Transistions

“He who is contented is rich.”

Lao Tzu

This blog has sat dormant for over a year, gathering dust, hiding the creativity that dwells here, much like the cobwebs that are currently clogging the creative outlets in my brain. But today, for some reason, I found myself of a philosophical mindset, leaving me with the urge to write something that is not thesis or graduate school related for once.

Today, I celebrate my 35th birthday and this may be why I am in a philosophical mood. Many people reflect on the past year during the New Year. I, on the other hand, like to do this on my birthday as I think it is an excellent way to evaluate where I am and where I want to be...or don’t want to be. 

In April, 2013, I wrote this blog entry: I Gather No Moss. When I woke up today, I found myself thinking about this entry for some reason. So, I decided to read it. Afterward, I sat there smiling and shaking my head. In many ways, I feel so removed and so distant from that angry, stubborn, prideful, arrogant woman who spent a sleepless night in the Singapore airport writing that entry. I have to admit, I was following my dream. I was doing the things I wanted to be doing at that point in my life, but reading back through that entry, it was apparent that I was also not happy while doing it.

As I sit here typing, I now realize that the anger, fear, and loneliness I carried with me at that point in my life is gone. Don’t get me wrong, I can still get quite stubborn and prideful...and occasionally a little arrogant, but I feel content and at peace. And, believe it or not, I am living the life I sneered at back then. And that is an amazing revelation. I have stayed in one place for over a year and have not once thought about leaving. What?! For those of you that don’t know me, this is a major milestone in my life and something that in 2013, I never thought I would want or was capable of doing.

I see now that I am in a transitional period of my life. I am shifting gears toward a new direction. The days of living out of a backpack or my car are behind me. The days of seasonal contracts are gone. I now have a wall to hang my worldly goods on and it actually feels damn good to look at that wall. I have a job that gives me a consistent paycheck and lets me hang out with kids on a regular basis, while also giving me a retirement plan, which is a novelty in itself. And...I have an amazingly, wonderful, supportive, loving person in my life who loves me for me and wants me to be the very best version of me that I can be. I have to admit, that feels pretty good.

Before arriving to Prescott, my last year in Hong Kong was spent constantly talking about the need to take a break, to get back in touch with the things I like to do outside of field work...to slow down. Well, I actually did it for once and it was far easier than I ever expected. This past summer was the first summer I have spent not in the field since 2003. I now have weekends and a set schedule. For once, I can plan my life. I can get back into the things I like to do: drawing, painting, crocheting, cooking. I can contemplate trying new things that I’ve always thought about doing, like: going to graduate school, gardening, getting a Y membership, making friends outside of work. Staying in Prescott is letting me learn that you don’t need to go to faraway places to experience epicness and adventure. It can happen in one’s own backyard. I am also learning to be content where I am, to open my eyes and see what is around me, to really get to know a place. And to get to know that place enough to want to call it...home.

Don’t get me wrong, I still have days where I am tempted by the taunting voices of my old pals, Wanderlust and Adventure. Days when all I think about is sitting in a kayak in front of Aialik Glacier, listening to the rumble of icebergs hitting the icy waters of the Kenai Fjords. However, for now I am content to just sit and reminisce over these thoughts and the memories that follow them. Although my life has slowed in comparison to years past and my priorities are shifting, I am still the person I was then. I do not regret the choices and adventures I've followed in my life. At this juncture, I am simply choosing different adventures and adding more layers to the rich life I’ve already been living. 

For once, I am content to say that this is where I want to be. Here's to 35 and the lessons learned from quiet days and quiet adventures. 

Pelicans Have Air Bags, Who Knew?

**A reflection I wrote for one of my classes this semester

“Why do so many people no longer consider the physical world worth watching?” ~Richard Louv

“Kur-plunk!” “Kur-plunk!”

I am sitting on the bank of an estuary in Mexico, watching brown pelicans dive into the water in search of fish. I am about a half hour drive from Bahia de Kino, a small coastal town located in the Mexican state of Sonora. Estuaro Santa Rosa is the name of the estuary, and although I am only about 30 minutes from civilization, I feel like I am in no man’s land. I am sitting where the Sonoran desert meets the ocean. It is a rugged, unforgiving landscape. Hundred year old cardon cacti tower over me, while twisted, gnarled elephant trees make a poor attempt at providing shade from where I sit. 

Estuaro Santa Rosa

An estuary is an ecosystem created from a body of fresh water that flows into the ocean. It is an area of transition where fresh water and salt water merge to create brackish water, and the surrounding landscape is influenced by the ebb and flood of the tides. In fact, the tide is currently ebbing. I sit and watch as the water level drops and smooth sand bars begin to appear in the channel of the estuary. Ospreys circle overhead as delicate long legged snowy egrets stalk along the shallows in search of prey.

And—“Kur-plunk!”

The silence is broken, as, dumbfounded, I watch several brown pelicans, 30 some feet in the air fold their cumbersome wings in close against their bodies and plummet, at what seems like breakneck speed, beak first into the murky depths of the estuary. Like rockets falling from the sky. “Mmmmrrrrrrrrrr—Kur-plunk!”

The birds hit the water, disappearing beneath the smooth surface, only to reappear a second later, gulping a fish down, seemingly unaffected by their face plant into the water. The sound of their diving echoes all around me. It is so loud I can hear it without even having to see the bird in action. Plunge diving is what this behavior is called. To me, it seems like a perfect way to get a headache, but to them, it appears to be an effective means of getting a meal.

I sit in utter fascination and watch the natural cadence of the estuary unfold around me. I realize that I have found the perfect location for a self-reflection on my relationship with the natural world. Why am I so enthralled with the simple act of a large bird plunging into water to catch a fish? How did I gain this sense of wonder that I often feel as I look upon a natural landscape? Why do we not all have this sense of wonder? Why are some people terrified by something as innocent as a butterfly?

These are the questions that plague me as I sit here watching nature go about its business. Louv states that “nature is imperfectly perfect, filled with loose parts and possibilities, with mud and dust, nettles and sky, transcendent hands-on moments and skinned knees” (p. 97, 2008). This quote speaks volumes to me. It makes me think of my childhood and hours spent in the bamboo patch, out behind our house, playing cops and robbers and hide and go seek with my brother. I think about the summers I spent roaming the large hill behind our barn, catching baby field mice and salamanders and bringing them home tucked in a pocket made by the hem of my shirt, held together by my grubby fingers.

I grew up in a rural area on a family operated dairy farm with acres and acres of land at my fingertips. By many, I was viewed as the poor kid in town, but to me, I was given a luxury that not many have access to today. I had a free, safe environment to explore in with parents who were determined to make me go outside rather than let me sit in front of the TV watching cartoons all day. Many children today do not have this. They live in urban environments where it is safer to just remain inside than to be outside playing. They do not have parents that work in an environment that allows them to be home with their kids outside and still be able to call it work. All of these variables make for a different experience and I totally understand this difference.

Although I do understand this, I still find myself wondering why is nature viewed so differently now? Why am I so comfortable in a natural setting and others are not? Is it because I had a huge backyard to play in? Is it because my parents encouraged me rather than forbade me from catching field mice or salamanders? The only rule I had to follow in regards to these little creatures was that they weren’t allowed in the house. Needless to say, I broke that rule as often as I could, due to the simple fact that it was a rule.

Society has changed even in the short amount of time that I have been an adult. There are less and less farms every day and more urban development. With more urban development comes the idea that being outside is a fearful place and children need to be protected from it. I agree with much of this, but how do we still encourage children to discover a sense of wonder? How do we encourage them to be able to look at a brown pelican and not feel fear, but rather wonder?

Upon my return from Estuaro Santa Rosa, I discovered that brown pelicans actually have internal air pockets along their front chest cavity. These air pockets are there to help cushion the bird against the force of their impact into the water while also providing buoyancy. It is these air pockets that make the bird pop up out of the water like a bobber on a fishing line just teased by a fish. I thought this to be fascinating. Brown pelicans have air bags, who knew?

The curiosity and sense of wonder I felt at the estuary is what encouraged me to discover more about this bird. I would like to do this as an educator, to expose others to the natural wonders of the outdoors in a safe enough and engaging enough manner that they go home and want to learn more on their own and then share their excitement with their parents. Perhaps if this practice was adopted in more schools, outdoor centers, youth groups, and by educators, mentors, and parents, we would make more progress in establishing curiosity and a sense of wonder toward the natural world. This doesn’t have to happen in a remote location in Mexico, it can easily happen in someone’s backyard or on the sidewalk in downtown Manhattan. It can happen anywhere.

References

Louv, R. (2008). Last child in the woods: Saving our children from nature-deficit disorder (2nd ed.). New York, NY: Workman Publishing Company, Inc.

Reflections of a Graduate Student

“Success is not a good teacher, failure makes you humble.” ~Shahrukh Khan

Two nights ago I cried for the first time since becoming a graduate student. I remember thinking last winter, while I filled out the application, that at some point during my tenure as a student, I would be brought to tears. Ideally it would happen as I am being handed my Master’s Degree and it would be tears of joy. However, two nights ago, that was not the case.

Instead, they were giant, anxiety induced tears caused by an overwhelming sense of lack of control and the complete inability to find myself and know what I wanted. It is January and the start of my second semester is a mere week away and I felt completely lost. I was to a point where I was ready to toss the towel in and call it quits. This realization in itself only brought more tears. Tears of frustration and anger. Anger over my inability to understand and articulate the ideas circulating around in my brain, and frustration over the Prescott system that I have no control over. 

You see, I don’t quit things often or easily. So for me to be brought to a point of wanting to toss the whole kit and caboodle and wipe my hands clean of the matter, it was a big deal. Or at least, in the moment it felt like a big deal.

That was two nights ago in Prescott, AZ. Today, at 0800am, I found myself walking down a sandy stretch of beach in Bahia de Kino, Mexico, my home for the next couple of weeks. Bahia de Kino (Kino Bay) is located in the state of Sonora, and I am here until February 3rd assisting with a Sea Kayaking Natural Marine History course with the undergraduate program at Prescott College. I am essentially partially responsible for the safety and education of six undergraduate students, a slightly hefty weight to bare. 

(Photo taken from a Google search--not one of mine)

This responsibility and management of safety is nothing new to me. I am an outdoor educator. It is part of my job to manage safety and risk in the field, ensuring that everyone comes out safe and healthy, something I take very seriously. Yet, I didn’t feel on top of my game. My confidence was like a turtle tucked into the security of its shell, unwilling to stick its neck out, for fear of failure. 

What was wrong with me? Why am I having anxiety attacks when I get to spend two weeks in Mexico with white sandy beaches, palm trees, and intense sunshine, doing what I love to do? It can’t really get any better. So what was the problem? I pondered these questions as I wandered down the beach, listening to the gentle lap of the waves against the sand, the keening of sea gulls competing over a school of fish they’d found in the water. 

Was it really a big deal that I didn’t have a thesis statement or a definitive plan for my degree? Do I need to have all the answers right now? Could I not just relinquish the control for once, and go with the flow. See where it takes me? Here at Prescott College, they have a saying, “trust the process.” Could I trust the process? 

This is a challenging thought. My biggest fear, when deciding to pursue graduate school, was that I wouldn’t make the cut. I wouldn’t remember how to write a research paper. I wouldn’t be able to “think critically” or write at a “scholarly level.” I can do all of these things I’ve realized. However, it’s been challenging to trust others to make the decisions and let them lead me where I need to go. I’ve been in charge of my life for the past decade and suddenly, my future has been put into the hands of strangers and I feel as fragile as an abandoned egg jostling around in a basket. Will I crack under pressure? Will they handle me with care or will they drop me and let me splatter all over the pavement? I feel alone in this process of trying to figure out how to navigate degree plans, practicums, and formulating a thesis statement. Yet, I’m not really alone. Many others have gone before me and have made it. Somehow, some way I can make it too. And this is what I needed to remember and trust in. I would make it.

While walking down the beach, I realized that it was almost exactly thirteen years ago when I arrived in La Paz on the Baja side of Mexico to embark on an experience that would forever change my life. January 20th, 2002. I was a mere 20 year old, about to disappear into the remote wilderness of Baja Sur California for 80 days and learn how to sail, sea kayak, and backpack. I had been a poor farm kid who had never been away from home, had never flown in an airplane, had never been in a foreign country, had never seen the ocean, and had never carried a 70lb backpack or pooped outside in the backcountry. Everything about it had been scary and unfamiliar, and yet, I had had the courage to take on the challenge. 

Turning to make my way back to the Prescott College Kino field station, I looked down the beach from where I had come. Several students were scattered out across the sand, some with field guides in their hands working to identify bird species, some with cameras or binoculars glued to their faces, others sitting in the sand staring out across the ocean, listening and taking it all in. They all had one thing in common. They had a look of wide eyed wonder on their faces. I realized then that that had been me thirteen years ago. Stumbling into Baja with a permanent look of wonder plastered on my face and someone had taken the time to nurture that wonder so I could learn and understand the experiences I was being exposed to. 

It has always been my goal to be impacted in some positive way by the experiences I choose to have. To become a better person in the end when all is said and done. When deciding to pursue graduate school, I realized that my need for growth had come to incorporate a need to help and inspire others. This is what brought me to Prescott College. As I watched the students, I realized that in my anxiety, I had forgotten why I was here. Their wonderment was inspiring. Their wonderment was giving me the courage to step to the plate and deliver. As an educator, I am realizing that learning cannot be forced. The teacher can open the door to learning, but only the student can make the decision to step through into the world of knowledge. 

This is why I am here in Mexico. Someone had faith in my abilities and choose me for this position as adjunct and that is a humbling realization. Now it is time for me to have faith in my own abilities and to share a passion of mine: sea kayaking and natural history. This is why I am pursuing graduate school at Prescott College. To open the door to wonderment and exploration for others. And with that realization, I step over the threshold of my own wide open door and accept the challenges being handed to me. 

Thumb Butte Free Write (Edited) 09/11/2014

"What business have I in the woods, if I am thinking of something out of the woods?" ~Henry David Thoreau

How is it that, when I come to a place, the purpose being to reflect and relax my mind, instead, the exact opposite happens? The wheels spin a mile a minute, and my brain burns rubber. Words such as authentic inquiry, quantitative vs qualitative, literary reviews, academic discourse…and again…literary reviews…are on constant replay in my noggin. How am I supposed to observe my surroundings, while sitting as still as possible…for two hours? It seems virtually impossible.

I’m convinced I don’t have the time to sit in this peaceful location I’ve found, but I know it will be good for me; it’s exactly what I need. I used to do this all the time, so why is it so difficult now? Graduate school has begun to consume my life. I’m essentially studying the therapeutic aspects of nature, yet it seems I never leave the house, continuously glued to my computer. Does anyone not see the irony in this? 

Photo courtesy of a Google Search

I’m supposed to open myself up to observation within the nonhuman world. Mother Nature that is. I’m normally quite good at this. Observation in the woods. Maybe it’s from growing up on a dairy farm and having 200 acres at my beck and call? Or maybe it’s from going hunting with my dad as a little girl and following him around like his miniature shadow? I’d march behind him, slipping my tiny feet into the size eleven post holes he'd create in the snow, shaking with the effort it took to be still when prey was in sight. Hunting with dad was how I learned to walk “silently” in the woods, feet turned slightly to the side, taking wide, slow steps, waddling like a bowlegged cowboy. 

Walking sideways, compared to stepping with toes pointed forward, apparently reduces the amount of branches snapping under foot, therefore decreasing the chances of giving away your location to your intended prey. While taking deliberate steps, you had to breathe slowly and quietly through your mouth. If you couldn’t do this, hunting privileges with dad were revoked and you were left at home. Dad was a master at stalking dinner, and masters cannot be disturbed.

I keep coming back to this article I read the night before. Beauty and the Brain, written by Laura Sewall. It was about mindfulness, attention, observation, and technology. The “plasticity” of our brain, as they called it. In layman’s terms, it is the brain’s ability to adapt and conform to observational triggers of things we see, storing the image away as something we will recognize later. This helps create our senses of observation and attention. The ability to focus is linked to our ability to observe. The more we focus, the more we see. Our brain is stretched and molded, hence the word plasticity, to recognize and remember the things we see. This happens at a rapid rate for adolescents, whereas for adults, it's more to the speed of molasses, but thankfully, it still happens.

The contemporary, modern world has taken full advantage of this plasticity with their focus on product advertisement, bill boards, and TV commercials. Filling our world with glittering images, so children create visual attachments to images they see all the time, therefore they want things all the time. Welcome to the world of materialism. We are all guilty of it. The internet and technology appears to be deadening our senses, especially the power of observation. By staring at a flat screen for hours and hours, our brain is absorbing tons of information and images, yet retaining little. It’s like flash cards. This in turn is affecting our natural connection with the natural world. 

As I walked from my car to the trail head, I realized how true this was. An image of my computer screen seemed to be permanently burned into my frontal lobe because that was all I’d been staring at for the past week. I was oblivious to the ponderosa pines towering over me, the granite beneath my feet, and the heat of the sun on my shoulders. All I could focus on was if I can afford to purchase Adobe Pro, so I can highlight and write digital notes in the PDF articles I have to read for my classes. I prefer paper copies so I can write where and how I need to. I feel I learn and retain information better this way. But technology has now invaded my study regime, and in order to succeed, I have to adapt and allow it to enter into my world. Did I mention I was trying to study about how to bring us back to nature? Again, the irony? Welcome to the digital age.

It wasn’t until I heard the water flowing in the creek that my senses kicked in. I heard that first trickle and it was like a kick to the gut. My head lifted, my eyes widened, my skin prickled from the warmth of the sun, and my nose hairs twitched as I smelled the sweet welcoming scent of the woods. Earth, grass, bark, water, and air all mixed together. It is an elixir to get drunk off. Heaven in a bottle. My shoulders relaxed, my lips twitched with a smile and without realizing it, my feet made a bee-line for the stream bed.

I now sit on a small rock outcropping right at the stream edge, writing and listening. I asked myself to let go of everything; to just open myself to my surroundings. It was as if I had to empty my body of all the corrosive material eating away at the very marrow of my soul, and fill it with the healing goodness of Mother Nature. It’s amazing how much water matters to me. I am in a land locked desert, but I still managed to make my way to a source of water. 

I don’t know if it’s the sound, the feel, or the smell, but it soothes me like little can. I want to feel it all around me. I want to be back in my sea kayak sitting in the ocean, stationary, letting the water take me where it will. This allows me to feel one with something that I can’t really be one with. Am I drawn to water because we are primarily 98% water? Because I grew up land locked? It’s different, so it attracts me?

I prefer cold water to warm water. I don’t know why. Maybe because it’s challenging? When I swam in the warm waters of the China Sea in Hong Kong, it was soothing like silk against my skin, but it didn’t sooth and cradle me like the Pacific in Alaska. The Pacific steals my breath, making my skin pins and needles, but it provides a plethora of diversity that never ceases to amaze me. The coldness and harshness of that ocean humbles me. 

So what is it about water? Is it because it’s constantly in flow and that is what I strive for? To be going somewhere, anywhere, as long as I am going? Is it because, like the tides, I seep into things slowly, cautiously, and finally, furiously; investing myself wholly and completely to something? Is it because, like the water in a rapid, as I meet obstacles, I create ripples, determined and continuously seeking to find a way around? 

We are persistent, water and I.

The Sense of Me

**This is a reflective piece I had to write for one of my graduate classes...just felt like sharing it since it's been a while since I've posted anything.

“Find your place on the planet. Dig in, and take responsibility from there.”~~ Gary Snyder 

I’ve always found it difficult to talk or write about myself. In this case, I sat and looked at photos chronicling the years of my life, in an attempt to put words to who I am, because sometimes I’m not even sure. Photos depicting rolling hills of New York farmland, scenic vistas in remote landscapes across the west coast, floating ice fields while paddling in Alaska, wildlife ranging from bison along a highway in the Yukon Territory to komodo dragons in Indonesia. Shots of smiling people, near and dear to my heart. Photos displaying a world of limited color, restricted to a grey sky and the white, barren, frozen landscape of Antarctica. Photos of colorful temples as I sought enlightenment thorough out Southeast Asia. These were the images staring back at me; a collage of me.

I tried to imagine these snapshots through the lens of a stranger. What would they say just by looking at these photos? Perhaps they would be inspired to say: curious, adventurer, wanderlust, soulful, spiritual, strong, grateful, traveler, seeker…crazy? If I were to take these word blips and organize them into a sentence, it would look something like: I am a seeker drawn by curiosity to adventure and wanderlust, exploring a journey of spirituality and strength; who is grateful for the souls I have encountered on this crazy ride I call life. I guess that would describe me.

And where do I fit into the grand scheme of things? The natural environment is my world, untouched by the concrete jungle of civilization, if I had my way. I see the world as mysterious, capable of cushioning one minute, and destructing the next, a cycle that repeats itself. It’s been a privilege to live in the elements and see the subtle changes of the seasons as they move from one to the next. This immersion lets me know the world better. I am a visitor in the house of nature, rather than it being the other way around.

I believe my ontology of the world is interconnected with my epistemology of experiential education because by being in the elements: seeing, feeling, hearing the natural changes lets me learn. I need to touch things, see things, and do things in order to obtain knowledge. I need to break something down to the basics and build it back up to comprehend it. I think a lot of this stems from having grown up on a dairy farm where everything is experiential.

What is myself and my Self? It’s interesting to break it down this way. Myself, is the identity I reveal to the world. My Self is my inner me, the bit I keep just for me. They are alike and yet not alike. Both are quiet, reflective, and passionate. Myself protects my Self. I am not great at revealing this Self. There are only a few that have seen her. I value connections with people, but I struggle to develop deep connections with many people. Those I feel deep connections with are the few that know her, my Self. I’m not really sure when I was able to first recognize my Self, it might have been during or right after college. There was just a time where I suddenly saw this person staring at me in the mirror whom I didn’t recognize. I didn’t dislike this Self, but I was uncertain of her because of the aura of difference surrounding her; it took a while to get adjusted to this Self. It was kind of like trying on a new jacket for the first time, not sure of the fit, and then finally you realize that she’s your favorite jacket and suddenly you’re wearing her all the time.

I’ve thought a lot about the role the world plays in my life and how do I maintain these connections? I like to know how an experience is shaping the person I am. It’s something I search for in a journey. How is this going to change me? Because of this, I often find myself looking inward. If I feel content and excited, I know that I am being true to my Self. I am growing. If I feel disconnect, I look inward and ask myself what is it I’m really trying to get out of this? If it’s not going in the direction I want it to or need it to go, it’s time to have a talk with my Self and make that change. I’ve sometimes wondered if this was selfish, but I actually think it’s a result of being driven to want to change in ways to become better able to help others.

There’s a saying back home, “You can take the girl out of the country, but you can’t take the country out of the girl.” I spent a few years trying to cut all roots tying me to my upbringing, convinced I should feel shame for having grown up on a dairy farm. This stems from having been stereotyped as a “dumb redneck” much of my adolescence. I was sure the further I got from my roots, the more I could shed, re-inventing myself so to speak. Needless to say, this backfired when I realized my roots were what made me me, and there was no escaping them. The simplicity of the country is an integral part of myself and my Self. Why escape it? Those tangled vines taught me good work ethic, humility, strength, respect, and an overall sense of place. Five years ago after I realized adventure education had become my career, I wondered where it all began. Why do I feel at peace and whole in nature? What has brought me this far? I traced it all back, and it sprouts from the womb of a dairy farm.

From examining the Intersecting Axes of Privilege, Domination, and Oppression diagram, I am categorized as an educated, young, white female who is an able-bodied heterosexual of the working class (Diller, A., Houston, B., Morgan, K.P., & Ayim, M., 1996). By default, this puts me in the category of privilege. This is a strange feeling. I see myself as a mongrel mutt of mixed breeding, claiming no real nationality, with nothing but life experiences and debt to my name. But that’s just it. I was given a choice and I chose this. These choices have shaped me, thus influencing my intersectionality. Should I feel guilty for my role in society? The word privilege seems at odds with what I view as a simplistic, holistic sense of place.

The Doors We Step Through

"A small key opens big doors." ~~Turkish Proverb

A year ago in Aspen, CO, while rubbing elbows with fur wearing socialites flocking the groomed ski runs at Aspen Mountain Resort, I decided I was going to apply for Graduate School. This is an idea I’ve been tossing around for a few years, never really taking it too seriously. I didn't really think of myself as graduate studies material. That is, until the day I found myself at a standstill in my career, unsure where I wanted to go with it. Graduate school seemed the next best logical step. I felt ready, I was thinking about it all the time. So in spring of 2013, I verbally stated I was going to get serious about it. 

As most things go in my life, I think about it, agonize over it for a while, then decide that I’m going to do it, and then of course wait until the absolute last minute to do something about it. That was exactly how I pursued applying to graduate school. I acknowledged my desire in the spring, talked about it during the summer, researched a couple of programs that interested me in my free time between guiding multi-day sea kayak trips in Alaska. And then shelved the idea once life got busy and a bit out of control. Despite the fact that I’d shoved the idea as far away from me as I could, it remained, a hidden, nagging reminder that I’d made a promise to myself.

All winter I have been craving purpose in my life. It’s been a consistent theme in my thoughts, musings in my journal...this blog. I traveled to Taiwan in December and spent two weeks attempting to reflect and figure out what was next in my life. I came back none the wiser. I went back to work, agonizing over what I was going to do come the summer months, applying to jobs left and right. I had no real rhyme or reason to my applications. I was applying where my qualifications fit and what would pay the bills. But, the whole time, I wasn’t excited about any of the jobs I was pursuing. I didn’t feel like any of them were going to challenge me. I was going through the motions because I needed to in order to survive. 

What was wrong with me? Normally the idea of a new adventure has me on the edge of my seat, but instead I was dragging my feet. 

February rolled around and with it a friendly email reminder from Prescott College. February 15th was the application dead line for the Graduate Teacher’s Assistant Program. What made me open that email, I don’t really know, but it was the flame that lit the match under my ass. I looked at my watch. It was February 5th. I had ten days before deadline. It was time to get down to business. 

The week that followed was probably one of the most agonizing weeks I’ve spent in a long time. I didn’t know where to begin. I was applying to Prescott College’s Limited Residency Master’s Adventure Education program and their Graduate TA program. They were asking for a 3-5 page Personal Statement of Intent and an Academic Focus with a proposed Thesis topic. I had no damn idea what I wanted my thesis to be and when it comes to bragging about myself and my accomplishments, I tighten up like a clam out of water. I was not off to a good start. 

Thankfully, I have some amazing friends in my life and it just so happened that I worked with one of them here in Hong Kong. Without Turkey, I don’t think I would have gotten through the application process. The fact that he endured a week of me ranting and raving on the couch in the Mui Wo office and didn’t bat an eyeball at my childish behavior is a testament to our friendship. Instead, he calmly listened to me berate myself for my “stupidity and ignorance” as I struggled through the processes of a Thesis proposal. When I was to the point of pulling my hair out and throwing my notebook across the room, he told me to get off my ass and go for a walk and come back later. Granted, I ignored him, which is how our friendship works. 

When the ideas finally started coming, and I was afraid that I’d forget them as soon as they materialized, Turkey fixed the problem with a dry erase marker and a white board, creating a flow chart from every word that came out of my mouth. And finally, a thesis topic was born. It wasn’t pretty, but it was there. 

Two weeks ago, I received the email congratulating me on getting accepted into the Graduate Program at Prescott College. Two days later I had my interview for the Graduate TA program and less than a week later I received word that I’d been accepted into that as well. It doesn’t seem real, but I’ve finally got exactly what I was looking for. Grad School. The next big step. 

It’s not really a big deal because just about everyone is pursuing higher education these days, but it’s a big deal to me. I am the only person in my family to go to college to pursue a Bachelor’s degree and now I’m the first to face a Master’s Degree. I’ve partially known this was the eventual next step, while at the same time not really sure if it was where I wanted to be going. But it’s here now, and yeah, I want it about as badly as I wanted to go to the bottom of the world a few years ago. Grad School and Antarctica seem to be pretty far off from one another on the spectrum, but to me, this is a once in a life time chance just like Antarctica was. 

I told myself if I got into the TA program, I’d go ahead and plan for Fall ’14 enrollment. If I didn’t get in, I’d defer for another year to save up more money. Well, I got into the TA program and despite my promise to myself, I hesitated to accept. I felt like I stood between two doors, suspended, waiting to make the right decision. Which door was I supposed to go through? If I deferred for another year, I could save more money and be better prepared. On the other hand, it felt like this was it. The opportunity was there, presenting itself, and I didn’t want to look the gift horse in the mouth. I didn’t want to regret my decision. 

Life is pretty much a 50/50 chance when it comes to making the right decision. I’ve never been too good at letting go of regrets, always posing that “what if” question. It’s something I’m trying to get better at; to look forward rather than wallow in the backwardness of the past. So, faced with these two doors, knowing that whichever I choose would alter my life to some extent, maybe one more than the other, how did I decide? 

The determining factor was my need for forward progress. It was time to take that step. So, I accepted the TA position, which meant I was going to grad school at the beginning of August. It was a big threshold to walk over and as soon as that door shut behind me, I have been in virtual panic mode ever since. What if I’m not cut out for Grad School? I haven’t sat in a formal classroom in ten years. I’ve completely forgotten how to write a research paper let alone even know how to write and defend a Thesis! What am I getting myself into? I’m going to be in debt for the rest of my life. What if I fail and let my family down? 

What if I let myself down? Myself…my very own worst critic. 

These are the questions that have been battering away inside my head ever since, leaving me feeling bloody and bruised, my brain nothing but mush. The actual start to Grad School is still three and a half months away. What’s going to happen to me when August 4th finally roles around?

At the same time, I am elated beyond words, and that also contributes to some of the panic. I have been searching for purpose, a challenge, for the past year. I’ve been floating stationary, neither moving forward or backward for many months it feels like. My purpose has finally arrived. I feel like I am starting to wake up, ready to be kicked around and reminded that I’m a mere human in something far bigger.

I’m striving to ignore the panic attacks I face every day as I think about what’s ahead. Will I fail? Am I cut out for this? Failure is a part of education believe it or not. If you learned at least one thing, you didn’t fail. Maybe it won’t be the outcome I intended, but if I get something out of it, that’s all that matters. I have to remind myself of this. 

A friend once told me that you can always walk away. I’m not good at walking away from things because I don’t like to give up, and that’s pretty much what kept my butt glued to that couch during the week I agonized through my application. I’d started the process and I was going to see it through. I didn’t know what the outcome would be. I didn’t know if they’d like what they saw or not. It was a chance and either way it didn’t mean I would fail if it wasn’t a positive outcome. The fact that I tried, was what mattered. 

If I’m not meant for this, I’ll know as soon as I’m there. Walking away doesn’t mean I failed. As they say, good judgment comes with experience, but experience comes from poor judgment. 

Knowledge. It’s a word that packs a lot of weight behind it. It does a body good.

Life is Epic

“In every journey comes a moment... one like no other. And in that moment, you must decide between who you are... and who you want to be.” ~~J.C. Marino

“What are your dreams?”

Hesitation and then finally the reluctant response, “Oh, my dreams are changing all the time,” is what I heard while slicing vegetables for the stir-fry I was throwing together.

This was the conversation going on in our outdoor kitchen last week as I prepared dinner. Two of my co-workers were sitting at the table eating their own supper, discussing dreams, personal ambitions…the mysteries of life. 

It’s not an uncommon discussion to overhear when you live amongst outdoor educators. Granted, everyone has dreams and goals, but I have yet to meet an outdoor educator who isn’t a first class dreamer. Our life style frequently requires us to live in the here and now; but our heads are always in the clouds, thinking about life, distant travels, and goals. 

We dream because we are eager for the growth experiences make. We teach about experiential education, goal setting, peak experiences…the ah-ha moment for our students in the outdoors. So, it would only make sense that we too want these opportunities for ourselves. We need those ah-ha moments just as much as our students do. Outdoor educators have to represent what we teach, otherwise we can’t deliver what we’re supposed to if we don’t exemplify it. So no wonder we are idealists, always talking about life dreams, adventures that change who we are as a person.

We survive in a world of short term contract work that sometimes leaves us on the edge of our seats wondering what’s next, always planning the next move, the next job. It’s exhilarating and terrifying all at the same time. We feel accomplished when we’ve planned out a whole year in advance because normally it’s a big deal to just get six months sorted. An entire year of life planning makes us feel responsible, yet it’s terrifying all at the same time. 

Why so? 

Because many of us are a lot that shies away from the idea of commitment. A year somewhere can give a sense of "settling" and that in return, creates a sense of restriction. We are distracted by wanderlust and well…dreams. Dreams that can pull us in many directions, leaving us with the inability to commit to the simplest of things. 

When I heard my co-worker’s reluctant response, I found myself smiling. Isn’t this what our dreams are supposed to do? To change, all the time. That’s life isn’t it? We head down one path and before we know it, that path has morphed into something entirely new and unexpected. We accomplish one dream only to realize that maybe that wasn’t exactly what we wanted and in the process a new dream is born, taking us in a whole new direction.

This conversation struck me as a bit ironic because it was the day after my thirty-third birthday and with each year, comes some sort of clarity to life. Things had suddenly become startlingly clear. Yes, indeed, my dreams had changed, and I hadn’t even recognized it. 

I’ve spent the last six months asking myself what’s next. And well, I have no damn idea. My dreams have changed, my path is out of focus at the moment and I’ve just been ambling down it with no real purpose.

Three years ago I had an inspiration. Something that has been the driving force behind many of my more recent decisions. In early April 2011, sitting in my car somewhere in the Yukon Territory, bundled in my sleeping bag to ward off the night chill, writing in my journal, I came up with the grand idea to promise to do something “epic” every year for the rest of my life. That’s right, something epic; something grandiose.

Yet, this year I’ve begun to realize that I don’t necessarily want this to rule my every decision. Yes, I would like to keep having grand adventures, but I also need to listen to my heart and my soul. My soul has never failed me before, but of late, I’ve forgotten how to listen to it. And I’ve realized in the past year, I have let things get away from me. My life has sped up to a point where it’s been difficult to slow it down. 

I’ve lost touch with things that are important to me. Friends that were once close feel like strangers because our communications have grown distant and far and few between. My family are a distant memory sometimes. Hobbies that were once a key part of who I am as a person have taken a back seat while I wallow on through my working life. The direction and purpose in my work has become unclear and I haven’t taken the time to realize it. Instead, I’ve forged ahead, plowing a path that isn’t really where I want to be. 

I feel my life has become selfish in a sense, driven by this need to outdo my own creations, this need to do something “epic” every year. I suddenly realized that I had lost track of what I really wanted to get out of this life goal of mine. The whole point of doing something “epic” every year of my life was to keep learning and growing. To challenge myself as a person. It certainly started out that way, but it’s morphed into a whole new beast. One that I do not like.

In December while I was traveling in Taiwan, I began to realize what was wrong. I was traveling just to say I’d been somewhere. I really had no purpose other than to get a stamp on my passport. I had lost sight of the journey. I was after bragging rights and that’s something I’ve never aspired for. It doesn’t interest me and it irritates me to hear it in fellow travelers. I wasn’t growing or learning because my heart wasn’t in it. I had chosen to go somewhere because it was easy and convenient to fly to Taiwan based on my current situation. That’s not why I do what I do, but I had overlooked that fact. I was just trying to get something “epic” in for 2013 to say I’d accomplished my life goal. As a result, I’d spent a year sacrificing things that were extremely important to me.

Well, the chance for life should be epic enough. We are so lucky to be on this planet. I can’t forget that, I can’t ever take it for granted.

These are the things I realized on my thirty-third birthday. A little heavy but I think it was a good reality check. I still don’t know where I’m headed next, but I know where I want to be. To be with purpose.

I don’t regret the choices I made in my 32nd year of life because it has brought the clarity I need to move forward. I want to keep with my goal of doing something “epic” every year of my life, but I don’t want it to consume me. I don’t want to forget about those that matter or the things that make me who I am. On that cold April day, while sitting in my car, when I came up with this life goal, I told myself that the idea of “epic” could be anything as long as it was epic to me. 

That can be a cup of tea with my best friend or telling a story to her five year old son. It can be an afternoon sitting with my dad listening to stories of the old days when he was young and wild. Pouring over cook books to try some new recipe with my mom. It can be a walk along a rambling brook, the gentle gurgle of water like music to my ears. Signing a lease for an apartment and getting a cat.

A cat?

That sounds pretty epic right there.

Here's to number Thirty-Three

Two Halves Make a Whole

“Writing and travel broaden your ass if not your mind and I like to write standing up.” ~~Ernest Hemingway

There are currently a lot of challenging blog posts circulating the interweb, dedicated to a specific topic. Sage dating advice when it comes to the traveling woman or man. 

How do I know about these? Well, they are typically the first thing I see when I glance at my Facebook page since many of my free spirited girl friends are sharing them left and right. One was even posted on my wall with a cheery comment, “This made me think of you!” It made me smile…thanks Karen! And like anyone else, I am curious, so I read them. 

I don’t normally care about much of these things. I occasionally scroll through Facebook, checking a few photos here and there, seeing what my close friends are up to since I am thousands of miles away and about a day ahead of most of them. It’s about as close as I can get to “seeing” them until I am back in the states. So, Facebook fills that void because I have yet to catch up with technology and get one of those smart phones that would allow me to Whatsapp or do the Face Time thing, whatever that means. 

Here and there I’ll do the random quiz to see what Game of Throne character I am or what Muppet character I am, secretly hoping I’ll get Animal because he’s just so cool. But that’s about it really. I often don’t let articles posted there get to me. But these latest blog entries circulating around about the traveling woman or male in the dating scene caught my attention. Maybe it’s because I am one of them. 

A traveling female. A free spirit. And not dating.

I might be reading too much into it. In some ways, the articles are flattering. People who live the way they want to live are appealing. They’ve thumbed their noses at the expectations of society. They’ve branched out and made it work for them. I meet people who are fascinated with my lifestyle, but I don’t understand why; they could do it too if they wanted to. It’s as simple as that.

I have a feeling that the articles titled, “Don’t Date a Girl or Boy Who Travels…” was meant to actually draw attraction. To make it appealing to search out these characters. But, at the same time, I felt like there was a bit of misinterpretation. In some ways, it was like we were being portrayed as fickle and selfish, irresponsible. I felt like I had just gotten labeled and I don’t understand why society needs to do that. Granted, they are all just opinions and what I am sharing is my opinion too, but... 

I am a traveler, a free spirit, and I am a woman. So am I supposed to also be everything listed in these blogs? After reading them, I didn’t necessarily feel enlightened or in arms with my fellow female travelers. I felt a little exposed and misunderstood. Labeled as selfish when much of what I do is selfless. The secrets that made me who I am were being bared to the entire world as well as misinterpreted. 

My hair is messy and often unkempt. I’ll let you in on a little secret, I don’t own a hair brush! I take a shower when I remember to, and that is about, oh…every three days or so. But, it’s not because of being in tune with my inner hippiness. I am just lazy; pure and simple. I spend most of my days outside, but I still have a baby face at 32. Some of it’s due to good genes and some of it’s because I don’t want to get skin cancer no matter how much I travel. I would say my laugh lines tell more stories than my mosquito bites. My mosquito bites just say I forgot my bug spray. 

I’m probably one of the easiest girls to please on a date. A simple cup of tea and good conversation is enough. I actually love movies and good food, no matter where it is in the world. But I dislike climbing rocks and I’ve never jumped out of a plane. 

I’ve never bugged anyone to buy a plane ticket because if a person wants to travel, they will decide for themselves. As for the Republiq and Avicii, I have no idea what they are, but you’re right, I probably wouldn’t spend $100. I don’t spend $100 on much of anything if I can help it. I also know that you can go clubbing anywhere in the world, even in Antarctica. I know this because I’ve been there and done it, but, you can’t see Komodo Dragons anywhere in the world. So, yes, I guess I prioritize my spending habits.

I actually can hold a steady job. It just so happens that my jobs are seasonal contracts so I move from one to the next because that is the name of the game. But it doesn’t mean that I am irresponsible. I’ve only quit one job in my working career. I’m a firm believer of doing what you love to do, and my work is my hobby and my dream. I write and I consider myself a photographer, but I don’t get paid for it. You can complain to me about your boring job, that’s what friends and loved ones are for. Even if I’m thousands of miles away; that’s why Skype exists. 

I didn’t waste my college degree. I use it every day and my resume boasts titles like, Backpacking Field Instructor, Multi-day Sea Kayak Guide, and Program Coordinator. Adventure Recreation is my career. Even if I had wasted my degree, what does it matter? People change life plans all the time. I’m not always sure when the next paycheck is coming, but I think with today’s economy, there are many people in the same boat, whether they travel or not. I sometimes feel like I work like a robot because my job doesn’t end at 5pm like a lot of jobs. It’s a 24hr commitment when you are leading a group in the backcountry. Living like a nomad is not always glamorous. I do take what life has to offer because that is survival. I think most of us do.

I don’t believe I’ve chosen this life of uncertainty that I lead. I believe that it has chosen me. I don’t have a permanent address, but I do have a plan. It’s called life. I try to go with the flow but I’m actually not very good at that. I need structure in my unstructured lifestyle. I think many of us go to the beat of our own drum, whether we travel or not. It’s called being eccentric.

I do speak my mind when I feel I need to. But, then so should anyone. After all, we have the freedom to. But I cannot hold a debate on global issues or social responsibility because I’ll admit, I’m not that up to date. 

I can pitch a tent. Quite quickly in fact. I can also light a stove, read a map, use a compass and drive an 18 passenger Delta Tundra vehicle with articulated steering. But this doesn’t mean that I don’t need someone. I like to go halfsies on dinner with a date because I believe in equality and usually my dates are as broke as I am. I don’t like to talk to strangers; they terrify me. I would say that’s probably why I’m still single instead of blaming it on the travel. I often rely on friends to break the ice for me. I’m a potted fern thru and thru when it comes to riding the coattails of social interactions. I may get bored with you, but so will you get bored with me. I am not that exciting. 

I have been let go by a man I dated years ago because he knew he couldn’t hold me. He gave me an ultimatum. If I left we broke up and if I stayed, we broke up. What do you do with that? You leave. At the time, I thought he was a dick for it. Years later, when I could understand it better, I knew he did me a favor. It’s all about timing and our clocks were ticking in opposite directions. That is reality friends. It doesn’t matter if you’re traveling or still living in the same town you were born in. Sometimes the timing is just off.

I have been single for nearly three years. Holy cow, you’re probably thinking. Talk about pent up sexual frustration! But, I chose that path. I made that decision and it has been enlightening. I don’t have a crazy urge to race my biological clock and try to pop out some kids before it’s too late. I also don’t feel the need to have to be with someone just for the sake of companionship. Of course I would love to have a relationship because they are just plain fun. Yes, I could go out and flutter my eyelashes and wiggle my hips and drag someone home. I do have the capabilities to reel in a man, but given my current life style, I know that it won’t work. For one) I’m drawn to bearded burly men sporting carharts and flannels, and well, it’s pretty hard to find that in Asia, and two) I’m taller and bigger than most Asian men so even if I was interested, I don’t think they are, and three) I’m leaving Asia in a few of months. 

Relationships are important to me. People matter. It’s the same with my friendships. I know my faults. I move around a lot. About every four to six months my bags are packed and I’m walking out the door to walk thru the door of somewhere new. There is no room in that lifestyle for dating. I know that it is not fair to me or that man who may be interested. That’s not me being selfish or afraid of commitment, it’s just reality. It’s looking out for the other person. So, if anything it’s a very unselfish thing to do. When it’s supposed to happen, it’ll happen. Maybe it’ll be next year or maybe it’ll be twenty years from now. 

So, yes, maybe those posts are right. Don’t date a girl or guy who travels. Or do date a girl or guy who travels. Do whatever you want. 

Just don’t blame it on the traveling. Blame it on the timing and compatibility. If you love someone, you’ll take their good and their bad. Two people together are supposed to build one another up to make a whole. If one part travels, then the other grows from that and vice versa. If it’s supposed to be for life, you’ll know. And if you don’t know, you don’t know. It’s a 50/50 chance. And that’s called life. So, go date that girl or guy that travels.

Merry Christmas, This One's On Me

“The main reason Santa is so jolly is because he knows where all the bad girls live.” ~~George Carlin

Who knew you could find love in a little budget hotel in Hsinchu, Taiwan? I didn’t know either. But apparently the patrons of East City Hotel at least want to ensure that their guests are prepared to have safe sex. 

Toward the second half of my travels, I felt like I was hitting a low point. Not really sure why, I pondered this constantly as I left the quaint village of Lukang. 

Lukang proved to be one of my favorite stops thus far on my journey. Very traditional, historic architect all thru the village, amazing local food, and ridiculously friendly people. I didn’t want to leave, but I had to. So I packed my backpack and caught a bus out of there, my spirit heavy as I headed north to my next destination, Hsinchu. 

I knew exactly why I was feeling the way I was. It was Christmas and I was by myself in a foreign country. Taiwan is primarily Buddhist, so Christmas shouldn’t have been a big deal. But there was enough foreign influence in the country that the holiday was exploited about as badly as it is in the states. Every store I walked into blasted annoyingly cheery tunes of “I’ll be home for Christmas,” and “All I Want for Christmas is You!”

I thought I could do it. Travel solo during the holidays, explore a foreign country on my own. I mean, I was doing it. So I could do it. But I was constantly having to answer the incredulous question everywhere I went. “You’re traveling alone!? During Christmas!?” 

Why were people making such a big deal? I traveled by myself all the time. But I had never traveled internationally by myself and the last time I was home for Christmas was 2010. 

And that was exactly it. 

It was three years since I was in the homeland, Afton, NY, with family. Three years since I really celebrated this holiday. And for the last two years, I at least had been surrounded by people who knew and cared about my well-being. 2011, a once in a lifetime experience in Antarctica surrounded by my Shuttle family. 2012, a once in a life time experience on Komodo Island stalking Komodo dragons with one of my best friends. And here I was, 2013, touring a fascinating country…by myself. 

I had no one to share my newfound knowledge with. To discuss all the questions I found I had. I had been in silence for nearly ten days, simply speaking a greeting here and there, a yes or no when I needed to. It sucked.

Granted, it was my choice to embark on this journey solo. I didn’t really know what I was after, and ten days in, I still hadn’t figured it out. But traveling alone did indeed, suck. I’d figured that much out. At least during Christmas it did.

Either way, my steam for exploration was dwindling. I was running on reserve. I made it to Hsinchu on Christmas Eve, two days after leaving Lukang. I arrived to driving rain and whipping wind. Apparently Hsinchu means “windy city.” It was Taiwan’s very own Chicago. They weren’t joking, it was windy. And cold. 

Coming to Hsinchu was the second mistake I had made so far. Going to Taichung being the first. Dirty, loud, sprawling, and very industrial, Taichung was where the slogan, “Made in Taiwan” originates from. Hsinchu was a mini version of the same. I had left behind the land of quant cities overflowing with warm, welcoming hostels. Hsinchu didn’t have a single hostel that I knew of. 

Depressed by the weather and alone on Christmas, I decided to treat myself. I splurged and got a hotel room for two nights. I was planning on exploring this mountain region filled with temples called Shitoushan for Christmas, and I was going to use Hsinchu as my base. 

Lonely Planet recommended a decent budget hotel so I tracked it down and checked in. After a few tense minutes of trying to communicate to the woman behind the desk that I wanted two nights’ accommodations, I was finally sorted and shown my room.

The room was a step up from my night’s resting spot in Taichung the day before. I felt my enthusiasm slowly returning. Getting a hotel room for myself is a luxury I am not used to. The room had a big TV with several stations in English, and a massive bathtub with extremely hot water. I could have a bath! 

This was a luxury!

I poked around. This was home for the next two days. Fluffy towels, shampoo, shower gel, complimentary tooth brush. I was momentarily excited when I saw a cabinet labeled “Mini Bar.” Maybe I could get toasted on Christmas and cry myself to sleep, using the fact that I was all alone as my excuse. I was quite willing to wallow in my own self-pity at this point. Behind the cabinet however, was just an empty mini fridge. I should have known better. 

I turned to examine the bed. Queen size mattress, four pillows and a plush comforter. I was in heaven considering I slept on a creaky cot back in Hong Kong. 

I flung myself on the bed, spread eagled, reveling in the freedom the massive mattress gave. I rolled over on my stomach and saw from the corner of my eye a small blue square packet by the phone on the nightstand to my right. Thinking it was a complimentary wet wipe for my face, as Asia loves their wet wipes, I picked it up.

It was a condom.

KW-Condom the packet read. One ultra-thin lubricated ribbed condom. For your night’s pleasure. 

My hotel room was ready for love. 

I stared at the foiled condom, flipping it over. I looked around the room. What kind of “budget” hotel was this?

I wasn’t ignorant. I had seen several night club entrances, lit up, their neon lights blazing; seductive snapshots of beautiful Asian women posing provocatively on massive bill boards over the entrance. Exotic sirens ready to tempt the weary male traveler. They were everywhere in Taiwan. Was this a hotel catering to the underworld of pleasure escorts? The first one free on East City Hotel? One complimentary jimmie and wham-bam thank you ma’am?

I tossed the condom to the nightstand. 

Well, it certainly wasn’t going to be put to good use in my room. One more reminder of my lonely, single status on one of the biggest holidays of the year. Thanks East City Hotel. Thanks for the reminder.

I considered walking out to the street and giving it to the first passer-by I met. After all, isn’t Christmas about giving?

Merry Christmas, this one’s on me, I’d say. God bless.

An Island of Spirituality

"No one saves us but ourselves. No one can and no one may. We ourselves must walk the path." ~~Buddha

You’ve seen one and you’ve seen’em all. That’s a feeling Taiwan could give you with its temple happy countryside. Taiwan is riddled with temples. Temple mania is what I kept thinking. And yes, from a distance, they all look quite similar, but if you take the time to really look at them and learn, you’ll find that no two temples are alike. 

I’ll be the first to admit I know nothing of these temples or Taiwan’s complex religious followings. But, I’ve been trying to learn because they fascinated me. They are an amazing splash of color standing out from the industrial feel of Taiwan’s cities. Bright colors of red, yellow, green, blue, and orange. Statues of dragons, tigers, lions, elephants and birds guarding doorways and rooftops. The elegant Bodhisattva around the corner inviting you to visit a wishing well. And of course, fat, jolly looking Buddhas everywhere. 

Taiwan is temple happy because the spirituality runneth over in this country. There is Buddhism, Taoism, Confucianism, and then Folk faith, I have learned. 

Taoist temples are the most exotic looking of the temples with their flashy colors and statues. They tend to be loud, very social places. Buddhist temples are a little more subdued and Confucius temples are very plain, simple. And quiet. Resembling a place you may sit and read a book in silence. Or say, philosophize, since the temple is dedicated to Confucius, one of our great philosophers and scholars. 

I got sucked into the temple mania of Taiwan. I have seen so many temples in the past two weeks I feel like my eyes could cross. Yet, I could sit for hours simply staring at them. The roof tops adorned with their dragons and tigers all tell a story, but I have no idea what everything represents. That was my mission while in Taiwan, but I soon found out it will take longer than two weeks to even begin to comprehend the complexities of these beliefs.

I am not a religious person, never have been. I don’t know if there is a God. I don’t know if there is a Heaven or Hell. I don’t know if I could or ever would believe in these things. But I do believe in spirituality. Even then, I can’t really put a description to it. I can’t sit and tell you exactly what I think spirituality is, or my role in it. I just feel that my connection with this world is spiritual. I find solace in nature. I have prayed to Mother Earth during times of need. I will sit for hours in the outdoors, in complete silence, until I feel the person who I am come back to me. This to me feels spiritual. Therefore, I believe it to be spirituality. 

I had gone to check out the Longshan temple in Taipei one of my first days in the country. It was easy to find, a short walk from the MRT exit. I walked to the entrance of the temple and hesitated before walking up the steps. I always do this before entering a temple. I’m never quite sure if I should be there. Perhaps I am interrupting some religious gathering by bringing my non-believing body to the premises. Last year in Indonesia some of the temples had restrictions. No revealing clothing, no cameras, must wear a sarong, no speaking, no women menstruating. Yes, that was a restriction. But so far in Hong Kong and now Taiwan, I had not met any such restrictions.

So I walked up the steps and into the front complex of the temple. It was large and beautiful. And it was busy. I had hit it at a time when worshipers were beginning to gather. 

A common thing to see with these temples are people lighting incense to pray to their various deities that the temple houses. A temple can be the home of one god or it can house several. It just depends. 

Longshan was a Buddhist temple and I found myself standing against the wall to watch without even really realizing it. Someone had begun to chant. That chant was spreading throughout the crowd. Devotees began to stand in lines, pulling out red books that I quickly understood to be prayer books. The cadence of the chanting rose as people stepped into formation. Some stood with eyes closed, lips whispered the words floating around the temple. I was in awe standing there. I had no idea what they were saying, but the words streamed around me, the beat pulsing in my blood. I could feel the emphasis of each syllable deep in my chest. It was a profound feeling. I looked around, elders stood or sat behind me, holding their red books, the words leaving their lips with such familiarity. I felt I was interrupting something very sacred. I felt like an intruder, especially since I knew absolutely nothing about Buddhism. 

 I noticed groups of people, perhaps voyeurs like myself, or worshippers, standing conversing with one another. As the chanting grew louder so did their social conversations. Really? Couldn’t they see what was going on around them? It seemed like the rudest thing. How could they be oblivious to this display of devout devotion surging around them? How could they stand there with their backs to the assembled line of bowing worshippers and laugh and carry on the way they were? I felt angry. I had been in Taiwan a mere three hours at that point. What I didn’t know was that temples were places to gather for devotion and for community. I had to go and look it up later because their lack of respect bothered me. 

I pushed away from the column I had been leaning against to explore the back section of the temple. As I walked, the chanting followed. Before I knew it, the melody of the words was in my head. The beat and sounds had become a song that my brain latched onto. Without realizing it, my lips started moving and I was whispering the song as I walked. I hummed the tune they chanted, lost in this world of religion, devotion, spirituality. Whatever you wanted to call it. 

I stopped again and stood watching as a procession of robed monks and nuns circulated the front hall, hands clasped in front of them, lips moving, fingers worrying wooden prayer beads. I felt something lift as I watched. Some weight I had been carrying fell away as their words lifted me up. 

Things are gonna be okay, I thought. 

What? 

I didn’t even know what it was that needed to be okay, but there I was, my inner monologue telling me so. 

So I guess, yeah, things are gonna be alright. 

I wanted more than anything to light a handful of incense and bow, waving the sticks up and then down as I saw the worshippers do. But something held me back. Fear? Maybe. Maybe I was afraid I would do it wrong. Or look silly, a westerner amongst strangers bowing to a God I knew nothing about. But I’d heard somewhere that Buddhism wasn’t strictly Buddhism. It combined facets to create an individual path of spirituality. That was why I was drawn to this experience. There was no one way. Or at least that was my take on it.

But who would I have prayed to? Or to what? And why? I didn’t know. A million things went thru my head. To this Earth? Thankful for the life I’d been given, the opportunities I’d had? For my family? For the unknown ahead of me? They seemed like selfish requests. 

I didn’t believe in the God of Christianity and I was sure He wasn’t anywhere in that temple anyway. The only thing I had ever come close to considering a God, was Mother Nature. And to be honest, we’d kind of been having a love hate relationship over the years. She hadn’t always been forgiving when I needed her to be. But isn’t that what God did? Forced to stand back when life was trying to teach you a lesson? 

Every time Mother Nature kicked me in the ass, I walked away knowing better for next time. No matter how much I found myself swearing at her, I always ended up thanking her in the end anyways.

I didn’t know any of the deities represented there. Some temples house the God of Travel, the God of Wealth, the God of Cities, and the God of War. I didn’t want to accidently pray to the God of Fertility in my ignorance. There was a very good chance She was there as this deity tends to draw a lot of women to pray for the welfare of their children or future offspring. I had noted a high percentage of female devotees bowing away. I avoided that area of the temple. Since my womb is not yearning for the invasion of a fetus, I restrained myself and just took it all in, my lips moving with the rhythm of the chant floating around me.