate the office, the classroom, the community! The views, the exploration, the magical fairyland of the self!

But to those who matter most to me in my life: My best friend... and my best friends. My advisors, my professors, my opponents. My family. All those who have touched my life significantly over not only the last four years, but the last eight, the last twelve, the last twenty-two. Thank you all so, so very much for helping me this far.

I never think I have stopped to actually thank you, and tonight, I find all is right with the world, and what not a better time to give praise, and be proud.

Oh I thought those mountains would go forever. And as it turns out... They do.