“Blessed are the hearts that can bend; they shall never be broken.” -Albert Camus

Monday, January 13, 2014

The Little Drummer Girl: Lessons Learned at Walden


From the time I was little I had a strong sense of self. Though I was notorious for streaking through the streets, painting the entire kitchen floor, throwing tennis balls out the car window, and smashing porcelain dolls, there is one childhood anecdote I am reminded of most often. One afternoon, during my streaking phase, I sneaked past my brother, went out the front door and took off down one of the busiest cross streets…(from an early age I knew I had somewhere to be and I wanted everyone to pay attention when I got there.) Concerned by the wild, naked, cherub running against traffic, an elderly woman came to my rescue and brought me back to her house. Though I was quite young and barley talking, I was able to tell the woman my name, my siblings’ names, and my mother’s name. With this information she was able to piece together who I was and return me home. Though tales of my naked childhood shenanigans amuse me, that aspect of the story is not what resonates. For me the moral lies in the fact that I knew who I was, where I came from and whom I belonged to. Throughout my life I have found as long as I can remember these three things, I can navigate any situation, detour, or crowded cross street and safely return.
I haven’t lost my way very often. I certainly have evolved through phases (two words: Body Glitter) and encountered hedged up paths but for the most part have been able to know myself well. I have always interpretively danced to my own wacky drum. I haven’t worn a pair of pants since I was old enough to dress myself. Seriously… The only two places I have lived are Utah and Massachusetts and to date I have taken on every winter in a skirt. My hair has essentially been the same color and length since I was 12 (with the exception of when I flat ironed it to a breaking point, and dyed it brown in order to be taken more seriously in grad school… which was useless as I dyed it back before I started school anyway…) I have an opinion about everything. Once as an experiment a good friend and I thought of every obscure topic imaginable in order to gauge if I did in fact have an opinion on “everything.” I did… I have no ability to navigate my life based on common sense or logic. Every decision I make is a “heart” decision. I follow my feelings just as a wild, naked, cherub in a busy intersection should! My friends find me crazy and infuriating 96% of the time. I am the most cautious and careless dichotomy to walk on two feet. If I like a flavor of ice cream, I have no need to sample 31 additional flavors to be sure. I know myself.
There are only two times in my life I have legitimately felt lost. Though cancer changed a lot of my perspective and sucked out a great deal of artifice, I was very sure of who I was, whom I belonged to and where I came from during that time. In some ways I was most sure of those things in that experience than at any other time in my life.
The first time I felt unacquainted with myself was in my first semester of grad school. I was 3,000 miles from everything I knew and loved and wondered why I was pursuing something I felt was making me feel so uncomfortable and lost. I also felt incredibly guilty for having those feelings after finally being in the place I had worked so hard to get to and had desperately desired to be. Sometime in mid October, in dire need of clarity, I decided to venture out of the city and visit Walden Pond. It is hard to compete with Utah’s landscapes so I wasn’t expecting a lot, however when I arrived, I was floored. Walden Pond painted in the colors of a New England autumn should be counted among the wonders of the world. I am not an Annie Oakley. Certainly not by way of an affinity for firearms but also in the fact I am not a garden variety REI Utah native. By default I think living among the Rocky Mountains gave me a deeper appreciation for the great outdoors but I didn’t spend every weekend sojourning in them either. However, somewhere during my first visit to Walden, I became an outdoor enthusiast. I remember standing near the water’s edge close to the site of Thoreau’s hut and feeling the sense of the natural world transforming into a sacred space. It was in these moments I was reminded who I was, whom I belonged to, and where I came from.
Last week I began to feel lost for the second time in my life. I decided in order to seek clarity I would declare it a Walden week and tune out all the excess noise. In order to do this I chose to rid myself of all distraction including television, social media, or too much texting. I was unable to do it. In stead I somehow became more acutely aware of what everyone else was doing. I chose to measure myself against what everyone else was doing, even including fictional Netflix characters. It was the most un-Walden week of my life. By the end of the week I grew so exasperated by my inability to tune out I decided to carve out a couple hours to spend some time in my most sacred space. When I arrived, I had the opportunity to ponder for a great deal of time. As the commotion slowly seeped out, the reassurance of whom I was entered in. I wasn’t given the inspiration for the next great American novel, or led to the brilliant job opportunity that would allow me to pay off more than the interest on my student loans. I wasn’t led to my soul mate or given the perfect answer as to what my next step should be. I was however reminded of everything the streaking cherub knew about herself and what she was running toward. During my time worshipping in this sacred space I encountered a kind stranger who was about my same age. She said assuring words to me almost identical to the ones that had been living in my own thoughts. I thanked her and somewhat dismissed it assuming she only said it because I looked as though I could use reassurance. To which she insisted it was crucial I heard her message, and repeated her words. After repeating her words a second time, the stranger hugged me and walked off. I left that day with ears freshly attuned to my drum and a commitment to listen more carefully.
Walden is often assumed to be the text/place loosely referenced when an elitist, pseudo intellectual wants to illustrate a point about simplifying life. Sometimes scholars even mock Thoreau’s experiment as he only chose to inhabit the woods a short distance from his home. Though I find the lessons on frugality, simplicity and civics offered through the text as useful, it is the listening and solitude that most deeply resonates with me. I think the thing making Thoreau’s experiment most lovely was that it took place without comparison to someone else. How we relate to each other is a beautiful thing. The innovation and technology available to us is a most marvelous connector. On the flipside, our constant self-measurement in comparison to others has an unparalleled ability to drown out our drum. I will always hold Walden sacred as it taught me how to free myself from comparison and listen. I am grateful for a stranger who quieted her own life enough to receive and share a message with a fellow traveler. Though this time of life may occasionally feel aimless and convoluted I am grateful for the hope of safe return ensured through remembering three key things: who I am, whom I belong to, and where I came from. 


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