i-n-s-p-i-r-e-d

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What's in a word--especially one like that. INSPIRED. It's one of those words that seems like it could change a whole life if it wanted to. Epic, somehow. But I tend to think that little things, 5-minute-things, inspire the most. Maybe not world-changing, but those moments that leave you reeling, leave you feeling, writing in your head, changed in some perhaps imperceptible way. Not Tony Robbins, syrupy-sweet, inspired, just...well, far more than pedestrian?

And in the midst of an epic academic year that, at least this semester, has left me academically less-than-well-motivated and overdoing everything else (as usual), those moments that leave apathy in the dust of the pickup truck on a country road? Those are worth it. Like, say, some Saturday afternoon when I had who-knows-how-much work to do and who-knows-how-many unwritten papers.

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1:07 (ish) pm. Collecting money to keep the overflow homeless shelter open for the fall.

I hate fundraising. Say that all the time, with that half-meaning-it, want-to-get-out-of-doing-fundraising-work (especially-when-it's-on-the-weekend) mantra. "I'm a doer, not a fundraiser." Whatever bs that is. "I'll just leave it to fundraising coordinators--they're so good at it! Me? Just another Dwight Hall kid, like the service, hate the money aspect of it."

Alas, of course, this weekend, with all the work I have to do piling up my brain cells; "We're fundrasing, guys--one last hurrah, Saturday and Sunday, all I'm asking is half an hour from each of you."

Crap. I've gotten out of almost everything thus far in the asking-for-money category. Here goes nothing. Out into the half-raining New Haven Saturday, two of us on the 12:30 to 1:30 shift. Par-tay.

Back to 1:07 (ish). Almost everyone just walks by, occasionally half-smiling an apologetic "Sorry--no cash on me". Totally true, best of intentions, still leaves no dinero in the jar. Less often (and more frustrating), complete ignorance. As if they thought if they could just avoid eye contact, then any hint of that pesky guilt would just wash itself away.

Along the way, a few shows of generosity that send our hearts jumping a bit--5 bucks and a "thanks for doing this, it's really important", an army officer who spends a good 3 minutes digging through his pockets to give "whatever he can"--seeming to search for some spare change or a few ones, only to find a $20 and hand it over, without a second thought. Good moments. But on the whole, mostly empty stares. "Sorry, not today"s and the sidewards glance of a rushed college student off to the gym or a conference attendee wondering why New Haven has such issues with homelessness when it clearly has plenty of money at that big ol' Ivy League school (we wonder this, too).

Kind of out of nowhere comes a man, clearly down on his luck (or whatever the most convenient/PC euphemism for it is nowadays), and asks, "but isn't the overflow closed? Closed a few days ago..." Says it like someone who knows the place well, has been there--perhaps that few days ago.

"Yeah, it just closed, we're raising money to keep it open this fall, so it doesn't happen again..." Our response, clearly rehearsed, meaningful nonetheless.

He ponders this for a minute, and as he says "ahh, I see" we catch a glimpse of the half-toothless smile he dons, no doubt setting off a chain of reactions in our heads about asking this perchance homeless man for money to "help the homeless", however pure our intentions.

Then, just as my brain starts churning, wondering if he'll be one of those "I'll-hang-around-and-talk-for-the-rest-of-the-afternoon" types--not uncommon, and certainly not unwelcome, just one we know well--the guy digs into his pocket, slowly pulls out two dollar bills, kind of weighs 'em in his hands to see if he can give out of this complete inabundance, and as he starts to place a dollar in the jar, goes,

"Any way I could get 75 cents back?"

"Wha--yes, yes, of course, um...here, let me grab some quarters for you...thank you so much, thank you," stumbles one of our voices as our hands fumble through the jar to finds the coins and hand them to him.

"Yeah, I might need it," he says, and goes on his way, up York street on what's likely been another rainy day without much shelter.

Jess, my fundraising buddy for the day, and I look at each other as he walks away, and both know we're thinking the same crazy thing.

"I'm seriously starting to cry right now," she says, then proceeds to completely empty the contents of her wallet into out jar--an act which, for some reason, hadn't occurred to either of us up until that point.

Me? I'm speechless. Stuck there, hands halfway to do the exact same thing when I realize there's no wallet in my bag (who needs one for brunch and fundraising, really?), still not comprehending what's just happened.

There's this mixed bag of feeling both utterly helpless at what just happened and wanting to yell at everyone on the street and ask why oh why can our abundance not help?

The only thing left to do at this point, at least from my perspective, is to beg and plead with everyone on the street now for every cent they can give. All the discomfort and "I hate fundraising", nice and quiet Andrea aside, it's all "Sir, please would you donate today? The shelter just closed and it's really important..." Left, right, and center.

No one's really giving any differently. Still a bunch of blank stares, half-grumbles about "I give through my church" (again, true and fantastic way to give). A bunch more "Really, if I wasn't paying with my credit card, I'd..."

Nothing that noticeable, giving-wise. We probably raised less than 70 bucks in that hour.

Jess and I, though, didn't even see the money in the jar at the end of our hour. That guy, that 25 cents, seeing him talking to us and then walk up York street like...well there's nothing to compare it to, really. The image is still stuck in my brain.

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I don't think inspiration even has to be a positive thing. Maybe just straying from the humdrum of the everyday. Something that makes you think, makes you do things differently, makes you less apathetic. Like a homeless guy giving money to the shelter. It's good stuff.
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"The incarnate Word is with us,
is still speaking, is present
always, yet leaves no sign
but everything that is."

-Wendell Berry, yet again (Sabbaths 1999, IX)



Spring break, in its entirety, has been an incredible experience. I certainly have a lot I could write about (that won't happen in the next twenty minutes before dinner)--and hopefully will, but suffice to say plenty of solitude (one of my goals for the time), good conversation (another one), and gorgeous weather (added bonus) have come. For now, I'll just leave the words with my new favorite master of them, the WB.

day. (ish)

snow. psych. five hours of sleep. a cup of coffee. an hour of AIDS. another hour of AIDS. another cup of coffee.

talking to the chief of unicef AIDS. talking to the head of yale residential dining. twice. setting in motion a fast of hopefully epic proportions. thinking. a lot.

late to class. one quiz.

a way too quick lunch with awesome people. (a way too quick breakfast with awesome people? not even dinner time yet)

almost late to class. test. (shmeh)

out early. finish the coffee. another hour of AIDS. another quiz.

home? ish. something of a 15 minute nap. (that's the problem with...two cups of coffee).

then that moment when the song you're listening to has got to be the greatest thing in the universe, if nothing else. ben. harper. yessssss. five minutes and seventeen seconds of total peace in the midst of seemingly total chaos.

[snow!]

that was (the first half of) today. i'm tired.

but excited.

The Cold

How exactly good it is
to know myself
in the solitude of winter

my body containing its own
warmth, divided from all
by the cold; and to go

separate and sure
among the trees cleanly
divided, thinking of you

perfect too in your solitude,
your life withdrawn into
your own keeping

—to be clear, poised
in perfect self-suspension
toward you, as though frozen.

And having known fully the
goodness of that, it will be
good also to melt.

-Wendell Berry


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=>The meaningfulness of solitude and peace is huge, I think, these days—especially in the midst of the chaos of life, as it starts back up again. But also the meaningfulness of being able to come outside of our shells of solitude, having discovered what we were to discover, having felt the magnitude of the solitude and the overwhelming splendor of the winter. And, like Berry, to finish that sentence, to let it change us, then start a new one, melting the solitude but sharing our melting with others, and allowing that to be good.

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Backpack

I just saw Up in the Air, a fantastic movie (in my opinion) where the main character, Ryan Bingham (George Clooney), is a jet-setting, money-making, never-cared-about-a-relationship-in-his-life “Termination Facilitator” (aka he fires people for a living), who spends the majority of his time flying around the country, attempting to accomplish his lifetime goal of 10 million miles. Occasionally he travels around giving a few of those motivational speechy-type business workshops, teaching people how to be more effective at whatever it is they’re doing in that corporate world, and he’s pretty good at it. His typical spiel is, as follows:

“How much does your life weigh? Imagine for a second that you're carrying a backpack. I want you to pack it with all the stuff that you have in your life... you start with the little things. The shelves, the drawers, the knickknacks, then you start adding larger stuff. Clothes, tabletop appliances, lamps, your TV... the backpack should be getting pretty heavy now. You go bigger. Your couch, your car, your home... I want you to stuff it all into that backpack. Now I want you to fill it with people. Start with casual acquaintances, friends of friends, folks around the office... and then you move into the people you trust with your most intimate secrets. Your brothers, your sisters, your children, your parents and finally your husband, your wife, your boyfriend, your girlfriend. You get them into that backpack, feel the weight of that bag. Make no mistake your relationships are the heaviest components in your life. All those negotiations and arguments and secrets, the compromises. The slower we move the faster we die. Make no mistake, moving is living. Some animals were meant to carry each other to live symbiotically over a lifetime. Star crossed lovers, monogamous swans. We are not swans. We are sharks.”

I like backpacking. A lot. Actually, I love backpacking. Spent more than a few summers doing so, and go whenever I get a chance (which is, rather unfortunately, not very often). Have occasionally pondered introducing myself by saying “Hi, I’m Andrea. I like to venture out into the wilderness for weeks at a time, occasionally with a dozen or so complete strangers.” Just for kicks, ya know.

There’s something about the experience that keeps me coming back, every time. Some part of it is being in love with that Thoreau-ian ideal of wilderness, that adventure of being in a place where no cars can come within ten miles of, and pondering the epic…gorgeousness of where that is. I love being alone with the trees or the water or the rocks or just a few leaves, wildflowers, or mushrooms.

But one of my favorite things, hands down, is the people. Yeah, I’ve carried a 40-something lb pack. And yeah, it’s usually pretty darn heavy. Hard to make it up mountains. Sometimes you don’t think you’re even gonna make it a few more steps. Probably be a lot easier to just…fly. Or helicopter. Without all that weight. And sometimes it’d be a lot easier to stay quiet on trail, even with ten people around you. To keep to yourself, interact on the outside, but just work your way up the mountain on your own, figuring it out, carrying the weight, do your own thing. Leave the tough stuff, the stuff that would make you connect, relate, understand—just leave that all alone. “Your relationships are the heaviest components of your life.” That’d weigh on you. Feel…heavy. On your shoulders.

But carrying that backpack, feeling the weight of it, it feels good. Sometimes it hurts, sometimes it gives you a few bumps and bruises and scars, and sometimes you just want to throw it off your shoulders and bound up the hill. But when you get to camp at night, and your backpack has your tent, and your beanie, and your food, and your jacket, and your coffee mug, and your dry socks, and your sleeping bag, it feels heavy, yes, but it makes home. Sometimes a temporary home, sometimes a more permanent one if you stay a few days, but that stuff, that heavy stuff you keep in the backpack, it all connects you, warms you up, gives you sustenance, keeps you dry when it’s raining. Home.

Some of the best conversations I’ve ever had have been backpacking, and some of the best friends I’ve had have come from those experiences. Wouldn’t give it up for the world.

In the movie, Clooney’s character spends 320-something days a year on the road, no home to speak of, no one to call when’s he’s off travelling, no relationships to weigh him down. Spends more than two thirds of his days on an airplane at some point, flying high. And for the most part, he’s pretty aware he’s living the life. Free as a plane and high up on the mountaintop of his success and life’s work.

Sure, you can fly to the top of the mountain. Take a plane, or a helicopter, even a ski lift it you please. Up in the Air. But me, I’ll take my backpack.

(Wanna join?)

...on Albert Einstein (aka The Man)

Okay, I admit it. It's sounds ridiculous. And nerdy. And crazy. Did I mention nerdy??

But he's amazing:

"A human being is part of the whole, called by us "universe," limited in time and space. He experiences himself, his thoughts and feelings as something separated from the rest - a kind of optical delusion of his consciousness. This delusion is a prison, restricting us to our personal desires and to affection for a few persons close to us.

Our task must be to free ourselves from our prison by widening our circle of compassion to embrace all humanity and the whole of nature in its beauty."

-The Man

He's full of a whole bunch of quotes like this; stumbled upon this one last night and realized how true this is and how much I've been pondering such ideas lately, but also how Einstein is one of those people who knows how to take the formless thoughts in my head that are as of yet undefined very well and state them so...elegantly. The man pretty much defined (or redefined) our universe, and then went on to talk about what that meant for humanity and for this whole World Peace thing, and for religion and God and philosophy. And he was a physicist?? Who does that? Einstein.

What other physicist has pages of quotes on all those quotey websites? Someone once described him in a quote I love by saying the only way he could come close to adequately describing the universe was in the words of poetry. The Man has a way with words. And math. And life, the Universe, and everything.

And on top of all that, he pretty much revolutionized the entire field of physics. And that had repercussions everywhere; on art, on politics, on books, on war.

According to Time, I think he was Man of the Century. To me, he's kinda just The Man.

(And yes, I do have the poster of him sticking his tongue out hanging in my suite. 'Cause it's awesome.)

poem?

the clouds and the mist
the reds and the greens and the greys,
greys

the wind, that whispers
and towers
and at the same
time
escapes

and "the spirit of God hovered on the face of the water"
and rippled and was blown by the wind

wind of
change

yes, dollars and cents
but also
the wind

and the rain
faintest drizzle,
thunder-lightning-rumbling-torturous-granite-face-worthy
Storm.

but what of the earth?
those reds and greens
and oranges and purples
and green
and blue blue sky

after the storm
these are Flourescent
not of highlighters and
camera settings

but of
the Exploding Wildflower
waking up to see the sun

and the Sun!
who sees all
illuminates. every. thing.
in its ultimate energy
all-life-giving

this is what we are left with
to light the darkness
on a stand
in the world
on earth
our earth

like Him we

shine