They speak of humanity.
My humanity is in feeling we are all voices of the same poverty.
They speak of homeland.
My homeland is the rythym of a guitar, a few portraits, an old sword,
the willow grove’s visible prayer as evening falls.
Time is living me.
More silent than my shadow, I pass through the loftily covetous multitude.
They are indispensible, singular, worthy of tomorrow.
My name is someone and anyone.
I walk slowly, like one who comes from so far away
he doesn’t expect to arrive.
— Excerpt from “Boast of Quietness” by Jorge Luis Borges
This poem encapsulates many of the questions I bring to this travel. How do I experience humanity? What do I believe about belonging? What are the convictions held inside of me and how have they been cultivated? Why do I believe that the world is worthy of tomorrow, and what does that mean for how I ought to live in it?
The goal of this trip is to document my own learning. Isolated from many of the habits and objects that define my self-understanding, what is it like to watch my identity interface with the world in unscripted and nonstop dialogue? How do I react as I continuously encounter forces that are beyond my understanding? How do I deconstruct the artifacts of our (my) own prejudice?
My personal approach to this experience has been shaped by my two years spent mapping global learning at AAC&U, my undergraduate studies of political theory at Swarthmore College, my somewhat Buddhist upbringing in rural western Massachusetts, and the conversations that have brought me together with my closest friends.
As I take this journey, I will be careful to maintain a two-fold openness: I will pay attention to the dialogues of the places and peoples in the countries we visit, and I will also heed the impulses and prejudices that are the voices of my own preconstructed values. How do I inhabit and navigate relationships with the peoples and histories with which we will be coming in touch? This can only be learned through trial and error, and it will take as much courage and creativity as I can muster.
I will return to Borges for the kernel of my mission: How do I learn to walk slowly? How can I truly understand the distance from which I have come? How shall I live and act in this world without ever expecting to arrive?
Nice statement, Caleb. My only advice for your travel is simple: leave yourself open for serendipitous happenings. But from what you have written here it seems that you’re already following that approach. I look forward to reading your observations.
Caleb,
I stumbled on your blog, and I’m so glad I did. Your insights are extremely insightful and honest, and I can definitely see myself in your and Michele’s descriptions of the trials and errors of trying to live fully in the moment while concentrating on letting the full influence of a new and strange place absorb you.
When you go to Thailand, if you go to Chiang Mai, please visit Doi Suthep…and if you do, please post about it, or email me about your experience there. It’s a place that’s very dear to my heart…while I was in Chiang Mai for study abroad, on a whim and a desire to somehow make sense of my life, I ended up moving into a little guest house at the foot of Doi Suthep for a week, and every day I climbed the steps to the wat to meditate. To this day I’m not certain what I gained from that week, except a clearer understanding about the nature of illusion and loneliness, and the most beautiful memory. I guess it’s a start…
I look forward to reading about your travels!
Hi Rachel,
Shanks for reading! Sounds like what you gained at the wat is a very good start…I have been finding that getting a start is the most important part. I will do my best to visit that place and share.
Best wishes to you. Hope you are traveling at home or abroad.
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