Marathon

Low sounding thunder echoed through the streets twice.  It sounded like the sounds you hear under a bridge, when the heavy traffic is speeding above you, as the wheels move over metal planks.

Baboom…. Baboom….

A woman on the news compared it to transformers.  I looked up at the sky and around the tall buildings in search of the source.

We ignored our questions, and walked towards Back Bay station, a couple blocks away.

“Excuse me!” said a policeman who pushed his way, running through the crowd.

Dad was tired and sometimes tears came down from his eyes along the way, since his time had been so disappointing.  Hoping to break 3 hours, he had come in a little after 4.  After having trained for months and been looking forward to the marathon for awhile, this was unfortunate.

I took a picture of all the people heading up towards the subway from Dartmouth street.  I didn’t know that on the other side, people were running for their lives, or to help people, or to find a way out of the city.  As I crossed the street, I overheard a man on his cell phone, “Yeah – what the hell happened?”  I kept walking but also kept glancing back at him, half of me wanting to know what had happened, but also not really wanting to know.

I looked around at the people walking into the subway station.  But before we entered, we approached the security guard in front.

“Two bombs exploded downtown.  They've called in the military.  I wouldn't get on that subway.  Just saying, I’m being nice.”

I looked at my tired father and worried that we wouldn't be able to get out easily, but didn't want to make him walk.  We all looked at each other, trying to decide what to do in those few seconds.

“Ah, he doesn't know what he’s talking about,” said my brother.

So we decided to get the first train we could out of there.

We entered the Back Bay subway station.  I looked around for signs of chaos, trying to listen in on people’s phone conversations.  I was walking quickly to buy a subway pass, while my brother walked quickly to the bathroom and my mother helped my father catch up with us.  There were some transit police roaming around the gates, but I didn't want to know anymore information about what happened.

“Shit.” I said, in front of my family, while waiting anxiously for the next subway train to push through the tunnel.  My brother had just read a text from a friend, but only said outloud, “Man, if what Kevin is saying is true…. something about wheeling people away without limbs?”

“I don’t want to know.  Don’t tell me.”

We had no idea what it had been, that sound we heard twice.  I just wanted to get home.  Suddenly the city felt dangerous – packed with so many people I don’t know, so many people who could do something crazy.  Suddenly I was in the US, conscious of potential enemies who would look to hurt a booming east coast city.  The buildings seemed so big now, the tunnel that I was in seemed like the perfect place for an explosion, and everything was moving so slowly.

A train pulled up.  We walked on and sat next to people who were just sitting on the subway, as usual.  Then the guy next to me said, “Excuse me, but did something happen?”  I can’t remember what I said to him, but probably something along the lines of that we were at the marathon, and now we were heading home, and that’s all I wanted to know.

The doors of the train remained opened for longer than usual, so it seemed, and a voice came over the speaker saying, “This train will not be stopping at Downtown Crossing.  This train will not be stopping at Downtown Crossing.”  It began to move away, out of the underground to where I could see a view of the Copley Square buildings.  The sky was blue and everything seemed normal before we popped back underground again.

I was glad that we sped through some of the stops, but were we heading away or into where something had happened?  At the next stop, a couple of women and their daughters got on the train, carrying shopping bags.  They were on their phones.  “What is going on?”  They asked us.  The train was quieter now, as people were trying to overhear people’s answer to that question, or on their phones themselves.  A stop or two later, a woman had an image on her phone and was staring at it.  She was sitting next to my mother, who looked over her shoulder to see.

My mother gasped and raised her hand to her mouth, “It’s the Finish Line!”

I could hear a crack in her voice, signaling tears in my eyes immediately.  She went on to say, “Look at the people!  Oh my gosh….”  Shock was pushing them out of my system, my body couldn't hold all this water.  Immediately I thought about the announcers, the spectators, the tired runners, the people selling t-shirts, the security guards, medical people, and everyone who I had just seen standing around that area.  Were they……. what were they?  Were they okay??

I leaned on my father, the stumbling marathon runner, and didn't know what else to do.  I was thankful that we weren't in an emergency room, or worse, on my brother’s birthday.  We left the train, we walked home.  We made it home.  We were home.  That was all I had been wanting since we heard those sounds and it had happened.  I had never been so thankful to cross the threshold of that Somerville apartment, together.

The Brain is Awesome

 "But it must be said from the outset that a disease is never a mere loss or excess - that there is always a reaction, on the part of the affected organism or individual, to restore, to replace, to compensate for and to preserve its identity, however strange the means may be: and to study or influence these means, no less than the primary insult to the nervous system, is an essential part of our role as physicians.  This was powerfully stated by Ivy McKenzie:

For what is it that constitutes a 'disease entity' or a 'new disease'?  The physician is concerned not, like the naturalist, with a wide range of different organisms theoretically adapted in an average way to an average environment, but with a single organism, the human subject, striving to preserve its identity in adverse circumstances."

- Oliver Sachs, The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat

A couple weeks ago I went to a small workshop entitled, "Mapping the Brain" led by a F.H. Willard, a professor of Anatomy at the College of Osteopathic Medicine at the University of New England.  In four hours he summarized basic brain organization and chemical processes, skimming the surface of how the brain functions and facilitates our movements and interactions: our lives.

This relates well with my internship where I facilitate a few support groups and have one-on-ones with adults who have a traumatic brain injury, twice a week at The Krempels Center - an extremely organized and sophisticated program.  There are a variety of groups with titles such as: Just Move It, Creative Expressions, Brain Power, Transitions, Life Skills, Aphasia Support, What's Cooking?, and Easy Reader, which all center around speech, occupational, and emotional therapy for people looking to find community with those who have found themselves on the journey of "Life After Brain Injury" as Krempel's slogan identifies.

The stories of the members can be both sad and scary.  My brother doesn't let me tell them, and says, "Sarah, I have enough mental problems of my own!"  Some are the kind of stories that you can't think about too much because they could happen to anyone, such as car accidents or strokes.  Some involve alcohol, either having crashed or been hit due to someone being under the influence.  Some were in the driver's seat, others weren't.  One woman, not under the influence, was flung from her car when she crashed at 65 mph, causing her to be in a coma for six months and waking up nonverbal, unable to walk and seeing quadruple.  Doctors gave her one negative prognosis after another, yet here she is today walking and talking.

One of the members wrote a memoir, which I read in one sitting as it was so compelling.  He had been an alcoholic throughout his teen years and into college, but as he was a middle class, smart, white kid - he was just seen as the life of the party.  He was funny enough to keep drinking and act destructively without anyone to seriously advise him to stop.  Even after his brother fell from a three story apartment and injured his spine, during a party in Cancun, causing him to forever be in a wheelchair, it still didn't stop him from continued binge drinking.  A year after his brother's accident, he crashed his own car and woke up with brain damage and his left side inhibited, and finding it difficult to walk.  After different kinds speech and occupational of therapy, he now appears to be a normal guy, his brain injury barely noticeable except for the side effect of his limp.  He's a great guy to talk to, despite his struggle to overcome obstacles that were not present before his accident.

Today is Homecoming on campus.  Girls were jumping down from their bunk beds at 6 am above my room, as if it was Christmas morning.  They excitedly rummaged through the kitchen for appropriate food for their day of drinking, ate breakfast, screamed for excitement, and sped out the door in droves to begin tailgating before the game.  Funny enough, they're actually on probation at the moment - I'm not sure of the particulars, and not sure what it prohibits them from, but I believe it interferes with some of their habits outside the house.  Although I always keep wine and beer in my room, the obsession with binge drinking and the way that life on campus, or at least down Frat row over here, seems to revolve around it, is often alarming and seems like a waste.  Now, I can't help but mention from time to time, as I did last night, "I work with people with brain injuries, some which are alcohol-related...  Be smart out there!"  Likewise, on the ropes course, when I put helmets on the kids, I can't help but tell them, "It's important to protect your brain!"  It's the brain bucket, as some kids say.  When they're running around during tag games, I remind them that most accidents happen during tag and to make sure that they... protect their brain!  Protect your awesome functioning brain.

The brain is a crazy place.  It is so fragile, but so accommodating.  It facilitates changes and is what we make it.  As infants, are brains have so little of the white matter that represent the network of axon fibers stretching out and making connections throughout.  The brain grows up and out: the amygdala and brain stem, at the bottom, are the oldest and most instinctual parts and are very similar to that of fish and reptiles.  As we develop, white matter stretches into our frontal lobe as we learn language and how to be social, including how to act appropriately in the culture we're in. Kids start learning how to regulate their impulses and when we're really old, those connections may begin to fade, causing us to forget how to regulate ourselves.  The bladder isn't only mechanical but also socially regulated; our brain tells us where it is and isn't okay to release it.  But if that connection hasn't formed, or is worn away, we may be a little confused.  I informed my mom that our 14 year old cat may be having the same problem, seeming to have forgotten that she's supposed to use the kitty litter.

One of the members was coming out of her five minute seizure, where her brain seems to need to rest for a few minutes as she slips away behind her eyes, saying through tears, "I don't want to be like this anymore.  I try so hard.  I tell my brain to stop and it won't listen."  Her brain injury was caused by falling on concrete three times, having slipped on a puddle in a changing room at a resort.  When your brain hits the ground like that, it swells like a bruise, and it swells more if it is hit again.  This is why concussions are important to take care of immediately - if the person were to hit their head again, right after the first one, more damage could be accrued.

But what is so refreshing about being a part of these support groups, is feeling the level of empathy and compassion that each member has for each other.  Everyone is looking for ways to accommodate for each other and for ways to understand them and themselves.  Life slows down in this community and people take note of others, they seem to find everyone interesting and enjoyable; they are curious and humble, values that are often given less priority in a largely competitive and confident society.

Yesterday, I laughed the most during the Aphasia support group, where we had a bunch of Scrabble letters scattered all over the table.  We challenged them to make the longest word possible.  Since Aphasia affects the language centers of your brain, it's helpful to play a variety of word game that ask members to recall words and organize them, or spell words.  These games are fun for us, too.  One of the older members, who wears suspenders with a few buttons declaring his right wing anti-government beliefs - recently telling me about the conspiracy of the Federal Reserve - said, "anti-disestablishment".  Turns out this is actually one of the longest words in English, and also took up the entire table.  It was awesome.

We are our brains and we're doing the best we can with what we have.  As is said in the above quote, the brain is trying to preserve it's identity despite adverse circumstances.  Those who struggle less, shouldn't take that for granted and those who struggle more shouldn't be given sympathy, but be given respect for the amount that they are continually dealing with and overcoming on a daily basis.  They're lives are making them stronger people and everyone should be curious to learn from that.  Take care of your brain!  It's an awesome structure and is looking for ways to grow.

Black and White

"I am losing precious days.  I am degenerating into a machine for making money.  I am learning nothing in this trivial world of men.  I must break away and get out into the mountains to learn the news."  John Muir

I drew a picture of autumn in my Human Behavior class, just like I used to do back when I was in undergrad: make paint drawings on my computer.  Only this time, I also talk in class and contribute, because I actually have thoughts to share and questions to ask.  My professor was talking about race and explaining the process of children coming to an understanding of it, but she spoke like an outsider, as if she was raceless rather than white.  My class has zero diversity, in terms of color: we are all white.  But why didn't the conversation open up to what that means to people?  Did you always know you were white?  I didn't really even know why race was even an issue until I was older.  I had grown up in such a homogenous community, I didn't even really understand why prejudice existed.  People were people.  Isn't this why Stuff White People Like was developed?  Because some white people think they have no culture?  Then I go on that site and every new thing he adds, I think, "I love that!".

I used to think, when I was little, that if people would just stop referring to each other in terms of color, all those issues would go away!  What was wrong with people?!  And why were there two political parties?  Wasn't there just one correct answer to every problem?  Shouldn't these people be finding that answer?  Why would you support the wrong answer?

I also thought that the world had actually existed in black and white at one time, from watching black and white movies.  I remember staring out the window at all the grass and trees, asking my mom, "So when was color invented?".  I also thought God wrote the Bible and dropped it down from the sky and that the rest of the world lived in chains because my teachers kept telling me to be thankful for the freedom that I had.  I pictured everyone else in the world living in black and white still, in prison, and starving.  And I also thought I was a pretty smart kid.

I'm glad I don't think those things anymore, but the learning never stops.  One of the most frustrating things, in my social work classes, is to hear classmates ask questions such as, "Why is immigration so hard?  I mean, my grandparents came over here and worked."  There is just so much I want to respond to that I have to focus on containing myself and remember that we are not on the same page.... maybe even not in the same book.  I will limit myself to one reasonable comment given without an inkle of outrage... hopefully.

But am I learning nothing in this trivial world of men?  Sometimes, I do want to flee to the mountains and get away from having to converse with those whose ideas don't expand my mind in ways I'd like.  But there is always something to learn, even if it's how to hold my tongue and refrain from exploding over the myriad of challenges faced by all kinds of immigrants and how.....

I will finish my drawing of the woods.

Mass*&%$

I was all set to renew my license when I got a notice in the mail telling me I had not paid my car excise tax.  Initially annoyed, I opted to call and destroy it as soon as possible.  The inane notice had no cost on it which proved unhelpful in preparing me for the prospect of a gigantic debt that could have been growing since January, without my knowledge.  The convenient online payment site didn't recognize my license plate number, therefore I had to click through various website links to find the number of whatever government office I should call.  Since the days had melted into each other, having been inundated with tangles of newness during my beginnings in New Hampshire, I naturally forgot that it was Sunday.  The Massachusetts official who answered the phone naturally kept his irritation within his voice as he said, "And you're calling on a Sunday?"  I ignored his native cranky tone and thought to myself, typical Massachusetts, and forged ahead in making my case known in the most graceful and friendly manner possible, sticking with the facts: I had received a bill, couldn't seem to pay it and couldn't renew my license because of it.  There must have been something in my affect that grew on him which caused him to ask towards the end of the conversation, "So you moved up to New Hampshire?" I told him I had, and that I was here for school - I may have even told him my penchant for Live Free or Die Plates. "Because you seem like a pretty nice person," he said, "and I hate to lose the good ones!"  I laughed.  Oh.... you.... 

War/Peace

A sign posted in Copley Square, after the Boston Marathon bombings

"At Great Barrington, a militia of a thousand faced a square crowded with armed men and boys.  But the militia divide was split in its opinion.  When the chief justice suggested the militia divide, those in favor of the court's sitting to go on the right side of the road, and those against on the left, two hundred of the militia went to the right, either hundred to the left, and the judges adjourned.  Then the crowd went to the home of the chief justice, who agreed to sign a pledge that the court would not sit until the Massachusetts General Court met.  The crowd went back to the square, broke open the county jail, and set free the debtors.  The chief justice, a country doctor, said: 'I have never heard anybody point out a better way to have their grievances redressed than the people have taken.'"  - The People's History of the United States Howard Zinn

The above concerns Shays' Rebellion (late 1700s) - poor farmers vs. Boston elite - carried out in Western Massachusetts.  It's easy to forget that at one point in time, the United States was one mess of a country, and that "rebel groups" could have included some of our founding fathers as they fought against our British government.  Then there were loyalists fighting the patriots.... democratic-republicans against the federalists.  What I was reminded of recently, by a friend, was that some of the founding fathers were under 25 when they were deciding the way this country should go.  There was a time when there were consistent slave rebellions, farmer rebellions, and people standing up for the interests of those without much land, or without human rights.  Reading about the slave ships made me lose my appetite.  Reading about the people who first arrived at Jamestown, and how their numbers were reduced from 500 to 60, how some were eating each other or corpses, makes me wonder why on earth we didn't befriend the Indians and begin a nation together.

To read about how closely people were tied to government is especially interesting, as I feel so disconnected from any kind of political decision.  I don't know who the mayor of the town is, don't vote in local elections, and find it hard to know what is really going on in the politics of this country.

"It was Thomas Jefferson, in France as an ambassador at the time of Shays' Rebellion, who spoke of such uprisings as healthy for society.  In a letter to a friend he wrote: 'I hold it that a little rebellion now and then is a good thing... It is a medicine necessary for the sound health of government... God forbid that we should every be twenty years without such a rebellion... The tree of liberty must be refreshed from time to time with blood of patriots and tyrants.  It is its natural manure."

Rebel uprisings.  Tyrannical government.  We were left to ourselves to figure these things out.  But what should be done now that our weapons have progressed and seem to threaten the whole world more easily? I wish that people would just move to which ever side of the road they agree with, and we could solve things perfectly diplomatically.

When I heard the bombs go off at the Boston marathon, I was shaken by how scary insecurity feels and felt angry that someone had disrupted the general peace that we can usually count on in public spaces - especially during such events as the Boston marathon.  At the time, I had a student from Syria in my class.  After seeing the hundreds of men in uniform protecting the city of Boston, and feeling that sense of security again, I wished I could just put them on a plane and send them to Syria to protect my student's city, family and friends from the chaos that has erupted there.... if only it were that easy.  Let's hope Jefferson is right, and that their rebellion is some kind of medicine that they.... may it not take too long to go down and may we figure out an appropriate way to help the people caught up in it.

Slow Down

"When people ask what Aphasia is I say, "............." and if they knew what Aphasia was -- that's it!"

Matt is one of the members of the Aphasia Support group, at the Krempels Center.  His speech is slow and it's not even clear whether he actually has Aphasia.  He may just have slow speech.  When asked which aspect of his life he misses the most, from before his brain injury, he said, "The women."

Another discussion question was, "Who is your hero?".  The woman who began said it was her husband, who had a stroke eight months ago, which left him speechless at first, but his persistent determination to recover has been inspiring.  He referred to his mangled silent self in the hospital as, "I was plotting my return."  He had been a librarian, but the stroke disorganized his letters, words, numbers, and jolted his memory.  "I've got a little more humility in my life," he said, "which I think is a good thing."

"I thought everyone was having a dream.  'Why isn't everyone listening to me? I'm speaking, and they're not.' It took me a long time to realize it was me."  said Henry, who counted on his fingers - 9-10-11-12-13-14-15 years since his brain was injured.  "That's a great technique," said another member, "Counting is a victory."  Henry told him, "I used to be an accountant.  Now all my numbers are gone."

What is so compelling about this population, of brain injured adults, is that they weren't born this way.  They were cruising along, when something happened.  I can see myself in them, which makes their situation even scarier: it could happen to me.  I think about my brain as I'm driving home from my internship, as most of the injuries seem to have come from strokes or car accidents.  Sometimes I wonder if I'll have a stroke.

"Life is so much faster.  No one has time to listen to us." said one of the members.  This always frustrates me about the Western lifestyle, in particular.  London's big tourist attraction is a clock.  We are obsessed with time, and it's only gotten worse the more technology we've created.  I love technology (I mean, I have a blog, right?) but I hate how obsessed we've gotten with it - and how it's made our lives even faster than they should be.  It's true.  We don't have time to wait for someone with Aphasia to find the files in their brain in order to finish their thought or sentences.

I learned today that Voyager One has finally left the Solar System.  What if we learned of other life forms out there?  How would that change our perspective on ourselves?  What if another life form finds our mash-up 8 track that we've sent them and throws it into their burning planetary river thinking, "Sheesh.  That sucked.".

On the ropes course the other day, I asked, "How do you deal with frustration?"  "You win."  "You win?"  "Yeah, when we were successful, the frustration went away."  "But I'm a loser, what do I do?"  "You need counseling."  "No I don't, I'm fine.  I just am not good at this, what do I do?"

My group told me I needed counseling and that I was in denial until they saw what game I was playing.  We're not good at everything!  And why the competition?  You WIN to beat frustration?  What if you DON'T win?  What happens then?

Slow down, you're moving to fast... in the words of Simon and Garfunkal.  Gotta make the moment last.  On the way to my internship this morning, to work with brain injured adults, I heard a doctor on NPR talking about his work with kids who had been diagnosed with brain cancer.  He said that the thing about kids, is that they're so focused on the present: whether their parents are happy, or on the dog that just came into visit them.  It breaks his heart so much to tell half of these parents that cancer will take their child, that he has made it his life's mission to beat cancer.  Parents have commended him on making the end of their child's life as beautiful as their birth.  When I was in the hospital for three weeks, as a two year old, getting my lymphnodes drained, the nurses loved me because I was all smiles and holding a pacifier in each hand with IVs in my arms and legs and a huge lump on my neck.  I hope I still have that same spirit.

These adults are dealing with frustration through humility.  They are supporting one another because they have to cope with what they have.  "I couldn't talk for a year.  It's degrading." said one of the members, who had been the mayor of his town and active in politics prior to his accident.  But he was positive as well, "It gets better," he said, "I am a perfect example - it can come back.  It just takes time."

We are stardust, we are golden - as Joni Mitchell says.  There is so much room for gratitude if we let it in, I love that.  Let's do it.

Breaking the Rules

Sometimes class feels filled with tedious questions about protocol, whereas, in one of my more adventure-related classes this was typed on one of the slides:

No rules works all the time.

Too much planning stresses me out.  I asked my brother for directions to where he and my family were on the Cape one time and he said, "Follow signs for The Cape."  When I drive somewhere, I just need to know the routes or the general direction - not every left or right turn.  Sometimes it feels like people are saying, "So, what if there's no street sign at the intersection, but there hasn't been a sign that says we need to turn right for the same route?  Do we still go straight?"  YES!  KEEP GOING!

If there's a detour, should we follow it?
If we turn down a street, and there's a dead end, should we try to keep going?
What if the light is not turning green, but it's night time, and no other cars are around?  Should we go?
What if I'm holding a coffee and eating a sandwich, is it okay to take my hands off the wheel for a second?
If the speed limit is 65, would I get a ticket if I go 67?  What if everyone is doing 80?

Sometimes there is an obvious answer - YES FOLLOW THE DETOUR - and other times there is not.  This is where ethics comes in and some conversations involving ethical decisions are more interesting than others.  What if your client's girlfriend is standing outside with a gun, and the police say they can't do anything unless something happens, do you let them leave?  One of my professors did.

This same professor said that one of her big breakthroughs was when she realized that the clients she was working with had lives.  When I sit in class, I can imagine one can get so caught up in organizing that they the bigger picture.

Meanwhile, back in Adventure Therapy class, I lost $2.10.  An auction was being run by my professor.  What were we bidding on?  A $1.00 bill.  The winner takes all, but the second and third place people still have to pay.  What?  Right.  Best game ever to play if you're a professor.  You could go home with a little extra at the end of the class.

He started with a $1.00.  For the first round, three people played, eventually bidding $1.00.  What happens is that when you're bidding, you get to a point where you can't afford to lose.  Or, you start thinking, "Well, I'd rather lose $.50 than $.75, if I get the $1.00."  The other problem is that, you're not exempt unless you were the fourth person bidding.  The next round was an auction of $3.00.  I was at $2.10 when I decided to stop, but the other two people kept going until $3.55.  The person who won actually lost $.50, but that's less than my $2.10.  The second place person was the biggest loser: $3.50 or something like that.

Human behavior.  What would YOU do?  Rather than sit and ask question after question, we play games.  Games quietly pull us out of our social selves and might begin to scratch away at our true selves.  Family dynamics come out as everyone is absorbed in an activity.  Suddenly your favorite uncle is pushing you out of the way to get a touchdown, your mom is changing the rules so that she doesn't lose, and your normally silent friend has proven himself the smartest in the room.  I read a quote from Plato once that said, "You can learn more about a person in an hour of play than a year of conversation."  We get so caught up in the game, we drop our cover.

Apparently my professor facilitated this same activity with a corporate group at a conference and ended up with $580 at the end.  What?  Yes.  He gave it to the service crew and they had the most awesome beerfest the last night.  Where did my money go?  To a student/friend who went to a conference over the weekend.  If only all gambled money went towards charity.

Life is about values.  We speed because we're keeping up with traffic, we go through red lights because it's night and no one is around, we text while we're driving because we care about communication.  Values are constantly being juggled and balanced: THAT'S LIFE.  It's one big grayscale, but that's what makes it so captivating... so stop talking about the rules and trying to organize everything, people....

Out of the Flames

14 years old, Camp Susque, Look Out Mountain

We were told, at the camp I went to, that it was started around a fire - a few men sitting around, talking, and contemplating how staring into the flames opens people up.  That cackling orange that starts out small and slowly builds, eating up all of the materials in its path, becoming bigger, roaring, and welcoming you.  Your face and hands are warmed, trickling down to your feet.  The attention is no longer on you or anything else; the fire has eaten that, too.  People might even start singing in front of each other.  Stories are shared, thoughts and questions are thrown around, or people might just stare and stare into the mysterious combustion happening in front of everyone.  

The other day I had the rare opportunity to facilitate ropes course activities and then fire building.  This was one of the tasks that my group of 13/14 yr old girls (8th graders) had to do as a part of a SHIPWRECK initiative where they imagined they were stuck on an island and had to save themselves: build a fire to boil water, catch a couple fish in the pond, build a shelter that can cover one person, and create an SOS signal.  

So, when you light the match, you really want to put your hand around it to protect it from the wind.....  

No, not on top of it.  See what happened?  

See, the flame will go up and burn your hand... 

You also want to find lots of little thin brush to feed the fire... 

Birch bark is a great fire starter.... 

What do you think?  Do you think you can rest the pot on those sticks?

They had no idea what they were doing.  Sticks were piled on top of each other, live branches were brought over, green leaves and grass were some thoughts for fire starters - so I threw in some tips...  

So, really what you want to do, is make a teepee inside a log cabin...

Remember, the fire needs oxygen, so make sure you create some space...

You guys have the extra challenge of wood being damp today...

Dirt will kill your fire, so it's good to brush it off the bark...

Fire ties most of my favorite memories together.  There is something about those flames that reconnect us to the mysteries that surround us, the power that exists, our ability to create, and the importance of our history.  Fire has caused me to stay up until the early hours of the morning getting to know people, reconnect with old friends, or celebrate a new year.  Shabbat was celebrated through dance around a fire on the shores of Lake Victoria, travelers were met in the desert of Chile, and Hogmanay (new year) was celebrated in a village in Scotland, or friends were made, for life, at camp.  

"The tendency to wander in wilderness is delightful to see.  Thousands of tired, nerve-shaken, over-civilized people are beginning  to find out that going to the mountains is going home; that wilderness is a necessity; and that mountain parks and reservations are useful not only as fountains of timber and irrigating rivers, but as fountains of life."  John Muir, Our National Parks, 1901

Imagine what Muir would say now, since he considered people over-civilized in 1901.  The faces of the girls who made that fire revealed some of that joy that we are inherently prone to when building a fire, riding an ocean wave, arriving at the top of a mountain, or gazing up at the stars.  Our identity is not in our computer, phones, or cars that we buy, but out in the natural world.  I suspect it's because we didn't create it, and therefore, it will never cease to fascinate us.  Imagine what happens when we separate ourselves from it for too long.

Campy, Kumbaya, touchy-feely, bonding moments, heart to hearts... in our culture, we tend to use these words in order to make light of an experience.  But isn't this what we actually want most?  Don't great ideas come from these experiences?  Don't we feel most connected to others during some of those moments?  Why do I have to explain through research why nature or adventure experiences cause change in people's lives?  How did we get so removed from where we came from and what is that doing to us?

"I am because we are."  I learned that in Uganda, a culture that often thinks in terms of it's community.  I think the pull of the fire, that naturally causes people to make a circle, converse, and be present with each other, reminds us that we don't exist only because we think - we exist because of other people, because of connection, relationships, and this world that let us in, and if we don't maintain our connection with each other or that world, we begin to be alone with our thoughts and become isolated in a chaotic and confusing universe.

"...the human species had become 'autistic' in the way they relate to the natural world.  The origin of this autism is reasoned to be associated with Descartes' notion of mechanism.  Derived from Cartesian dualism, in which mind and body are perceived of as clearly distinct from each other, mechanism is the doctrine that all living things are in essences just machines... Nature was viewed as a machine with working parts that could be dissected, explained and understood... People have become deaf to its voices, stories and sources that nourished their ancestors in primitive societies."  Thomas Berry, 1988

Our thoughts are not enough, it takes a fire to pull us out of ourselves.

Students the same age as me in the above photo, getting ready for 9th grade at La Vida, ADK (2011)

The Cost of a Book

Some photos from La Vida last Fall.

After reviewing some of the syllabus, my professor walked towards the cardboard boxes in the center of the room.  They were taped up with addresses and stamps, wrapped with white plastic tape all around them.  He asked if anyone had a knife.  Surrounded by outdoor education students, it was surely inevitable.

"If I cut myself, I suspect we have some people with the medical qualifications to help me." he said, as he began to use someone's pocketknife.

"You're going to give us the books?" asked a student.
"I'm not going to give them to you, you're going to take them." said the professor.

Upon breaking the seals, he returned to his seat.  "The retail value of these is $40."  he said, pausing, as he often does between sentences.  He sits with his arms calmly placed on each chair rest of the chairs next to him, in this circle we're all apart of.  His burnt orange t-shirt has a logo on the back for a mountain club and he's wearing Chacos around his feet.  Without any pretenses or judgments, he speaks intentionally.  Every word seems to be weighted with value and engages each person.  "But the Publisher sells them to me for $20."

"I know that a lot of people have invested in me."  He goes on to tell the story of why he ended up in this field.  We begin to see that 37 years of research and experience have gone into this book.

The room is quiet as we contemplate the boxes of books.  "Now, if you take a book, you get to choose the remuneration."  He then gets out of his chair and walks towards the books.  "You could do this."  He picks one up and walks back to his desk.  "You could pick up a book and sit down."  Then, he returns to the books and hesitates before asking, "Or - does anyone have, a lot of money on them?"  To this, everyone smiles, perhaps thinking it's an ironic question for a group of college students, but a girl happens to have a $50 bill on her.  "Now see, she could take that, get a book, and put the money in, and return to her seat."  His voice doesn't let on that there is a right answer, as most facilitator voices often sound like.

By the end of class, everyone has a book.  Some just took one, another put in a note and a $20 bill, another explained he would give according to the value he thought it should have (after reading it), and I?  Well, he already gave me a copy last year when I sat in on his class.  I told him this, to which he asked, "Why do you think I gave you one?"  "Because I think you believe in it and you want to share your knowledge.  But I was thinking I'd pay you back."

He allowed us to make our own meaning, which people do all the time in the realms of this field.  People quickly create metaphors for their own life and choose the value of their experience.  An element on the ropes course or challenge in nature (such as hiking up a steep mountain) turn into analogies for how they deal with struggle, how they perceive a problem, or how they communicate effectively with the people around them.  Yesterday, my group drew analogies from the Spider's Web to learning a difficult (German) piece of music (they were a choral group).  Here, our professor allowed us to put our own monetary value on something, or not - and here I am building a metaphor from that situation to my experience within experiential education.  The challenge is to bring the learning from those novel experiences to how we handle our daily routines and how we integrate them with our "normal" selves.

Welcome to Adventure Therapy.  Let the games begin.

Filosofia

(Drawn awhile ago, but found recently)

"We all start with preconceived notions of what we want from life.  These include the basic needs programmed by our genes to ensure survival - the need for food, comfort, sex, dominance over other beings.  They also include the desires that our specific culture has inculcated to us - to be slim, rich, educated, and well liked.  If we embrace these goals and are lucky, we may replicate the ideal physical and social image for our historical time and place.  But is this the best sure of our psychic energy?  And what if we cannot realize these ends?

We will never become aware of other possibilities unless, like the painter who watches with care what is happening on the canvas, we pay attention to what is happening around us, and evaluate events on the basis of their direct impact on how we feel, rather than evaluating them exclusively in terms of preconceived notions.  If we do so we may discover that, contrary to what we were led to believe, it is more satisfying to help another person than to beat him down, or that it is more enjoyable to talk with one's two-year-old than to play golf with the company president."

- Flow: The Psychology of Optimal Experience

Back to School and My 32 New Best Friends

"The time has come," the Walrus said,

"To talk of many things:

Of shoes--and ships--and sealing-wax--

Of cabbages--and kings--

And why the sea is boiling hot--

And whether pigs have wings."

- Lewis Carroll

I regret not holding my lunch box picture-side-out.

"So are you excited yet???!!!" one of the Chi Omega sorority girls asked me, bouncing down the stairs from moving some of her boxes up there.  

There was a small pause, as I wanted to respond with as much energy but knew my personality would only be able to muster a snail paced, "Yeah!.... Sure." 

I probably shouldn't have added the "sure", but there it was.  

I am excited, in my own way, and I know that my 25 year old brother has called this new job, "A dream come true."  I'm the new Housemother, as they say, though I find Housing Director to sound a little more professional - in the same way that "rabbit" sounds more respectable than "bunny".  I'm more of a rabbit, though I wonder if I come off as more of a bunny?  

So far, my most exciting moment has been finding food in the kitchen, that I can eat, which I didn't have to go out and buy myself.  In the early AM yesterday I was heading out to the ropes course, already having resigned myself to just having my coffee and Kefir, as I hadn't bought anything in the way of breakfast food (bummer) when lo and behold - the cereal containers had already been filled up by the cook - and granola!  Could it be?  Food that I can eat that is not mine and not my roommate's but completely available for the taking??

Not only that, but I came home to homemade chocolate chip cookies that had magically appeared in the cookie jar while I had been facilitating.  The availability of them could actually turn into a danger if I don't limit myself daily.  What is more, the cook can even SAVE meals for me by wrapping them up in the fridge for days when I'm at class during dinner.  My mom didn't even have chocolate chip cookies waiting for me when I came home from school.  I am thrilled.  

As for the girls, I kind of want to facilitate some games from the ropes course with them, curious to see who they are and how they play.  I have a few expectations: friendly, peppy, pretty, long-haired, excitable, energetic, and loud.  I imagine lots of hair drying and stomping around upstairs.  Hopefully they'll afford me funny stories to tell along with some kumbaya bonding moments, even though I'm not allowed to attend their secret ceremonies in the basement.  There's a usable fireplace and a piano in this large house with sophisticated couches and chairs.  I anticipate warming fires in the winter time and wish I played the piano.  Maybe someone else does, or maybe now is the time to finally take those lessons.

As for school, I'm glad to be stepping out of the workforce for a bit.  See ya!  I'm hoping I can learn how to reed and rite again.  Teaching English began to erode and break my own.  Being out of academics has caused my brain to be watered down by alcohol and mere soundbites of information without spending time studying anything in depth.  

"Is she here?"

"I don't think so..."

I overheard this along with footsteps headed for the door to my little apartment, followed by four girls popping their heads in my door, bright eyed and bubbling, "Hi!!!" - all saying their names and introducing themselves.  Their energy reminds me of my 16 year old self with my camp friends, explosively laughing and giggling over inside jokes all through the summer that only we were apart of.  The good things is, I think that energy is a little contagious. 

Time to meet my 32 new best friends. 

Proverbs

As I was packing up some things in boxes and heading back to school again, I came across a pile of index cards with bible verses written on them.  I had written these years ago to serve as encouragement in a peculiar and chaotic world.  Here was wisdom that I used to chew on throughout my middle school years and on into college, until I graduated and began to favor experience as a greater teacher.  After spending a few years traveling around, living in different settings and meeting people from near and far - drifting away from some of those established roots - I now find myself not only returning to academics but also to a setting similar to where I grew up (where the sun and moon are large and the air reeks of farmland) and doting over some of these old verses and beliefs I used to treasure so much.  Here they are, along with a story written by a friend in a letter I found to do with the curious power of prayer...

Each heart knows its own bitterness, and no one else can share its joy.  Proverbs 14:10

A cheerful look brings joy to the heart, and good news gives health to the bones.  Proverbs 15:30

What he trusts in is fragile; what he relies on is a spider's web.  He leans on his web, but it gives way; he clings to it but it does not hold.  Job 7:14-15

A man's steps are directed by the LORD.  How then can anyone understand his own way.  Proverbs 20:24

Now faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see.  Hebrews 11:1

A happy heart makes the face cheerful, but heartache crushes the spirit.  Proverbs 15:13

Gold there is, and rubies in abundance, but lips that speak knowledge are a rare jewel.  Proverbs 20:15

A man's pride brings him low, but a man of lowly spirit gains honor.  Proverbs 29:23

A man's riches ransom his life, but a poor man hears no threat.  Proverbs 13:8

The path of the righteous is like the first gleam of dawn, shining ever brighter to til the full light of day.  Proverbs 4:18

Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit, but in humility consider others better than yourself.  Philippians 2:3

Jackie: Part 1 (because there are many)

Jackie is a senior.  He is very concerned with his body image, and not a day goes by that he does not announce to me that he is "too fat".  The greatest shame in all this, Jackie tells me, is that he is unable to fit into Prada - his favorite clothing brand.  Since discovering that I talk to God on a regular basis, I am hardly able to pass Jackie without him asking that I pray for him to lose a couple pounds.

Yesterday, he ran up to me excitedly asking if I had prayed for him the night before.  I had, though not exactly about weight loss. "Yes," I told him, "last night."

"It worked! I went to the bathroom three times. I already feel thinner," he spoke very quickly - as he almost always seems to.  "Uh, I don't know if it works that way..." I sort of stammered.  But Jackie would hear nothing of it.  He grabbed the wolf's tooth that hung on a chord around his neck and with a far off look declared, "I'm a very religious person."

The End (until tomorrow)

- written by a very dear friend

All I Wanna Do

Trave

Ling

Acros

Sthe

Coun

Try

Is

Goo

Dfor

Thes

Oul

Eve

Nif

Not

By

Carbut

Bypla

Ne

Itclea

Rs

Thehe

Ad

Andre

Stores

The

Soul. 

Choosing Sheryl Crow was a good idea as we drove through the burning lilac and golden green landscape of Utah.  That electric wahhnnng wahhnngg and the boombadaboom of the bongos definitely soaked up the sun (song reference pun intended!).  Singing out those lyrics that have been tattooed on my mind since I listened to her premier album in fourth grade resurrected the past just a little bit.  When that past plus this present all crash together, I'm reminded that life is constantly moving and reinventing itself, which makes the future feel a little brighter, a little enlightened.  Now fourth grade is a million miles away from this part of route 80 West that we're on (which just so happens to be the same highway taken to the mall where that Sheryl Crow album was purchased) in this Buick born during those ancient days.  

But the West!  It is WIDE and WILD if you haven't met it yet.  Idaho is more than a dust pan and lamas; it is filled with beautiful stretches of green and yellow farmland that lie under this gigantic bright blue sky that inches up just enough at the bottom edge for some mountain peaks.  This is where the deer and the antelope, the elk and the bear all play (or kill).  In fact, Yellowstone warns travelers of the WILDlife by including a bright yellow piece of paper, accompanying a map of Yellowstone, showing a cartoon of a tourist being flung by a bison with the caption, "Many tourists are gored by wild animals each year."  They also had a similar horrific sketch of a little boy being splashed with acid from the ground as he stepped off the boardwalk and onto the geyser's surrounding toxic land.  As we walked through the woods one night, looking for hot springs, we were greeted by a poster asking, "Are you ready for an attack?" and highlighting what to bring or do in the case of an encounter with a bear.

Bear spray?  We were supposed to bring bear spray?

National Parks can feel a bit like a theme park, so it's good to be reminded that these are wild places and somewhat dangerous.  One of the hikes we did was ANGEL'S LANDING which I can picture on the letters of some worn out boardwalk roller coaster.  The Zion NARROWS gave me the same vibe.  I wish I knew what it felt like to see these places as a settler for the first time, after trekking across the desert for so long without knowing if there was anything but dust ahead.  The Southern canyons of Utah is God's kiln, hosting pots and sand castles that are mostly works in progress.  The geysers of Yellowstone are another planet, as smoke and ash are spurting up from the land around you or welling up in rainbow colored paint pots smoldering with chemicals.  And you don't even need a passport or rocket ship to go to these places. 

Sheryl Crow wasn't the only person on our hits list.  In fact, Cat Stevens does a pretty good job of setting the tone, along with Simon and Garfunkal but not to mention Jimmy Eat World, Regina Spektor, Postal Service, and other mixes which provided prime sing-along time if the passengers are GAME.  Our travel wasn't limited to the ancient Buick either, as we probably would have ended up on the side of the highway instead of cruising down it.  No - we drove, we jammed, and that is how a little piece of the west was won.

Now here's a little bit of Sheryl for the closing photo montage.

Grand Teton National Park

Yellowstone Geysers

Yellowstone

On the streets of Ogden, UT

The Great Salt Lake

Up in the Uintas, UT

Uintas

Uintas

Uintas

Idaho

At the foot of the Grand Teton

Tetons

Antelope Island, UT

The Great Salt Lake

Down the Street

"As you say, I knew I wanted to make a change from the previous urban landscape work I'd been doing, and I was keen for a new kind of challenge. I'd been curious about forests for a variety of reasons: their importance as linchpins of biodiversity, the role that their destruction has played in species extinction, and the magnificent way that vast, lush, unpeopled stretches of wilderness can remind us that life extends beyond the world of human development and time, and that that is, in fact, the point from whence human life evolved.

Robert Adams once said that what photographers are often doing is trying to find a good example of something they already know. That is one of the essential tasks of photography: to recognize those salient facts which can become a vehicle for metaphor.

That's my ambition right now. To take what I've learned as a photographer and a human being, and see how much of that I can put in to pictures. It's a great challenge.

Richard Rothman Stanley, Ahorn Magazine

Salt Lake City. Dry, hot, hilly, and hot-pressed into the mountains like a panini. I could fry an egg on the sidewalk or pavement, but I haven't tried. The sun bakes my whole body when I move around the city, yet in the shade I can sport a sweater and pants. When my sweat mixes with my dry hair, it gives it that I-just-swam-in-the-ocean soft stiffness that crunches when I try to put my fingers through it. My eyes are dry and I drink five gallons of water a day plus a drink or two. A cool breeze is blowing just now and the air feels absolutely weightless.

The grass in front of me is green because a lawn sprinkler waters it for an hour each night. In the back it's all dried up and looks like Mexico. I am sitting on the porch of a house on a street with a 90 degree incline. Descending it on my bicycle was terrifying. There is a Vespa in the driveway that is still waiting for me to ride it, which I WILL do once I work up the courage.

I met two gold diggers from Nevada at the local brewery last night. That's right - Nevada, and yes - geologists who ACTUALLY search for gold, send it to refineries, and have it turned into whatever people want it to be. They had already had a bottle of Jim Beam before the bar and were headed to a concert. They insisted we go, but we were already headed to see The National, who played in the park for five freakin dollars. Sitting on my friend's husband's shoulders for the last song was thrilling. It was my third time seeing The National, not particularly intentionally - he just always seems to show up whenever I'm travelling. Once in Santiago, Chile, then in Providence, and now in Salt Lake City. He feels almost like my musical, troubled, alcoholic traveling companion.

Does America realize that Utah is hogging most of the country's beauty? There is no shortage of amazing natural wonders to see in this state. It's ridiculous. Just look up pictures of Staircase Escalante, Devil's Garden, Sunset Arch, Zion Narrows, Coral Pink Sand Dunes and you'll see what I mean if you don't know what I'm talking about already.

Being out in such an expansive wilderness always does tend to illuminate the reality that life extends farther than our eyes can see and our minds can comprehend. There's a huge intricately woven complex world, planet, solar system, galaxy, history, genealogy and evolution that we are all members of. There is nothing new under the sun, just different ways of molding and innovating what grows there. The projects, tasks and innovations that are sometimes clung to so tightly will never fulfill anyone in the way that things unseen can, yet it's a challenge to try and capture those salient factors, but that is the above photographer's take on his own work. I think it's mine too, whether that be in writing, pictures or photos, in order to do what Robert Doisneau, that awesome French photographer, stated:

"The most beautiful and simplest reflex of all is the spontaneous desire to preserve a moment of joy destined to disappear. The act of quickly trying to capture the fleeting moment is more calculated - an image to prove one's own world exists."

Power Line Outline

Blue on Yellow

The Ten Minute Crossing

Hello Brigham Young

View from a Bicycle

Freedom (Tower)

It's so nice to see the New York skyline.  I saw it this morning at around 5:30 AM and it basically looked like this.  After September 11th, the hole that the two towers had left was a reminder that something had happened.  I still remember driving to New York in October 2001 for my birthday and finding it hard to believe that these two dominant buildings that used to overshadow the Empire State Building were just gone.  Seeing the Freedom Tower in its place really does make me feel just a little proud of our stubborn American spirit, sometimes of course a bit arrogant, but obstinate enough to refuse to let such a vibrant and energetic city, full of that optimistic you-can-be-anything-you-want energy, survive with such a hole in it's skyline and infrastructure.  Although I also know that this area is prime real estate, for just a moment or two, I like to believe that this building proves our resilient and ambitious nature that I really love so much and hope we never lose.

Jersey

My best friend moved to New Mexico at the end of fourth grade and it wasn't until I overheard her mom saying, "Yeah, we always have to explain to people where we're from in New Jersey and that's it's really beautiful," that I started to realize that New Jersey has such a terrible reputation and is even referred to as the "armpit state" sometimes.  Growing up in such a lush area, I always thought New Jersey was beautiful and didn't question why it's called "The Garden State".  In Revolutionary War history I took pride in the story of Washington crossing the Delaware, which is about twenty minutes from my house, and enjoyed driving through the Delaware Water Gap, past the Appalachian Trail, on our way to Pennsylvania (or, Pennsyltucky).  However, now, when I say I'm from New Jersey people usually assume I'm from the city, mention Jersey Shore, think of Jersey housewives or offer their condolences.  

On the other hand, my mom gets such positive reactions when people realize she's from Scotland: "Oh Scotland!  I've always wanted to go there!".  Sometimes when I tell people that I'm going over to visit family their reaction is, "Oh, it'll be so nice to be out in the countryside."  However, my grandparents actually live in government housing, where all the houses are connected in a row, left over from a more socialist era of Scotland (though they themselves still refuse to buy their house) in a small city that had been centered around industry - particularly the huge steelworks that used to be in the area, which is where my grandfather worked after having worked on the railway (my grandmother's people were miners).  Although the countryside is never far away, and Scotland is very beautiful, my mom actually grew up in something closer to what people picture Jersey being like.  Going to visit my grandparents is more like going to Lynn, if you're familiar with the Boston area. 

Each person's context is so specific, it's important to try to ask a person questions before jumping to conclusions about who they are or where their from.  When people ask where I'm from now, I don't even really know what to tell them.  New Jersey?  North Shore?  Boston?  At a retreat in November, basically for ropes course facilitators and people connected with that kind of work, I went to a workshop on horse therapy.  I had no idea how much wisdom I would hear from this woman who has worked with horses for so long (she's from Scottish descent, so I'm sure that has something to do with how wise she is).  

One of the things that she mentioned about horses is that they have such a high sense of resonance - that they can feel what you're feeling and that they can sense danger even when they can't see it coming.  She told us to approach them with curiosity and simply put out our hand and they would come to us.  I felt nervous doing this, being in front of such a majestic creature that could run toward me at any second.  However, the horse came right to me and even tried to nuzzle against me, it was kind of precious.

She talked about really looking at the horse and asking, "Who are you?" but more importantly, related this to when we look at people we need to really look into their eyes and genuinely wonder, "Who are you?".   We watched her move a horse around the pen just by approaching it with energy.  By jumping up and down and running beside it, she was able to persuade it to jump over one of the hurdles.  What a great visual for anyone teaching, facilitating or working with people.  

Looking at someone and genuinely taking the time to listen to who they are may be something that gets overlooked, when we put people together by our associations or assumptions rather than who they might actually be - or could be.  Being limited to mere stereotypes is too small, our lives are much more nuanced and unique than that.  Just as Jersey can be beautiful in some places, life doesn't always resemble what we think or expect - and that's what should make it such a CURIOUS place...