Not what I had in mind...

I've been so busy and tired with work and getting adjusted to new surroundings that I have been unable to get my creative juice flowing. So far the summer has been... well, rough in many ways. My husband had to move to ANOTHER CITY to find a job, and I've been living in Atlanta with his aunt and uncle and young, young cousins. And work has been a little on the stressful side. It's hard to be a newbie, and especially when I know that everyone else around me at least has a college degree. And at the same time, I have not found my current tasks to be entirely challenging or stimulating. But after next week it's on to better things.

I just hope I can shake the nervous feeling I'm constantly having. I feel sick in the mornings, nauseous and dizzy, and then in the afternoons I feel shaky. I have a sinking feeling that no one in the office likes me, even though I'm trying so hard. It's probably just silly paranoia; still, I can't help but think that I've screwed up somehow already.

I've enjoyed cooking when I have the time. My husband and I recently discovered that we can go to Whole Foods and get frozen edamame for nearly half what we've paid for it elsewhere, so I see myself experimenting with that as much as possible. It's been interesting living with non-vegetarians--we're constantly having to explain things to them. On top of that, Bob's aunt is a celiac and cannot eat gluten. So I've been mulling over some vegetarian, wheat-free ideas. I'm sure I'll be back with more on that later.

NC escape

I know it's been several weeks since my last entry--I've been at different times pretty sick, pretty busy, or pretty lazy. I've been doing a lot of cooking, a bit of visiting, and more staying up playing video games with Bob than I ever thought I was capable of. But tonight, it's time for a little bit of writing.

The internship that I have been looking forward to for six months now has finally begun. I started training this past Monday in Greensboro, North Carolina. Our days have been so full of learning and presentations and case studies that I have been mentally exhausted at the close of each day--once all the computers have been closed down, all the dinner courses finished and all the drink glasses drained, all the socializing wound down and all the people finally turning in for the night, I have been so taxed (excuse the pun) that the best I can do is to flop down on my queen-size bed and let my brain swim for just a few minutes. Not that I'm saying at all that I have not liked it--quite the contrary, I have enjoyed nearly every moment--but it's a different sort of exertion than I'm accustomed to. It's wonderful to see the concepts I've studied and memorized and been examined on over the past two years finally being put to practical use right in front of me, like someone opening up my rusty mind and pulling out tools I forgot I had amassed, and saying, "See this? Let's lube it up, you're going to need it."

But most importantly, I had a moment yesterday when I knew, I knew, that I would not lose sight of who I am (or, more appropriately, who my God is and what He makes me to be in Him), as I have, to some extent, feared would happen. Staying rooted to my values--not letting anyone tell me that I must work as hard as I can and become a millionaire in my old age, when I know that I should be storing up my treasures elsewhere--not becoming self-focused when I have been commanded to love God first and my neighbors second, and to trust that He will always be faithful to meet all my needs--these are the things that I have to hold on to. There's nothing inherently wrong with the accounting profession; the problem is with the mindset that so many people in this profession have adopted, a set of values that could easily seduce someone away from the more rewarding and important things. Jesus promised, "I will never leave you nor forsake you." I believe that with all my heart.

I love the other interns from my office. They're going to be such a fun crowd, and I'm really looking forward to the time we'll spend together over the summer. In fact, there have only been a couple of down sides to the whole week. The first: I miss Bob. Since we got married, we've only ever spent one night apart at once. But he dropped me off at 9:00 on Monday morning, and will pick me up around 8:00 tomorrow night. That's five days, four nights. No Bob. We've talked on the phone each day, but that's a poor substitute. He hates talking on the phone, and so I always feel kind of estranged from him when he's on the line. Still, I look forward to those conversations with him. During the day, it makes me happy just to think about him and pray for him, and know that he misses me. The second problem this week has been the food. You know, I'm used to eating very low-fat, vegetarian-friendly meals. I'm used to eating a big breakfast and a small dinner. Don't misunderstand me--the quality of the food the resort has served this week has just been wonderful. Most people would love to spend a week eating the things they have set in front of. But picky me, I have had a hard time getting the foods I know I need to keep my body from going south very quickly. It's difficult for me to start my day with nothing but a plate of fruit and six ounces of yogurt. But of course, I won't eat the bacon and sausage, nor do I need the muffins and pastries. I cannot wait to have a simple bowl of Kashi with skim milk (or maybe soy milk?). Actually, the vegetarian thing has been very easy to work around--until today. At dinner tonight, for the main course, they set a plate of steak and grilled chicken down in front of me, alongside a tower of mashed potatoes (which I don't eat) and a stalk of broccoli. I felt terrible about asking them to bring me a vegetarian meal. I should have told someone earlier in the week that I was vegetarian, and the entire situation would have been avoided. But when I saw that every meal offered plenty of vegetarian-friendly options, I decided not to trouble anyone. It was a little embarrassing, but they were so nice about it. They made me a lovely pasta dish--and of course I didn't eat much of the linguine itself, but I ate all the vegetables out of it, and it was fine. Still, I will be glad to get home and have a meal that doesn't involve buckets of butter and heavy cream and oil and white starches. My lunch on Saturday, a bowl of homemade vegetarian black bean chili, will be one of the most refreshing meals I've ever had.

When your mind is exhausted, your body thinks it's exhausted too. Until yesterday, I was unable to work up the discipline to exercise, even though I desperately needed it. Last night I ran on the treadmill, about 3.5 miles. It felt great, and it stimulated me and made me realize that, in fact, I had plenty of energy to expend. Running involves your mind a lot too, so it wasn't entirely a veg-out session. Still, it felt good to breathe rapidly and have aching muscles, and to feel perspiration on the back of my neck. My run tonight was even better. About 8:30, when it was still barely light outside, I went out to run on the golf cart trails (the resort boasts two golf courses). The weather was just wonderful, and the terrain was gorgeous. I ran up hills and down, working out my pace all the way so that I could maximize my energy. I ran by greens and lakes, alongside small streams, through woods, and even inside a tunnel below the road. There was so much silence--just the slapping of my shoes against the path. It seemed like there was so much going on, both around me and within me. Once it got fairly dark and I was mostly spent, I turned around and ran back. This time, I ploughed straight through the night--it was as if the greens and the water all disappeared, and it was just me in a tunnel of night. I knew when I was in the woods because it became pitch black, and the flora that had looked so beautiful when I passed it the first time appeared this time as caves of nothing, exuding darkness. I ran up a steep hill, and when I got to the top there was the resort, glowing like a sand castle. It was beautiful.

Family, friends, sushi, & Edward Norton

This is my favorite kind of weekend--when you have nothing pressing to do, and you can just see all the people and do all the things that you've missed out on lately. Almost all my friends--including my husband--are graduating next weekend from UGA (I feel kind of strange to be staying a fifth year), and one of my friends' parents had a party for her yesterday, out in farm country where they live. It was like a fairy tale, sitting at white-clothed tables outside, warm spring day, a lake in the background, drinking champagne with close friends. We stayed late, then all gathered to watch 25th Hour until almost two in the morning. What a lovely time--I wish life could always be like that. But the sublime moments, when everything is right and fun and easy, are the little gems that I look forward to among everything else... The moments that make it all worth living in the end.

I went for a nice run this morning, though it was cut short by the rain. It was a gradual rain; I felt stray drops on my head when I first came outside, but the sky was black and I knew it would open up any time. And slowly it did, refreshing at first, but by the time I had run about two miles it was coming down so hard that I had to go home. But it was refreshing and energizing just the same, a habit I hope to continue this summer. Running has been hard for me lately because I've been so tired after schoolwork was done that I needed to nap or to veg. So I've enjoyed getting back into the rhythm. We went to church, and now it's off to farm country again, where Bob's family lives. Then sushi tonight with friends--again, my kind of day.

A grand finale

It's amazing that I've spent the entire academic year with the same two girls, who have been in all my accounting classes with me and stayed up until one in the morning with me, who have pulled eight- or ten-hour tax research marathons with me, studied with me, researched with me, completed projects and PowerPoints with me, and only just in the past few days am I getting the chance to see who they really are. Doing relaxing things together, having dinner together, talking about literature (not PCAOB literature, or FASB statements, or SOX, or *ahem* the Tax Code). How does that happen? How do you spend such a significant portion of your life with people, and never get to know the other sides of them? How do you manage to call someone a friend when you've never had a discussion with them that doesn't involve consolidating balance sheets or deducting passive losses? How does your life get that out-of-balance?

Anyway, I feel like that stage is over now. I put down my pencil at 10:30 this morning, and it was over--all the cramming, all the stress, all the neglect of Laura as a well-rounded person. Because next year, it won't be this way. When I come back to school in the fall, it will be to finish the last year of my MAcc, but it will also be with a new consciousness of caring for myself and living my life on more than one level. It will be to enjoy the last semester of school with my friends, my last year in Athens...

I needed a break last night, and I went to the Wesley Foundation. Bob and I have been really active there for several years now, but this past semester has made it difficult to be active in anything beyond classwork. As I tried to worship God I just found my head spinning and my heart sick; as I took communion I found myself unable to control the sobs that broke forth from my chest. And I realized that, however hard I've worked this semester, and whatever I've been able to achieve (All A's? I'm not so sure...), it's not been worth losing touch with myself, with my body, with my God. These past few months have been a constant ebb and flow, sometimes being very rewarding and exciting but often waning into frustration and worry and depression. It's time to gain my sense of self again.

My nature writing class helped keep me balanced, helped to remind me that there are aesthetic and artistic facets to my nature--helped remind me that I'm good at something, indeed even called to something, greater than crunching numbers. I'm called to reflect God and to serve Him and to serve His people. I'm called to use the gifts He has given me--the many gifts, the gifts that should be blessings and not burdens. Accounting was not a mistake for me; in fact I am quite certain that it was God's plan for me. But not the only plan. Not the ultimate goal. I'm only twenty-two, and I know there's much more than what I've seen and lived. And I know that each moment, though stressful and impossible, will flee like the dawn and just be a puff of smoke in my memory. I know that my self-attained glory will wither and fade like the grass of the field, and when that happens I better hope I have stored up some treasures in heaven, because we all reap what we sow in the end.

Barbara Kingsolver wrote, in her essay "High Tide in Tucson," that sometimes when she wakes up in the morning she thinks simply, "Let me be a good animal today." It's comforting to know, amid all our creation and striving and bustle, that we humans are really just animals. We're not some great beings over all the earth, and the only greatness we have to achieve is the greatness we burden ourselves with by seeking it. I don't always want to achieve greatness. Sometimes I just want to achieve my calling and my purpose. Sometimes I just want to wake up and breathe in and out and feel the sun on my skin and the wind in my hair. Sometimes I just want to fade among the other inhabitants of this world all around me. Sometimes I just want to be a good animal.

I think that's why I hike, and why I enjoy the earth in general. It refreshes my spiritual self and my physical body; it lets me melt away into the deep woods of Appalachia, until I am just another creature meandering along by the creek at the foot of the millennia-old mountain. I think that's why I run, because it forces me to connect with every part of my body--my respiratory and circulatory system, my ability to endure, my love for outdoors, even my need to find my way back home when I don't know where I am. And I think that's why I write, because it gives me a medium to put these things down in history, make them permanent and real. It gives me something to look back at later, when my life is out of whack again, and say, "Remember the girl I was? What happened to her? How have I come this far--and how can I get back to that place again?" And it gives me a way to share with others, and reaffirm my belonging to a greater humanity, not as someone made great by power or position but, simply, by God and through Him.

Bob is concerned for me. I don't blame him; I would be too, if I saw someone pulling her hair out at two AM every night, consumed by stress and anxiety. But that's not me anymore. That's no way to live, and it's certainly not what was intended for my life all along. With God's help, I will finally put these silly worries behind me, step into my calling and my purpose--I will become a good animal again.

Yummy yummy tofu (etc.)

Hah! I've learned so much about cooking tofu since becoming a vegetarian--it can be tricky stuff. Yesterday, I made some great tofu burrito filling--just crumbled extra-firm tofu, sauteed with tomato paste and spices. That was a very-fun project, and it has inspired me. I've been cooking all day today, mostly baking breads. My nature writing class went out to Big City Bread for lunch today, and the restaurant was very quaint and the food delicious. Grilled vegetable wrap, including eggplant, zucchini, portabellas, red peppers, spinach, feta, and tzatziki sauce. Yum! But the thing that really got to me at the restaurant today was the bread selection--never, except in a Parisian boulangerie have I seen more wonderful things. So I immediately came home and made whole wheat oatmeal bread. Later tonight, I made cherry-walnut banana bread from the Fatfree Vegan Blog, of which I am a frequenter. One thing I've always wanted to do is bring the taste of French bread to the U.S.--something that has never, that I am aware, been successfully done. French bread in the U.S. tastes not even remotely like the French bread in *gasp* France--even at such gourmet locations as Panera Bread and the Atlanta Bread Company. Somehow, I have to learn the secret to making authentic French bread. I start with handcrafting and kneading my own loaves--I know that makes a difference. One day, I will produce a baguette reminiscent of French breakfasts (and lunches, and dinners, and all in between...) and that may very well be the happiest day of my life.

It was so cool out today! The wind was very strong and chilling--I had to break out the long sleeves again. It was overcast most of the day but never rained, so on the whole today was my favorite kind of day. I remember watching storms approach when I was a kid--playing outside in the summertime, when suddenly you notice the sky growing dark and a wind coming in (usually from the east, sweeping off the ocean). Breathing in that pre-thunderstorm air is always envigorating, as if you are inhaling the very electricity and excitement of the storm itself. Those electrons brush your nerve endings and then... The storm is inside you, in all its grace and wonder. That's what today reminded me of--sitting at the table outside Big City Bread, the tiny white lights in the trees overhead were the brightest visible light source. The leaves rustled in the wind and let go of their branches, and suddenly we would look down to find our salads replenished with new leaves. I held my coffee mug tightly between the palms of my hands as the chill bumps formed up my arms to the opening of my three-quarter sleeves. But the rain never came. Not today.

It would have been a glorious day for a run, and indeed I planned on it, but this afternoon I came down with a headache/stomachache/sore throat. So I decided not to push my body too far. Perhaps this weather will linger into tomorrow.

Could it be...?

After all the hard work of the last two or three weeks, all the numbness and the foggy-mindedness and the general unpleasantness that accompanies being a master's accounting student in the last weeks of the semester... After all that wrapped up today at 5:00 PM, with the exception of two final exams, it is hard to know how to react to a moment of rest. I have oscillated so much recently on my opinion of accounting, of school, even of my very life--but now, now that it is all a memory, I am reminded that there is nothing that lasts forever in this lifetime. Nothing hard will endure for very long, because life is not very long anyway. And I feel silly for having worried so much.

But sometimes, you have to worry. Not worry as in feel anxious, but worry as in give a care. I can't not care about school, about my grades or just my general performance. I can't sleep well at night with things hanging over my head that must be done and done well. These past weeks, I've had to worry. I've had to care, had to work harder than I ever thought I could work. And now I know it's all okay. Two finals, and then some exam grading. That's all that's left for me, until I begin my internship in late May.

The rain last night really cooled the weather. I think the earth was parched, dehydrated, overheated. Sometimes I think I can hear the earth panting, here in Georgia in the summertime. And the rain refreshes it like a cold sip of water on a sticky, swollen tongue. The rain refreshed me last night--Bob and I walked through it on the way to the Wesley Foundation, and the misty spray in my hair and over the lenses of my glasses helped me feel alive to the world again. I mean really alive, life that pierces through you. I've really felt numb, dead, like my spirit was a vegetable and I've just been dragging it behind me to all my classes and meetings. But wind and rain on your face--that will wake you up, sure enough. It did for me, at least.

To write, to write... I'll write this weekend. I have things to say. Thoughts like bats, flying haphazardly around, fill my mind right now and bang on the inside of my skull, asking to be let out. Open up, they say, admit to us. I've not been trying to hide my thoughts--I've not even had writer's block. I've simply had other things on my mind that were more pressing.

More pressing than my ultimate calling in this life--amazing thought. Distressing thought. I don't strive for much, but I should really learn to strive for less.

Vote with your fork?

When we go grocery shopping we have to make a choice--either we may buy the cheap, pesticide-laden produce that comes to us at the expense of farmland, the environment in general, and our own health--or we may vote against it. Buy organic. In other countries people pay very dear prices for their food, up to 1/3 of their annual incomes. In America? We spend less than 10% of our incomes on food, when we're the nation in all the world with the best chance to do something better.

I came across a blog entry today based on a speech, "The Cornification of America," delivered by a well-respected and talented nature writer/journalist named Michael Pollan. I read the blog, and was reminded of how strongly I feel about these things. I would say more, but that would be taking away from the power of his message. Read it for yourself.

Prioritizing...

I decided today that I'm not going to let my body and my sense of self to take backseat to my school responsibilities. This may seem like a rather obvious conclusion to have come to, but truthfully, I have struggled nearly all my life with putting too much importance on grades and on excelling in school. When I know that no one cares about your GPA in graduate school, why am I so fixated on As, trembling at the very thought of staining my track record with a B in an accounting class? Long after I have graduated and gotten a job and probably moved on to something else, when my grades are long forgotten and many of the technical skills I had once mastered have become dull and rusted, my body and my self-worth, and yes, my God, these things will remain. And while I know that God will have grace with me even in all the time that I do not give to Him (not that this justifies living in a way that less than glorifies Him), my body will constantly remind me how it was neglected and forgotten during my college years. I'm 22--at the peak of my physical shape. I don't want to spend my twenties overwhelmed to the point that I cannot physically exert myself and enjoy breathing so hard my lungs want to burst, or my eyes stinging with perspiration that rolls down my forehead.

I went on a run this evening, a beautiful spring (though practically summer) twilight. I hadn't run in about a week and a half, but before that it had been at least six weeks. Though my run tonight was short--only about 2 miles--it felt so wonderful to get moving and out in the fresh air. Lately I have had it in my head that I was developing a vitamin D deficiency (completely fabricated in my own mind--it would be really hard to shut yourself away from the sun to that degree), and it was a healing experience to be out in the fading light of day, running beneath the honeysuckle that creeps over the sidewalks, through sprinklers and past dads sitting on their front porches with their young daughters playing in the front yard. And I decided that nothing, nothing, not even an A in my advanced accounting class, is worth forgetting and forsaking the exhilaration of working your body. I know that the dividends will be much greater... and I know that I am preserving not only my health and well-being for myself, but am also preserving my body as a temple, a sanctuary to honor the Lord.

As I was walking home from class today, I saw something intriguing--a bright red Jeep Grand Cherokee, pollen-dipped, and on the back of the Jeep a spider web, the most prototypical concentric, undamaged, possibly, that I have ever seen. I think about the times when I have taken note of spider webs in nature... Beneath my mom's climbing jasmine, along infrequently traveled trails through the woods, places serene and inviting to a spider seeking to set its wily trap. But never, in all my experience, on the back of a Jeep. The golden-brown grains of white oak blossoms, which litter the sidewalks all over campus, lay suspended in the adhesive fibers of the web, alongside the salmon-colored, teardrop-shaped wings of maple seeds. The most prominent symbols of the birth and growth embodied in spring, but not a single insect. Nor did I see the spider. Perhaps she built another web elsewhere, not putting much faith in the power of one built upon a brightly painted hunk of metal sitting in a parking lot. I hope she did.

Breathless

I've been so busy and my energy so sapped with all the things I have to do, I don't know how to make it through the next few weeks until the end of school. It's so close, but I can't even think of how close it is because all I can think of is what I have to get done this minute... and that minute...

I wish I could take care of my body better. I want to run. I want to walk. I want to be in the sun. I want to eat more fresh vegetables. But I can't do any of those things like I should, because I cannot invest the time. I feel like I'm losing these days and months of my life. It makes me so sad. I wish I could spend more time with my friends... Especially those who are graduating soon and moving away. I'll look around one day and they'll be gone, and I will have missed their departure, trapped in the cloud of my own breathless life. I wish I would write more, and on my time. Deadlines are sneaking up faster than I can crank out even mildly acceptable junk to turn in, and I cannot do anything that I feel enhances me as a person. I wish I could spend more time in prayer and meditation. When I sit down to seek God intensely, my mind will not leave behind all the things of the day, and all the things coming up for tomorrow. It will not let go of the wishes and dreams that I am constantly having to put on hold, and it will not let go of my sadness and my overwhelmedness.

Excuse me, but I have to go to yet another meeting... Maybe you'll hear from me again sometime in the next month.

Reconciliation

I'm silly. I let myself get beaten down by things that are not important in the end, and that I get little enjoyment from along the way. I tend to exaggerate my worries as well, so that something whose consequences are probably are not dire becomes something of utmost importance to me, and thus a source of fear and regret. All along, I know that those feelings are not rewarding; at the same time I know I am doing my very best in everything I attempt, I have been a good steward of all that has been entrusted to me, as in the parable of the talents. Even if the return is not as great as I hope or expect from myself, the point is that I invest in the things that I should and I am faithful in them, to the end.

The accountant side of me always looks to be busy and to be efficient, and to excel in what I do. If I fail myself, then I have to live with that for the rest of my life, even if I hurt no one else in the wake. I have learned how to manage my time and how to be efficient; I have learned a satisfying work ethic that usually rewards me in the end with a good grade or a sense of accomplishment or a feeling that I am doing something that will have far-reaching influence.

But the artist side of me finds satisfaction more in the side streets along the way--an amazing conversation with this person, a newly-established, deep connection with that person, a wonderful sense of aesthetic pleasure as I stop every few steps and look around me and breathe in the atmosphere of a world that still has much to teach me and many new places to take me. In this vein, I revel in the slowness and the solitude that is found when you step away from all the things I otherwise work so hard to achieve.

Some people find it difficult to reconcile the two ways of being. Can one person be type A and type B all at once? There are times when even I (perhaps especially I) wonder if the parts of who I am are at all compatible. But when I look hard into it all, I come up with the conclusion that all I really want to do is be the best person I can be, live the most fulfilling life I can live. (To put it from a spiritual perspective, to become more Christlike each day of my life.) Sometimes that involves a lot of hard work. I don't mind that; to the contrary, I really love fulfilling my responsibilities and feeling like I have done something good and productive. On the other hand, sometimes living the right life means slowing down to realize what truly is meaningful--to think about the things that have eternal significance. Does accounting have eternal significance? Sometimes--but it's easy to get caught up in the workload and lose sight of the higher goal. Does writing have eternal significance? Usually, I find--but not when I try to force it upon myself as a relaxer, as a tool to unwind. When it comes naturally, when my mind is clear and open to the inspiration that must always precede anything aesthetically pleasing, then I feel the significance of it. Then I feel like I am fulfilling my purpose in this life.

Each of us has many purposes to fulfill, don't we? If you were put here on earth for one reason and one reason only, then wouldn't your life become remarkably dull? But thankfully, most of us have many giftings and many things that move us and change us and fulfill us. The challenge for me is not deciding what my "one great purpose" on earth is, but how to balance my smaller purposes, to finally create a large mosaic of all the different small pieces of glass that I bring to the world. Sometimes, I get out-of-balance; right now, I think I am beginning to find my way back to the right path again.

...

Sometimes I really wish I could go back and change the past... For instance, I'd love to travel back about three hours and undo all the mistakes I'm afraid I made on my accounting exam this afternoon. Or maybe go back to Wednesday morning and be a little more alert in nature writing, the class that truly gets me moving and excited. In fact, there are quite a lot of things I would change if I could have my perfect world, my perfect life.

I'm so exhausted right now that all I really want to do is go to bed. But I have to work all day tomorrow (grading exams--woo hoo), and I feel like I should do something relaxing and fun now while I have the chance. After all, this whole week has been about everything but what I want to do. But my husband went to bed already, and I'm sitting here barely able to force my eyes to stay open--why? Because I want so badly to do something enjoyable that I'm willing to make myself miserable, as I am unable to let go of the fact that I have worn myself into the ground this week and all I really can do is rest.

Right now I don't love my life very much. Joy sometimes escapes me, when I'm under a lot of pressure--I foget that God is there, my source of ever-renewable life and energy. And the times when I forget His all-encompassing presence are generally the times I need Him the most. So right now my spirit is dull, along with my mind, along with my body.

I'm going to bed. After grading 45 exams tomorrow, I plan to try as hard as I can to escape to the outdoors, lie in the grass or something equally warming. Maybe I won't be so dull again tomorrow. Maybe my joy will return in the night, and I'll remember to hang onto it in the morning.

Quiet

I had about ten minutes of down time this afternoon, so I took a brief but therapeutic walk through the Old Athens Cemetery. Being out in the sun, in the still and quiet afternoon air, almost made me wish I could lie down in the earth with the dead and sleep. Sleep forever... Never another worry, another deadline, another human being to please. Just my body, resting eternally in the womb of the earth, while my spirit soars away to face my Maker and to dwell in a place so much more wonderful than here...

I was suddenly struck with that feeling, this afternoon, a longing for stillness and for peace all around me. But alas. While in the world, I will scarcely ever find a moment of perfect stillness without. I have to seek it from within, embrace it and fully strive to live in it. The world gets me down, especially at times like these.

But after tomorrow, a brief lapse. I will return to the cemetery and look for what it has to show me, at a time when I can internalize the stillness to which it calls me, one of the quiet places remaining here on earth.

Oh, to write about nature again

I miss updating this blog almost daily. I miss writing about nature--I miss being in nature! But right now, accounting is sucking the life out of me...

It will briefy come to a close with my corporate taxation test on Thursday afternoon. After that, expect quite a long post from me. In the meantime, I will continue my hermitude, my want for sunlight and for physical activity.

I'd rather be writing!

For no real reason

I just thought this was amazing sunrise. This is Bob's parents' farm, and it's probably about seven in the morning, in early February. Sunsets and sunrises are so beautiful--I don't think anyone would contradict that.

One of my favorite books is Le Petit Prince, by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry. If you've not read it, I strongly recommend it to you.

" 'Un jour, j'ai vu le soleil se coucher quarante-quatre fois!'
Et un peu plus tard tu ajoutais:
'Tu sais... quand on est tellement triste on aime les couchers de soleil...'
'Le jour des quarante-quatre fois, tu étais donc tellement triste?'
Mais le petit prince ne répondit pas."

" 'One day,' you said to me, 'I saw the sunset forty-four times!'
And then a little later you added:
'You know--one loves the sunset, when one is so sad...'
'Were you so sad, then?' I asked, "on the day of the forty-four sunsets?'
But the little prince made no reply."

I add this for no real reason, other than whenever I think of the sunrise and the sunset I think of that passage. There is something calming about watching the display of light, slowly fading in, slowly out. It does quell sadness, and it evokes thought and reflection and, most soothing of all, silence.

Recently I've been learning to love silence. Particularly silence before God. But silence before God has to start somewhere--silence within myself. In a world of constant white noise our spirits become starved for silence. You cannot find it unless you set out to look for it... or unless the Most High leads your stubborn spirit into it. But once you're there, in the silence, you find all the peace and all the comfort that you have made all that noise in seeking. Then you can reflect, and think, and hear the still, small voice that you have tuned out so effectively for such a long time.

There will be silence before You,
and praise in Zion, o God..."
Psalm 65:1

To explain a little

So I returned yesterday evening from my spring break in New Orleans, and immediately decided to write about my experience in my essay for the week about "my sense of place and how nature affectss it." As I was down there I thought a lot about my sense of place; it's something I've never really thought about before and, quite honestly, didn't entirely understand when the assignment was given. But I learned so much about the undying sense of belonging those people had to their storm-ravaged home, and it made me realize just how connected I am to the places I've called home. Savannah runs deep inside of me, and even when I say I needed a change and that I will never live there again, the area still composes me. It still defines me.

We're all products of our environment and culture. Just like you can never separate yourself entirely from an experience, even a negative one, you can also never separate yourself from a place that has gotten under your skin. To use a silly example, I love Walt Disney World in Orlando. I've been about a dozen times, the last time being about five years ago, during my junior year in high school. For months now I have been longing to go back, and to share it with my husband (who has never been). Do I think he would love it as I do? Of course not. If I went for the first time at the age of twenty-two I would probably find it rather lame myself. But my wonderful memories there and my feeling that I belong there, that Disney World is mine, all make it a special place for me. I can feel joy today in other situations and relate it back to the joy I felt there as a child; I can do something that makes me feel like a kid again and automatically it goes into the Disney category in my heart, because I associate my youth with Disney. As cliché as all that sounds, it is the complete truth.

Places like that really give us a reference point. I can appreciate a cold northern winter because it is different from a Savannah winter, and I can tolerate a sweltering Georgia summer because it is the summer I have always known. Climate is a huge part of our sense of place; I can just imagine the typical summer climate on the Gulf of Mexico, and while it seems like it would be a relief to escape that kind of heat, people cannot wait to return to it because for them, that is how their climate is supposed to be. The alligators and the herons and the cranes and the seagulls--they too belong there. Terry Tempest Williams had a deep sense of belonging to the Great Salt Lake, though its salinity made it sting and burn and dry with salty crystals caked to her skin. She belonged to the desert and loved the desert; she belonged to the birds and they belonged to her. We all are a part of the places that are a part of us. All we are is nature along with everything else natural around us. Thousands of years of sun has darkened the skin of Africans with melanin, while in northern Europe pale skin and eyes and hair tell of the cooler climate and the less-direct sunlight. Our environment and culture leave even their physical markings on us; how much more will they leave markings on our souls and in our hearts, where the essence of us all really exists?

I was really struck with all these ideas as I did my part last week to help the people to whom New Orleans belongs. They are strongly tied to their home, just as I am strongly tied to mine. Something that powerful you can't question and you can't overcome. If you want change you seek it, but all the change does is add to, not replace, your sense of place. If you don't want change then you stay right where you know you belong. "Here I am, where I should be."

Spring break and my sense of place

The Spirit of Home

The constant pounding of hammers and crowbars reverberates against the naked concrete floor, finally creating a sense of near-deafness in my ears. Opening closets shut up for seven months, avalanches of unrecognizable belongings still saturated with sea water tumble out, smearing our protective white suits with the same black mold that covers everything in the abandoned residences. Gutting houses from floor to ceiling, giving our time to enable the natives of New Orleans to return to the hurricane-ravaged city to reconstruct their homes and their lives.

When Hurricane Katrina hit the Gulf Coast last August, I was amazed to learn of the number of people who actually remained in the area to face the storm. Even more astonishing, however, are the hordes of people who are eager to return, after months as refugees, to their rubble piles and their ghost towns. Why not just leave? Start anew, somewhere else—Texas, Arizona, even upstate Louisiana—but don’t come back and rebuild, right on the very spot that was flattened by an unstoppable force that makes its return every year. Don’t start again here, only to live in fear until the next storm comes and wipes you out again. To me, it seemed like common sense.

Until my week in the New Orleans area. Until seeing the FEMA trailers erected in the front yards of recently returned residents. Until seeing the spray-painted messages reading “We’ll be back, New Orleans” scrawled on the brick walls of abandoned homes and businesses. Until speaking with the homeowners, filled with gratitude that a group of college students would travel down during spring break to help them come home. Only now do I understand—something more than houses and possessions and jobs ties these people to their Gulf Coast habitat. Something irreplaceable and indestructible, something they would never find anyplace else.

Hurricanes were never a major threat in Savannah when I was young. Savannah is in a blessed location, with the Gulf Stream only miles off its concave coastline, and always seems to evade the hurricanes that threaten it. Twice in my lifetime my family and I evacuated our home in anticipation of a hurricane, and twice we returned to a city spared from all but mild wind damage.

But Savannah meant more to me than just my house and my school. Savannah meant boating on warm summer mornings, sitting on the bow of Dad’s seventeen-foot skiff with the wind whipping at my salty hair. It meant long, carefree summer evenings, complete with clouds of sand gnats at dusk, bloodthirsty deer flies after dark, and cricket symphonies throughout the night. It meant standing on a windy beach and watching the Atlantic Ocean roll predictably back and forth, as I imagined that I could see the faint glimmer of the African coastline on the horizon. With all the joys and experiences came also the few tiny evils, like cottonmouths and eastern diamondbacks and even occasional alligators, and the threat of floods and hurricanes. It was all what made Savannah home; and while my family was fortunate enough to never have had to leave, I don’t believe that we would have ever left it behind us for good.

When I moved to Athens, doors to new experiences suddenly gaped open before me. The firmly packed red hills at the very foot of the breathtaking Smoky Mountains, the crisp hardwood forests and the lovely colors of the piedmont autumn, all became part of my framework of belonging, alongside my coastal childhood. I was ready for a change in my natural and social environment, and I appreciate it still—though, admittedly, there are times when I miss the smell of the muddy banks of the Ogeechee coming in on the morning breeze. You can never escape the places you once called home, even if you leave them physically behind you. They always serve as reference points for each new experience. I am the coastal plain, the Georgia piedmont—they have formed me. When I finish school and move on, some new piece of the world will likely become a part of my formation as well, changing me again in a continuing process.

Many of the people of New Orleans, I realize this week, were not ready for that change. Their beloved city, situated on the Gulf Coast right at the mouth of the Mississippi, was all they knew—and when change came, uninvited, one August day, their natural reaction was to stand up against it, wielding their fierce attachment to home as their only weapon against loss and destruction. Standing on a junk heap of sheetrock and memories I let pieces of their lives sift through my hands onto the ground, a treasured toy here, a priceless snapshot there, all unsalvageable. But these are only material things. As I listen to the stories of their lives, growing up here and going to school, Daddy teaching them how to play the piano, as I stand and eat shrimp and crawfish with them and hear their joyful plans for coming home—now I see the spirit that draws them back. They are New Orleans. How could they not return?

As we leave we pray for them and wish them well, and immediately my tears begin coming. After four short days, I believe New Orleans has become a part of me too.

Walking

"I think that I cannot preserve my health and spirits, unless I spend four hours a day at least,--and it is commonly more than that,--sauntering through the woods and over the hills and fields, absolutely free from all worldly engagements." --Henry David Thoreau, from Excursions

Over the past several days I have truly come to appreciate the kind of release that Thoreau refers to in his treatise on walking. So perhaps I don't spend four hours a day just sauntering, but Bob and I have been taking some very glorious long walks, the kind with no specific destination, the kind when you have no time frame in mind and the only limitations you experience are the ones your own body places on you--weariness, thirst, hunger. And unfortunately an escape into the woods or the wilderness is not always a possibility (though sometimes it is, as yesterday when we visited his family on their wonderful farm), we always find a way to experience the joys of nature and solitude.

Today we walked downtown from our apartment and back, making scenic turns along the way. This time of year the pink and white trees appear like cotton candy on sticks, and they are all over Athens right now. The ground is strewn with their blossoms. Violets and other tiny flowers poke their heads out of the greening grass along the sidewalk. I took it all in; I reveled in it. After eating downtown and walking through a few stores, we started back home. Walking in a westerly direction in the early evening, we saw the sky constantly ablaze in the different colors of sunset--sometimes banded, sometimes bright patches of orange light just streaming out from behind a clump of trees or beyond the house on the hill. We saw ancient stone walls built along the hillsides with crude stone steps leading up into former yards. Cracked and worn, with green moss protruding from between each separate stone, the sight was absolutely lovely, reminding me that people come and go constantly, changing the landscape along with them.

We often walk through the neighborhoods of Five Points, and I am constantly amazed at the uniqueness of each house we see. How to describe Athens architecture? The only word that comes to mind is varied. Every house strikes me as completely original, small and quaint and unobtrusively creating its own interesting niche within the neighborhood. I point to each house and say "I want to live there!" They delight me, each in its own little way. Saturday we made such an excursion in the early afternoon; we found ourselves wandering on completely unfamiliar streets. Again, the flowers along the roadside bent their heads in the sun. We saw one yard that looked like a bamboo forest; down in the valley, nestled among the bamboo, was a small gazebo that blended almost entirely out of sight until you were peering down at it. Many front yards in that neighborhood had a deep valley running through them, and a little drainage creek ran through the valley. Often the residents left these valleys overgrown, making their houses, way up on top of the far hill, seem very disconnected from the road. How would it be to live in a place where your front yard served as a natural boundary between your home and the road you lived on? It gave it a wild, rural feel, even though it was in the heart of the city. On the way home I took off my shoes and walked through the clover, which felt cool and refreshing on my feet.

I've always loved to walk, but walking with no purpose except to walk is one of the most freeing and refreshing feelings. Bob and I are making a concerted effort to do it more and more. Of course, we walk through campus to class each day--but scurrying off to class, with your eyes narrowly focused on the road before you, just does not compare!

What happened to spring?

Never before now has the rapid climate change become more evident to me... This was the mildest winter I can ever remember, but what is even more shocking is the lack of transition into spring. As soon as March came it just turned hot--so much for my "in between" wardrobe. I'm wearing skirts and T-shirts and wishing for a shower three times a day. You remember the adage "March goes in like a lion and goes out like a lamb"? Anybody who counted on the truth of that saying, who loves the blustery weather (like me), who wants to fly kites and waits all year for the perfect month to do it in, they're quite at a loss this year. No wearing my sweater in the morning and then tying it around my waist by noon...

Climate change is absolutely tragic to me. We're losing something irreplaceable and very sacred by our own apathy toward our world, doing things that are convenient for us in the short run but are ultimately not sustainable--we're making a bed for future generations to lie in. It used to snow every winter in Georgia. You can ask people who grew up here forty, fifty years ago. I remember when it snowed in Savannah in the wintertime on occasion, only twenty years ago. Now, snow in Savannah is unheard of; snow in the North Georgia mountains is rare (it sure wasn't going to happen this year). I want to raise my children where they can be familiar with snow, where they can look out of their window on a winter night like I did once or twice when I was very young, and be delighted by the tiny white flakes that are just starting to sail down from the December sky. Can I count on that in Georgia? Even on occasion? How far north would I have to move to be in a snow-falling region? It's changing so quickly...

Someday soon people are going to have to start caring. Especially in America, someone will have to wake up and realize that we need an administration that is dedicated to preserving something that is far bigger, far older, and far more awe-inspiring than the great United States--that is God's creation, this earth, that is dying under our gluttonous use of petroleum and our constant stripping of irreplaceable resources, our killing of the o-zone and of the forests. We cannot push it off any longer and wait for someone to come behind and clean up our mess... because no one's going to do it. People have to learn now and start now. I don't know what is going to wake this world up from their delusions, but whatever it is, I hope it comes soon.

New appreciation

Terry Tempest Williams has helped me to come to appreciate birds much more than I ever did. I have to admit, with Hitchcock movies and stories like Poe's "The Raven" and the Grimm Brothers' "The Juniper Tree" I have always had some kind of dread of birds, as if they were supernatural creatures. This morning, I sit at my desk before sunrise and I hear the songs of several different species filtering through my window, and it's so refreshing that I cannot imagine having ever dreaded them.

In Refuge, Terry Tempest Williams found comfort in the familiarity of the birds, even when the Great Salt Lake was rising and when her mother was dying. The scene in which she prepares the body of the deceased whistling swan is so idyllic and moving and deeply metaphoric. I looked up the whistling swan, and it really is a beautiful bird. She knew each of the birds intimately, and her heart broke as theirs did, slowly as she watched their habitat drown, bit by bit.

I have watched birds a few times in my life. Truthfully, it has never greatly interested me. Until now. I never cared about putting a name to a new bird; they were simply all birds to me. But it might be fun to watch them come and go, become familiar with the frequenters and, like Terry Tempest Williams, become filled with excitement when a rarer species makes an appearance. Birds really are beautiful to listen to, and their colors and shapes are all so varied. I just never noticed before.

Refuge

Terry Tempest Williams's Refuge made me think a lot about my faith, and finding comfort in it. It was beautiful to me, the way she clung to her Mormon traditions during a very hard time in her life; but at the same time as being a devoted Mormon, she also questioned many of the cultural traditions. She made her faith personal to her, by thinking about it in terms of the world around her and not just in terms of what had been ingrained in her from childhood.

I've felt differently about a lot of the mainstream Christian ideals lately. Once I would have called myself a political conservative; now I prefer not to think about politics at all, in relation to my beliefs. It seems stupid to me, when I really think about it, to comingle politics and Christianity anyway. When my ancestors came to America in the 1600s it was for religious freedom from the Anglican Church. Now conservative Christians want to outlaw, one by one, every non-Christian practice. You cannot pass laws to force a religion on someone--you have to show them and cause them to believe that your religion is something worth living for.

I love being a Christian. I love God and I love experiencing Him in the world around me, every day, in new and exciting ways. But for a long time I believed and subscribed to everything every other Christian told me. Now, I prefer to learn about God's heart myself, with nothing but my Bible and the Holy Spirit to lead me. That's what I felt like Terry Tempest Williams was doing, when she blessed her mother in private when women in her religion had no official authority to do so. I felt like she did that throughout the book, in little ways. Her deep connection with nature helped her to experience her faith in ways that one could not if one were not willing to dig deeper into the heart of everything. I feel like, in seeking God through the natural world, I have learned a lot more about God than a Baptist pastor would tell me on a Sunday morning. I can see the Psalms come alive with depth and meaning. I can see so many different sides of His character, one piece at a time. Seeking Him for myself has meant so much for me and helped me to mature in my faith.