Topic: Posting like mad
I hope you guys enjoy me posting every 5min. it seems. Just a lot to say these days…
So…it’s interesting when you go through some intense experience, then you come back home, and are expected to fit right back into normal. People may inquire a little into your experiences, but they’ll never know the half of what you’ve been through. I’m starting to follow this line of thought, because it helps explain what i’m doing. How did I go from a quiet and shy kid at home, the kid who aimed for straight A’s, to this kid with a grand vision for revolutionizing higher education? How come I started my senior year of college wanting to be a legal investigator, and working towards earning a national title on the Wash U. mock trial team, to this person, sort-of in the real world, but not really in the sense that I’m an unestablished wanderer, an aspiring somebody.
The answer lies in those experiences and people I’ve met, who are now nowhere to be found. The 78-year old woman I spent a day with, helping to feed 500 starving dogs in a township in South Africa. The gay English hypnotist who fed me cheesecake, and who I walked arm-and-arm with around Stellenbosch University, one of the oldest and most conservative schools in SA. Maybe it was hiking w/ two 30-something Englishmen, who still thought fart jokes were funny. The two girls from Vancouver who never went to college, and were spending two months going all over Africa. The doctors from Belgium who were part of Doctors Without Borders, a program that brought them to Africa to educate people about AIDS. Maybe it was when I went with my Welsh friend Dan to his MBA program to hear a speaker on how to find a career you love, and thinking to myself, these guys are 25+, still emotional about getting good grades, and yet, they don’t even know what work they can possibly do to make them happy. Or that day I spent with Dan leisurely driving the coast, having drinks, visiting the most expensive estates around. Maybe it was the nice woman who scooped me up when I passed out at the Cape Town wine festival, and brought me home, and made fun of me when she saw me in a cafe (writing) the next day. It might be Matt or Gilmar, who work at the Green Elephant hostel in Observatory, a quiet suburb of Cape Town, whose job is to maintain the place, but otherwise, they live in a big house that I called home for several weeks. Maybe it was Jon who graduated from Oxford, and went running by me on the Cape Town mountains, and helped me write an article critiquing education everywhere to the NYT (unpublished). Maybe I was influenced by my two Outward Bound instructors, 30 years old, and making a living taking me and 9 other people camping. Maybe it was being fit enough on that course to run a half-marathon without walking once. Or Menzi, my 30-year old co-instructor in S. Africa, who managed a group of kids with the ease of someone who has instructed for 5 years. Maybe it was nearly crying because the mountains were so steep, and hot, and merciless, but the fact I didn’t die there. Or maybe, it was the guy who did die in the mountains, who I had to help carry out at 9pm at night, who weighed over 250lbs. It could have been my friend Ella from Belfast, Ireland, an art student volunteering at OBSA (outward bound south africa) who decided to stay for the year to be an instructor. Or the two Czechs, Petr and Zdenka, who were always helping me make sense of the world. Or Doc, 38 years old, making paper machete models when he’s not instructing courses. Why else might I be doing what i’m doing, having strayed from the traditional? Maybe Gary, 40 years old from Manchester England, had his leg amputated last year, who I spent the day hiking and cliff diving with. Or the guys who were volunteering in an all black villiage in their hospital. Or the guy I met on my flight to S. Africa who was coming from Ecuador where he taught English, even though he knew no Spanish, and the kids alternated days of school because of overcrowding. Maybe my friend Eugene who I lived with in Cape Town, who wants nothing more than to rock climb every day, and can drive 20min. and be hanging from rock. Or Mike Pagodin, who has worked for Outward Bound for 30 years, and recently located to help build the program in S. Africa, and would invite the entire staff over for a braai and beer. Maybe it was the fact that I went sailing for the first time this year, and soon got good enough to run every part of a whaler that sat about 15 people. Or learning how to do a kayak roll. Maybe teaching 10 African kids how to sing Piano Man, while they taught me a cheer that I was later able to lead the entire staff of my summer camp in, “Yo, yo yo, yo yo la vista…” Why am I not back in graduate school, teaching in a classroom, or wearing a shirt and tie? Maybe it was that evening where a group of us all packed into a car and sped across town just to catch a sunset. Maybe it was spending a day fishing with my best friends on my sr. spring break trip in South Padre Island, Tx. Maybe it’s the concert I’m going to Sept. 17-19, in Austin, Tx. Why don’t I pick one thing and stick to it? Why don’t I have a car, or my own place? Maybe because I want to stay with my good friends in St. Louis, and they have room for me to crash. Maybe because I’ve got all this camping gear, and the Appalachain trail is calling my name for a hike sometime this year. It could be that I might meet some interesting people taking Greyhound around America. It could be that I’ve got a bicycle that I love to ride, and I’m ready to be active again. I think i’d like to see some of the protests at the Republican National Convention, I think I’d like to see some friends maybe in Vancouver for New Year’s, I want to see my oldest sister run a marathon in D.C. on Haloween. There may be a day I just want to find a park and read a book. Perhaps a stranger to chat to. What if in 3 months time I become a minor celebrity? I may be asked to travel to other schools to speak about my book. Maybe I’ll successfully be able to create a college course, and bring American college students back to S. Africa. Wouldn’t that be sweet. Why is life the way it is? I’ll tell you why…