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Rural Road Trips: Camp fire coffee
There is nothing quite like an early morning cup of coffee cooked over a camp fire. So hot it burns your tongue and full of smoky goodness, it is happiness in a cup.
I get up early (5:30). It is peaceful and still. So far it’s just me and the birds and an occasional squirrel. It has rained overnight, so this morning coffee making poses a little extra challenge. Quickly, I realize I am unprepared. As this is the first trip of the season, I forgot to get the water, mug, coffee, etc. ready the night before. I don’t want to wake my husband so I creep out as quietly as I can and “make do”.
I scrape ashes in the fire pit and lay down cardboard scraps to make a dry bed. I find a few dry logs. Next comes my homemade fire starter…. Toilet paper tubes stuffed with dried lint. I forgot to collect sticks, so I dip into my fat quarter stash for kindling.
The damp wood is stubborn. It calls for my secret weapon…an old metal lid off of a discarded citronella candle. I wave the lid to generate a strong airflow and suddenly I have a flame. So far, so good.
Slow, steady burning generates hot coals. I place my trusty twenty-five year old pot directly over the flames. I’m not sure how it hasn’t caved in by now, but she just keeps perking.
Hard work done, I relax. I read, pray, and enjoy nature. This is only interrupted by emergency fanning to keep the fire from dying. Occasionally I have to use my fancy fire stick to rearrange logs (fyi any long thin branch works in a pinch).
Each fire is different, some mornings the coffee perks quickly, some days it takes awhile. Today was quick. So my coffee and I will enjoy the birds and the sunrise.
There is nothing quite like campfire coffee. I will cherish every minute until I drain the pot or other campers invade my glorious solitude, whichever comes first.
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I don’t want to be pretty
I don’t want to be pretty, but of course I do. I don’t want to be just a winner of the genetic lottery, and ornamentally pleasing. I mean that must be nice, and I certainly don’t want people to think I am ugly. But I would rather be stylish and interesting. If you think that I am pretty, I am lucky, but if not, it is more important that my unique sense of self shines through. I want to develop personal style. I want to embrace my grey hairs, a product of years of adventures; and to love my soft belly, earned giving birth to two amazing humans. I want my clothing choices to scream that I am thoughtful, creative and comfortable in my own skin. You might find me pretty, but I hope you find me vibrant, interesting and approachable.
I don’t want to be smart, but of course I do. Being smart is a gift. I certainly do not want to be stupid. But I don’t want to be just a label given to those that know the prescribed answers or that are born with a high level of mental ability. Smart is helpful, but I want to be learned and wise. These attributes require the use of innate intelligence in pursuit of knowledge. I want knowledge turned to service. I hope that each day I seek new ideas, multiple perspectives, and understanding. I want to live outside my comfort zone and to contribute ….to participate in the dialogue of ages by reading widely and traveling often. I want to expand and grow throughout my life.
I don’t want to be nice, but of course I do. To be pleasant, agreeable, satisfactory; girls are conditioned to be nice. We are told to smile more, to not make waves. Of course nice is comfortable, and I certainly don’t want to be mean. But I want to have the type of relationships where it is ok to say the hard things. I want people to say that I am authentic, caring, and kind. I want to move beyond the superficial, to invest in others, to really connect.
I don’t want to be good, but of course I do. To be approved of is a wonderful feeling. I certainly don’t want to be bad, but I want to be gracious and generous. I want to stand up for what is right even if I must stand alone. I want to engage in what John Lewis called “good trouble”. This may be a far cry from being a “good girl” who never makes waves and never speaks her mind.
In my life, I have encountered a culture where, it was expected that I work to make myself “pretty” but not to stand out too much. The social norms demanded that I conform to certain trends in dress, hair, make up and deportment. I could be smart, but not too smart. I was called into a freshman college classroom and told by the professor that I needed to deliberately try to make lower grades or I would not catch a husband. I have been told to smile when I was upset and been expected to be “nice”. This usually was code for not standing up for myself or others in situations…. to appease, to smooth over. I have tried to be good, to do what others wanted only to question whether my compliance was morally right.
It is tough to be human. We want to fit in. We want to be our true selves. In the best version of our world, we can be fully ourselves and appreciated for it. I want to be me. I want to be loved for being me. I want to see people as they are and love and support their true selves.
We live in an imperfect world, where people sort and separate and demand conformity. My 57 years of living have taught me that I don’t want to conform. I want to be valued for the many things I am instead of being judged for all the things I am not. So in my unique, imperfect way I will continue to strive to be me. I will pursue love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control…and I will work really hard to see you. Because we all deserve to be seen and valued as our true selves.
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Stuck In The Mud
It started out innocently enough. We arrived home from a lengthy trip and realized that workers were coming the next day to start replacing our deck. Our RV usually sits on a large paved pad next to our house, but that area would be needed by the construction workers.
My husband, just as he has done on several other occasions, pulled the RV forward into the grass. This gave the workers plenty of room to tear down the old deck and stage the new construction. He is always considerate and thinking ahead.
A few days later, we had an annual service appointment to get the RV ready for camping season. It would be a bit of a challenge backing it out past the trees and the construction trailer sitting on the rv’s usual parking spot, but we knew we could do it. It can’t be any worse than backing into a campsite. Am I right?
We went out and started our 30 foot motorhome and realized …… it had sunk into the earth. The ground had swallowed the tires. While we had been traveling it had apparently rained….a lot. The topsoil was dry, but underneath was a muddy quicksand. We didn’t know that our usual place to park the rv when it needed to be in the grass was a hidden swamp.
Our powerful engine counted for nothing when the tires just spun. But we were resourceful. We dug out mud around the tires and laid down wood strips for traction and tried again. If anything, it sank lower. Not to worry, we aren’t easily daunted. We hooked our trusty chevy pickup to the rv with heavy towing cable and pulled. Nothing. We put the rv into reverse and used two engines with a lot of horsepower. Nothing.
Okay….time to phone a friend. Our neighbor has a hemi…. I don’t really know what that is, but he seems to enjoy pulling people out of ditches with it. Within minutes, he showed up with a grin. “This will do it!” Except it didn’t. We tried every combination of towing tricks we could think of. Once we noticed that the step at the door into the rv was sitting in the grass, we decided it was time to stop. If we kept going it might be completely buried.
I went in the house and called our emergency roadside assistance number. It was time for professionals. I wish the call was recorded. It would have been entertaining. “Yes, I need help. I don’t know whether I need a winch or a tow. I don’t know how much the vehicle weighs. It is not stuck in snow or sand, just mud. It is currently 20 feet from my driveway. The location of the rv is at my home address. Yes, I need roadside assistance at my house. Yes, my home address is the location. No someone doesn’t need to come in the dark, tomorrow morning is fine. Why am I doing a lengthy process to allow text messaging while I’m trying to set up service is this really necessary right now? I just need someone to get the rv back on the pavement….AT MY HOME address.”
After an eternity I am off the phone, it but almost immediately it rings. “Yes, we do need assistance. No, we don’t need a mechanic. What do you mean you don’t know where to find the rv? It is at my home address. I understand you have my home address. No you don’t need me to tell you the location of the rv. I have done that four times. The rv is currently stuck AT MY HOME address.”
I wasn’t stressed, but now I had adrenaline crashing through my body. What if they are not able to remove the rv from the mud? The professionals weren’t very reassuring. I spent the rest of the evening thinking of plan b’s.
As it turned out, everything went fine. I wasn’t home for the great rv rescue operation. My husband tells me that he had to call back and go through a similar phone process to get someone to the house. But finally, after a series of additional calls, a highly competent local tow truck operator showed up with a winch. The construction team helped guide my husband past their equipment and all went well.
I try to learn from adversity. Isn’t typical that we often cause a new problem by trying to “fix” a situation? (We will save the construction crew a headache by moving the rv). Then when we notice a problem we race into action (I can take care of this by doing what I know from a prior experience)…sometimes making it worse (those four things I tried actually sank the tires further into the earth). Thankfully, we have friends to help us along the way, even if they often can’t fix things for us. They lighten the load and give us encouragement and suggestions. (Neighbors are the best. Seriously love them.) When it is time, we sometimes need to call in the professionals. (We have insurance for a reason.) Getting help from strangers can be challenging. They don’t know you or your circumstances. It feels frustrating having to tell the same story repeatedly to people who only want to know their narrow slice of information. But when help arrives and the right person with the right skills and resources gets involved it is a lifesaver.
Thankfully, we are no longer stuck in the mud. The rv, muddy wheels above ground, is sitting in the middle of our driveway. It is a bit of an obstacle until the construction is done and it can go back to its usual parking place. I don’t mind driving around it. It is a visual reminder that help is available when you are stuck in the mud….. if you are not too stubborn or frustrated to use it.
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The currency of currency: Travel Goals
Currency: the quality of being generally accepted or in use. The U.S. dollar (and also the Euro), as we were to find out, is the ultimate currency. ..at least in South America.
After arrival in any country, one of first stops we make is a bank or currency exchange. In recent years it has become easier to use an atm or credit cards than exchanging lots of cash. In fact, if we are staying in cities (or Iceland) there is almost no need for anything other than a credit card. We, however, I love the small shops and markets where cold, hard cash is essential.
On our latest adventure through South America, we had a variety of experience with money. In Argentina, we raced to a money exchange and got there just before they were closing for the weekend. Without time to ponder the exchange rate we exchanged about $200. We handed the clerk four bills, figuring that it would be enough for the five days were in Argentina.
Much to our surprise, he handed us back two gigantic stacks of bills. Apparently $200 U.S. dollars is almost 200,000.00 Argentinian Pesos. Live and learn. I felt like a bank robbery had occurred as we left with bills stuffed in pockets and my travel bag. I am not sure I have ever held so much money. It was wrapped like it should be stacked in a briefcase.
We did our best to spend it in open air markets, shops, and restaurants. It felt strange paying 10,000 for two glasses of fruit juice. We bought meals at Burger King with the total cost 16,0000. There were a few times where we used credit because we didn’t want to have to count out 60 bills. My husband, who always says he doesn’t like large bills was wishing for something larger than a 1,000 bill. So different than our normal.
While I was thankful for the exchange rate, I was painfully aware that I was blessed to be from a country with a thriving economy. Despite the complaints you see on social media, the U.S. dollar is strong. In Chile, we didn’t exchange for cash. They were clear that they didn’t want Argentinian money, but they happily took our U.S. dollars anywhere we went. It was almost preferable. If we had exact change great, if not we got change in Chilean pesos. Granted the change was always much less than the exchange rate, but at the low prices we encountered, I was always happy to give a little extra.
In the handcrafts markets, I always tried to give a little more when I could, in honor of their talents and the lost art of handcrafts. In a mall, somewhere in Chile, we used a credit card. After signing for the purchase, we were asked to produce a national id. Of course we didn’t have a Chilean national id. In broken Spanish, I tried to explain, while we offered a driver’s license. In the end, everyone was confused. But we left with sweatshirt and glasses in hand.
In Peru, we had already learned our lesson so we only exchanged a very small amount of money. Fifty dollars for two days. I bought museum entrances, icecream, soda, specialty chocolates, a pair of shoes, a hand carved ornament, a hand woven alpaca hat, and other trinkets. Seeing the high levels of poverty, I gave extra when I could. I was determined to give and I still couldn’t manage to spend it all.
I took several college level economics classes so in theory I understand valuation and market cycles. I can’t reconcile it in my head. At home people endlessly complain about inflation etc. Compared to the woman selling me a handbag made out of scraps, we live like kings. We have everything and can’t stop complaining. They have little and are generally joyful and thankful. There are deep lessons here that I am still internalizing.
In Ecuador, there is no need to exchange money. They use the U.S. dollar as their currency. Apparently their currency continued to devalue and they adopted ours for stability. I had no idea, but it made our small purchases quite convenient. According to the locals, they are very happy with the dollar and no longer worry about the value of their savings collapsing overnight.
The final stops of Panamá and Aruba were simple as they also widely accepted U.S. dollars. So convenient, even if the exchange rates were more even, I was secretly relieved. In these countries, prices were more in line with what I expected to pay and I felt less like a thief.
The moral of the story is that money is just paper unless it has value. The $20 I spent on a handmade necklace was much more valuable to the seller than it was to me. For them, $20.00 is a weeks wages. For me, it is often less than the cost of a meal.
The lesson is that money is a means to an end. Its value changes over time based on a variety of conditions. Greed is immoral. Humans can live and even thrive on less than I can imagine. Humans can also hoard more than they ever need while others go without. I was lucky to be born in a country with a stable currency. I hope to be more mindful of the blessing and live accordingly. To those whose only goal is more and more money…travel…meet people….get some perspective. I’m still hoping that compassion and cooperation gain currency.
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Unexpected Encounters: Travel Goals
When I was a teenager, I went to the science center IMAX. There, on the giant screen, I experienced scenes from the Andes and heard about a plane crash that left people stranded for 72 days. Through footage of the wreckage, I imagined the horrors of trying to survive on the side of a mountain in temperatures of over 30 below zero.
As an adult, standing in Montevideo Uruguay, I ran across the Museo Andes 1972. It is an unassuming multistory building that is too hot and has way too many people inside. The exhibit is small, the text is mostly in Spanish, and it is hard to see over the crush of tourists surging off of the cruise ships. We pay admission, despite the obstacles, and visit this small space that was intended as a pop up memorial. The museum has endured and expanded as a remembrance , a place of mourning and celebration.
On Friday the 13th, 1972 a small plane with a Uruguayan rugby team, their coaches, a doctor, a young mother, and a few others left Uruguay for a short flight over the Andes into Chile. Standing in front of mangled pieces of plane, it is clear they didn’t make it. The cases of student identification, glasses, and other personal effects make this more than story. The coats and sleeping bags made out of airplane seat covers show ingenious desperation. The goodbye letters and final photographs tug at my heart. I am captivated and compare the reality of the items in front of me to the IMAX story of long ago.
Just as I marvel at how 36 of the 45 could have survived the initial crash, I realize that a few were horribly injured. Mangled seats and bloody garments tell a harrowing tale that needs no translation. I am taking that in. They had no food except some candy purchased for someone’s children as a travel gift, a little soda and some beer. One tiny radio that let them know the search had been called off. Desperation.… I can feel it ….. all these decades later.
And then on top of all the hurt, an avalanche sends the plane further down the mountain and buries them alive. Eight more die instantly. Others are starving. Tough decisions must be made. I watch a video of a man just a little older than my husband describe how he and other survivors made the difficult decision to eat the bodies of the dead. He shared the moral and ethical dilemma they faced and what the reasoning process looked like. It was heartbreaking to watch. There were a few photos taken inside the buried plane. It was hard to look and hard to look away.
There was a child sized pair of red tennis shoes in a glass case. How odd and seemingly out of place? They were purchased by the woman on the flight as a gift for child. Red shoes marking the way home. The men took turns walking as far as they could in every direction hoping to find help. The shoes were used as place markers since they were the only spot of color in the snow. Homemade snow glasses and improvised parkas sat in cases nearby. Such ordinary materials put to extraordinary use. Symbols of hope.
Just when I feel completely spent, I read goodbye letters from a man to his wife. I need to sit, whether from the heat or the emotional toll…. I am unsure. I stop and flip through a coffee table book of the Andes and imagine walking through the beautiful and terrifying terrain.
Finally, in the basement, photos of rescue. Two of the men encounter a cattle driver after walking for 10 days. They are saved. 17 survivors in a grainy video walking off a plane. They are walking skeletons with wide smiles. Parents and family members hug and cry. The video cuts away to scenes of survivors living life since the tragedy.
I stand for a long time in the dark basement room looking at the wooden beams and saying a prayer. I can’t form the right words but I want these 17 people to be alright. I want them to know they beat the mountain, that their friends forgive them, that 100s of people are standing here amazed at their perseverance.
An unexpected encounter on an unassuming street.
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Cruise culture: Travel Goals
We said we would never cruise, and yet I found myself on a Holland America ship for thirty five days in order to sail around South America. My hesitation for cruise travel had nothing to do with the ship, the sea, the time, or the money. I dreaded the people.
I didn’t want to feel crowded or to have to chit chat with strangers. I can be a bit of an introvert. I had stereotypes in my head of self-entitled travelers engaging in constant excess….the so called ugly Americans. Thankfully my fears were overblown and most people we encountered were lovely. Germans, Aussies, British, Chinese, Japanese, Canadian. Lovely people from all walks of life with wanderlust. Unfortunately when they were downright dreadful….people you wanted to avoid, they were almost always American (stories for another day).
People who cruise have a unique sub-culture. The questions started immediately upon boarding. “What deck are you on? Do you have a balcony? What mariner level are you? What did you pay for your package? Do you get free laundry? Did you get the drink package?” In St. Louis, people ask “where did you go to high school?” In the South, “who are your people?”
The purpose behind such questions is to sift and sort. To determine who is of like means. To figure out who is worthy. To help the one who interrogates feel a bit more control and confidence. Occasionally, people ask to just make idle conversation. You can recognize the queen bees and king pins instantly, for before you can answer, they launch into why their choice is better, more expensive, a smarter choice etc.
At dinner, the conversation turns to “where have you cruised?“ or “how many cruises have you been on?” My answer of “none but this cruise” was met with astonishment. Additional questions always followed. “What did you pick 35 days in South America as your first? Aren’t you afraid you’ll get seasick?” We felt a little like the new kids in school. Plenty of cruisers felt compelled to assimilate us and show us the ropes.
At port, the people would line off the boat and file onto land tours. We would get horrified looks when we said we were traveling by foot or public transport and seeing local culture. It seems our independent travel ways were in the minority. But we love to immerse ourselves in the life of a country and its people. That is hard to do with only a few hours in port. Nevertheless, we tried. The times we joined a tour out of need for transport, we remembered why we don’t usual join a tour.
Cruising definitely has its own culture, very different than our usual sustainable, local adventures. However, I was so overjoyed to see the number of elderly travelers. There were plenty of people in their nineties still out seeing the world. I was inspired by their moxy and I loved hearing their stories of adventure.
So while cruising, unfortunately, did have some of the elements that I had hoped to avoid, mostly it was a group of people trying to experience life in its fullest. From all corners of the Earth and all walks of life, people gathered to see the world and understand it a bit better. That is my kind of sub-culture. Still, we will likely put off future cruising until we are unable to travel independently as we prefer more localized cultural experiences. But it is very nice to know that our 80 and 90 year old selves have plenty of travel options. And we have new roles models of senior travel experiences.
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Travel Goals: Excess
I just saw an article on women overpacking when they travel. The piece also suggested that packing deterred some people from traveling.
I will admit that trying to decide what to pack for a trip is an exercise in self control. But I pride myself in being able to pack for a two week international vacation in one carry on. Our last adventure to Australia was five weeks and I checked one midsized bag that had plenty of room left inside.
To me, luggage is cumbersome and can slow you down. Give me a backpack and one roller bag and I am good to go. Seriously. . . Less is better when you are on the road.
The decisions of what goes into those two bags are sometimes difficult. I usually start by laying aside articles of clothing that match the weather and planned activities at our destination. Once I have a critical mass, I begin to mix and match clothes. Each item that goes into the bag has to work with at least three other items of clothing that are going in the bag. In this way, three shirts, three pants, three jackets can give me at least twelve different outfits.
I also carry a few very lightweight dresses and one piece garments. I can usually get at least three of these in the backpack. If we are doing a lot of outdoor activities, I have to select a hat that can fold flat, and sometimes gloves. A scarf is always a good choice. If it is cold it can warm your neck; if cool it can serve as a shoulder wrap. Everything is rolled tightly to save space and control wrinkles.
I don’t worry about jewelry. I carry just a few old, basic pieces that can work with everything. I don’t want anything flashy that draws attention. I really like to blend in with the locals if at all possible.
Hardest of all…..at least for me….is shoe selection. I am a shoe girl. In my daily life, I like high heels and shoes with character. Shoes make the outfit. If you know me, you know I am very particular about shoe choice.
Minimalist travel doesn’t allow for my shoe addiction. I usually only find room for four choices. The bulky boot or hiking shoe must be worn on all travel days (they don’t fit into the bag). I am left with uninspiring neutral colored ballerina flats, sandals, or canvas shoes that can be folded and shoved into corners and crevices.
The remainder of space is taken by a hair brush, and very small clear bag to hold essentials like toothpaste and mascara. Make up is minimal to nonexistent when I am on the go. And finally, the electronics which may include a camera, laptop, kindle, and phone (and all the cords).
One bag. One pack. You don’t need more. Besides you have to create room for travel souvenirs. Leave yourself some space. Don’t let life weigh you down. Get out there.
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Dreaming of a Spring awakening
This winter has been sluggish. I always struggle in the grey, dark days to find meaning and purpose. I get up and read. Slowly going through the motions of the day, I long to be outside and for sunshine. It is hard to be motivated when hibernation seems the best option.
And so I dream. I bury myself in work, if work is available. I plan new materials for use in my training sessions. I clean and organize. I make blankets, puzzles, and food. I think I will write, but find I have nothing to say…at least nothing of substance.
To occupy my time, I make photo books of our travels. It is an exercise in restraint. I take hundreds of photos when we are on the road. I briefly wonder why I am not so interested in documenting my ordinary existence. I discard that line of thought and move on to dreaming of our next extraordinary step outside of our usual existence.
It starts with a crazy idea. A glimmer of a future adventure in a new environment. The timing is uncertain until one day the stars align and we purchase tickets or rent a house on distant shores. I can’t pinpoint when or how that day will come. It just seems to happen when the time is right.
The dates are set for what seems like a long way away in the future. The days crawl by for until the excitement of planning wears off. Then I forget about it for a while. The trip becomes almost imaginary.
I read as much as I can about local culture and opportunities. It is like I am opening a window into another world. We seek an authentic experience away from resorts and tours. We want to live locally and immerse ourselves in another way of life. (In as much as that is even possible. I know we are still American tourists, but we hope to tread respectfully do our best to show respect and appreciation for the community we land in.)
But, sometimes the doubts set in. Will it be wonderful or horrible? Can I adjust to the environment? Will people be friendly or hostile? Do I have what I need? Will I be able to handle whatever happens? I quickly realize this is just fear of the unknown. My mood and confidence altered by the endless gloom of winter.
I remind myself that I have successfully handled many situations before and that sometimes bumps in the road make the best travel stories. (Someday, I will write about the six hours we spent trying to do one load of laundry in Portugal or about the night I was stranded in a dark bathtub when the fuses blew in our ancient apartment building). I smile when I think of how much richer my life is because of the experiences so very different than my origins. Mark Twain said “Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry, and narrow-mindedness, and many of our people need it sorely on these accounts. Broad, wholesome, charitable views of men and things cannot be acquired by vegetating in one little corner of the earth all one’s lifetime.” I believe that. And so I forge on.
So on this February day, I give thanks for the sunshine and bird song. Spring is just around the corner and so is another adventure. I don’t know exactly what will happen in the months to come. But I can say with certainty that I will push myself outside my comfort zone. We will seek new awakenings and will be richer for it.
The sun is shining. It is time to dream silly dreams and get out there.
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Relationships and the Common Good
To be human is to be in relationship. All that we are, all that we think, all that we do has been shaped by our interactions with other people. Neuroscience confirms that the pathways in our brain are wired by interactions with others. Happiness is linked to personal interactions that produce endorphins. It is no secret that to function well, we need each other.
The U.S. was founded on the principle of the common good. “We the people…perfect…general welfare….”, etc. Our collective images of a good life in popular culture include strong relationships (think Friends, Cheers, Mayberry….even Virgin River). Deep down we all long for a place where everyone knows our name.
Relatively recently, our society has made a subtle yet sudden shift. I’d like to blame it on technology, but that would be too easy. Technology is often helpful and nothing is simple. In America today, we are isolated and we have bought into the myth of the self sufficient, rugged individual.
Technology has made it possible to work from home, shop from home, bank from home. You can go weeks without having meaningful interactions with anyone. You can shop in a store and check yourself out having no eye contact or verbal exchange. You can get your news online and only visit sites that agree with your point of view. In fact, social media algorithms will make sure that you see more and more of the thoughts and ideas that conform to your preferences.
We fool ourselves into thinking that our online interactions are filling our need for relationships, but neuroscience tells us it does not. It takes more and more online interaction to derive any sense of connection until we find ourselves in the doom loop of scrolling aimlessly and constantly, even in the presence of our human friends and family. We can’t help ourselves..it is part of our physiology to want more novelty. And so we gravitate to things that stimulate, shock, and anger. The algorithms feed the internal need.
All of this isolation isn’t healthy. It leads us to a state of detachment in which we disconnect our thoughts, wants and needs from those others. We no longer associate our actions with the impact they have on others. All that matters is how I feel and how it impacts me. Modern society reinforces this instant gratification by offering even more individualization. And so it goes.
Individualism runs deep. Travel has forced me to look closely at things I take for granted. Transportation in the U.S. is individualized and requires a car. At least where I live, it is impossible to exist without one. I get in my car by myself. I drive to where I want to go, past thousands of individual drivers. I park as close to the door as possible. I get out, I go in. When I am ready to go to the next stop at the end of the block, I restart the car and drive to the next parking lot. I never have to be outside if I don’t want to. In fact, I can’t walk (even if I wanted to) because there is no sidewalk or pedestrian walkway across the highway.
I am on my own, but if I am honest, I love the freedom of my car. I love the open road. But what happens if I can’t drive? Public transport isn’t even available until I get to the city. There it is unreliable. It has limited access and is considered somewhat unsafe. Why spend money to benefit people who can’t afford a car? Let’s build more roads and parking lots instead. Asphalt doesn’t have to be mowed and conveniently runs right up to the air conditioning (I am getting carried away with my thinly veiled sarcasm and digress).
After spending several months in other countries, I’m pretty sure we missed something. When I am abroad, I still have the option of driving myself, but I seldom choose to. Instead, I ride buses and trams and trains and ferries. I walk on sidewalks and through parks, squares, and other glorious public spaces.
I am connected. I see other families in my neighborhood and quickly make connections. I give up my seat for the elderly, because they can go anywhere in the city (or surrounding towns) without having to drive. Their independence and walking stamina inspire me. They are part of a bustling community and are seen and heard by their neighbors.
Virtually everyone is in better shape, because they regularly walk and spend time outdoors. Cities and town spend money on sidewalks, bike paths, walkways, parks, gardens, and public art. Because community, health, and the common good is critical to well being. Ironically, everyone has more choices and independent options because they are collectively valued.
Don’t get me wrong. I am blessed to be part of my very American community. But the more I learn about what it means to be human, the more I understand that we have some corrections to make. We need each other. We must invest in each other. The common good matters.
Do yourself a favor. Put down your device today. Take a walk. Visit a public space and have a conversation with a stranger. Your brain will thank you. If we all did the same, we could stop fuming at how divisive the country is and focus on becoming more connected. And maybe, just maybe, we would create public policy initiatives to benefit us all. Relationships matter.
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Hibernation
The cold fingers of winter creep up on you. Wrapped in the post holiday glow, you don’t notice it at first. Still full and warm, you snuggle into a comfortable lull.
At first it seems cozy. Contentment radiates, until one day you decide to pack away the decorations. The house looks clean and bright. You blink and just like that, the January clouds descend. From merry and bright to grey and blight in an instant.
It is bone chillingly cold today, the holidays and the Spring both seem far away. It is tempting to fall into the fog and sleep the day away. And yet, the fire crackles and I am thankful for its warmth. I am grateful for a home to shelter against the sub zero temperatures. Not all are so lucky.
In the worst of winter, it is easy to feel listless. I miss the sun and long for woods. For now, I will have to be content to watch the birds sheltering in backyard trees. I will find beauty in the ice formations on the windows and the dancing flames in the fireplace. I will also likely become reacquainted with comfort food. Warm bread makes everything better.
Full of biscuits and bacon, I remember that I still have dreams to dream and things to learn. I have a wall of books and a closet of games. Spring will come eventually. Until then, I will be content and count my many blessings.
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Prisoner of Hopes 