Let me preface this entry by stating that I’m listening to Ingrid Michelson’s “Mountain and the Sea”, which, as some of you know, always makes me happy/hopeful. Let me also preface that unlike earlier in the week, when this would have been coping behavior, this is, instead classified under furthering the good behavior. Let me also preface this by saying it was written over a few days and is more a history of how I got to be here (so yes, it’s a rant.) This would also be a good time to correct an earlier entry where I referred to myself as “baby-boo”. In times of great stress I refer to myself as “buddy-boo”, which calms me down (explained in previous blogpost where I wrote the wrong phrase over and over). Anyways…moving on. Back to Ingrid, back to the present.
Furthering the good behavior can be defined as using coping behavior when one is already in a better mood and thus, makes one feel even better. The result is a semi-meditative calm state: a sensation of one-ness with self and world. Part of me is confident that this sensation is the aim of all who practice meditation, though with the understanding that monks are able to keep this calm sense through the good, the bad, and the unknown.
The unknown—humans are often afraid of what they don’t know. It’s why we hang with the same people, it’s why we eat the same things, it’s why we think the same thoughts. In fact, it’s probably why a lot of people don’t live abroad. Because living abroad is different. But I’m unknown. I’m in that wonderfully terrifying moment in life when all that was suppose to and expected to happen has: I’m finished with school. That is the one thing that I was really raised to believe I’d do. Sure I suppose there were mentions of a career and family, but education, being the most known at a young age where love and financial responsibility seem further away than the moon, was the only one understood. Being unknown to myself in an unknown time of life means that I’ll be facing the unknown wherever I am. But how did get to this place of comfort with the unknown? Or the different? Or the foreign?
College was, without a doubt, my hardest life experience (until the present!). Every semester I wanted to drop out as I spent hours working while life seemed to be happening to everyone else. Then something awesome happened, my jaw was surgically broken. Days after the surgery found me on my kitchen floor asking my mother to shoot me. I was having, shall we say, a bit of trouble coping. I was scared because this was a very very different experience than the norm. The experience wasn’t what I wanted it to be, but it was what I needed; a cliché of life. From it, I gained a small bit of insight into the world of my brother. Though that was helpful, more helpful still was a 90-mile bike ride to Wisconsin with a good friend. Although running was not advised, biking was allowed during my recovery. I invested into my bike, and eventually took that 90-mile ride. Before that, the longest ride I had been on was 35 miles, the week prior with another friend. So what happened that summer? How could I go from cowering on the kitchen floor to a 90-mile bike ride? I learned I could handle some pain, I learned I could handle the new and unexpected, I learned that I could push myself, essentially…I learned I had the potential to be awesome.
No, this isn’t narcissism; it’s confidence of self. The feeling of awesome is something anyone can achieve and doesn’t depend on a feeling of superiority as false self-confidence or narcissism requires. That summer I went on the bike ride, something that I had never thought I could do or would do, and succeeded. If I could do that, what else could I do? If I was able to withstand pain (and stop being a baby), handle new very different experiences (without fear), and push myself (developing some sense of self-control), what couldn’t I do?
A shift happened in that summer and my confidence in myself soared. Suddenly I was interested in developing a personal style and the first thing to change was my name: John. I honestly don’t remember what prompted the switch other than at that moment being called Johnny felt right. It had maybe always felt right, but I was not sure what people would think about me trying to switch my first name. But when I started calling myself Johnny that summer, I didn’t care too much what other people would think. I knew that I, like everyone, had a potential to feel good and be awesome and if I felt a step closer to awesome by adding ‘ny’ to my name, then why not.
I returned to Vassar attempting to live life out loud. I still worked hard (especially for our big campus event organizer) but I relaxed a bit more in my social life and made memories that are interesting to me, and thus, felt like I had a bit of a life. I took only four classes, instead of my usual five, and enjoyed dinner with friends daily. Just when I started making deeper friendships at Vassar, winter break approached and I began packing for my life abroad in New Zealand.
My New Zealand experience furthered the good. I went in feeling good and felt even better most of the time I was there. For starters, no one called me John as everyone I met was new. And because no one knew any of my old habits, I was free. Free to explore my life and lifestyle. Free to hitchhike alone for two weeks all around the South Island and explore myself. I returned from my two-week journey ready to change even more. A haircut from a friend started a new hairstyle that made me happy. Skinny jeans and plaid shirts made me feel happy. It wasn’t the materialism, or maybe it was, but what made the difference was I felt good in my clothes. If others noticed and commented, I was thankful, but I felt better even alone with my new style. In fact, I got better at enjoying my own company when alone. One day I caught my reflection in the mirror and had a “who is that?” moment. Who had I become? And sadly, what would everyone think back at Vassar?
And there it was, that same stupid question: what will other think? Luckily I returned from New Zealand, spent just five days home, and then drove myself to upstate New York where I worked on an organic farm. While there, the same internal confidence returned. I felt good. I liked my job, and enjoyed the company of the family I lived with. When I returned home, I wondered why I had never done something like that before during the summer—something that I was really proud of doing and fully enjoyed.
But summer came to an end and I found myself back at Vassar for a very difficult senior year. I could barely bring myself to do my work, now that I had tasted the world. I enjoyed lectures and readings, but labored over writing essays, something done weekly in psychology seminars. Through the support of housemates, I was able to push through and finish. Though I dreamed of running away to far off places while finishing. A trip to visit my brother over spring break to Death Valley and Las Vegas was enough to break me back into that good feeling. With that burst of good, I was able to decide that what I wanted to do most after graduation was work back on the farm. I did apply to one job in China but quickly forgot about it when I heard nothing back.
I crossed a stage, grabbed a piece of paper, and unwrapped a package to find overalls from dear Mom and Dad, who support me even when not sure of what I’m trying to accomplish. I packed at home and moved to upstate New York and returned to the farm, my farm. It was the right decision. I was happy—dirty, but very happy. I planted crops. I watered greenhouses. I harvested. I spun maple cotton candy and served up maple snow cones at farmers’ markets. I slaughtered chickens. I collected eggs. I worked the farm store. I cooked in the kitchen. I played with dogs. But at the height of our season, Hurricane Irene rolled in.
Water found its way through all our hard work and took it all away in twelve hours. A whole summer’s work gone in just twelve hours. The towns were damaged. Bridges gone. Homes swept away. Suddenly work became cleaning up. We had the task of trying to pick up the pieces. My boss had the task of trying to figure out what to do with the pieces. Somehow, and I’ll never fully understand how, he found the energy to smile…everyday. Maybe the support of his husband, maybe the support of his workers, maybe some internal drive to keep pushing forward, but he smiled while tired. Smiled while discovering more and more damage. Smiled through the worst disaster in years. And that was when I left the farm. Not how I wanted to go at all. Not like this, not with the farm in such a state. But it was time to leave. Seeing my boss’s strength assured me things would be fine without me around.
It was a sunny, beautiful blue-sky day when Bill, a co-worker, and I moved pumpkins to the store; my last day. When I started I said to myself that I wanted to get to pumpkin season and that I did. As anyone who has ever been to the Adirondacks knows, it is a really difficult place to leave. But that job that I applied for, and forgot about, came knocking with the opportunity to be in China. I was hesitant to open the door, but was encouraged by co-workers, customers, and, eventually, myself, to give it a shot. “What could I loose? It’s just a year.” And with that I got some shots, scanned a contract at the school in town where I bribed teachers with freshly baked Rivermede cookies for their help, packed, and drove out of the High Peaks, just like that.
And I cried. Not sobbed, mind you, but yes, there were some tears shed. Perhaps my body didn’t understand why my mind wanted to go from such a beautiful place. I was happy there and as I left I was not sure how long it would be until I could return. I also cried when I left New Zealand. Actually, maybe even sobbed. My male gender role is getting in the way of my memory, or rather the telling of the story at present. I loved being in New Zealand just as I loved being in the ‘Dacks. What made both of those experiences so good was the crying. The crying at the end was the realization of how good things had been; of how much I had invested. But I didn’t look back, I couldn’t look back. I didn’t have enough time to look back. Life moves on.
Home again and this time packing for a year. On October 1st, I was dropped off at the airport by those same supportive parents. I texted friends and waited for that delayed plane. Everything had happened so fast and all of a sudden there I was on a plane to China. Halfway through the flight I realized that I’d made a horrible mistake and wanted to turn around. Three-quarters of the way through the flight I realized that maybe that was just fear talking. When we touched down, I was too tired to be afraid or want anything from life other than a place to sleep.
My point of this rant: I learned when I was twenty that I was capable of much more than I ever thought I would be. Going to New Zealand reinforced this by learning I could navigate a country alone hitchhiking or with friends. Farming for a summer in Upstate New York showed me that I could make my own plans, as going abroad is pretty much buying someone else’s plan. And now, now I’m China. I keep wondering who I’m going to grow into while here. I wonder who is going to leave China? Will it be someone who went too far from home and runs home? Or, will it be someone who has embraced life in new ways?
This is the hardest thing I have done. I get frustrated daily when wanting to talk to the people around me but can’t. I get frustrated with how much I depend on Sarah and Simon, the two workers assigned to help us figure out life and work in China. The most frustrating, though, is that this is my plan, where I got a contract signed and I got over here and I’m doing this and I’m independent and blah blah blah, BUT I am more dependent than ever!!!
Perhaps, part of becoming independent is learning to trust others. Perhaps its not the man who is alone that is the strongest. Perhaps, part of being independent is being able to depend.
So this is how I was able to say yes to China. Because I’m looking for something, something I know to be in myself. Something that I first noticed when twenty. Something that I’m confident will be found will here. Something that makes me strong, loving, and fearless when face-to-face with the unknown.
And let’s face it: there’s a lot more unknown than known in life.
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