So here's the thing. Virtue in our society today is debatable - self-reliant, if you can call it that. The notions of one strict virtue, of a right and a wrong, have faded - probably thanks at least in part to that curious era and related personsa of the 60's and Hippies. There is no one central way or school of thought; post-modern artists have opened up the world to possibilities. For example, think of Wicked. The whole premise is about re-thinking first impressions and apperances. Good guys become bad, bad become good. We, for perhaps the first time in human history, encourage seeing the world through a million different viewpoints at once. Maybe it is good, maybe it is bad.
A really relevant issue (for us at least) on this topic is sex. In the past, pre-marital sexual relations, although practiced and perhaps even usual, were not condoned or accepted. That is the whole idea of The Scarlet Letter. But today, sex before marriage is the norm. I'm not saying it is right or it is wrong, it just is. But then again, maybe I should be right or wrong. Emerson would want me to "abide by [my] spontaneous impression with good-humored inflexibility [even if] the whole cry of voices is on the other side" (132 - 133). Personally, I made the decision for myself about a year ago that I would not have sex before marriage. Call it old-fashioned, but I will be self-reliant. "I...do not need for my own assurance or the assurance of my fellows any secondary testimony" (136). This is something I believe in, and I doubt that I will change my mind about it. It is a decision made for me and no one else. That is why I do not wear a purity ring - I admire those who do, but I do not think I need to. "I do not wish to please...I will stand here for humanity, and though I would make it kind, I would make it true" (139).
But what I will not do is tell you how to be or what to think. I will let you be self-reliant on this matter as well. Would Emerson believe that it is my place to tell another human being how to feel about something this personal? "To believe your own thought, to believe that what is true for you in your private thoughts is true for all men - that is genius. Speak your latent conviction and it shall be the universal sense; for the inmost in due time becomes the outmost, and our first thought is rendered back to us by the trumpets of the Last Judgment" (132). I believe that my opinion is right (why else would I have it?) but maybe it is not right for you. I don't know. This is something so unique to each person, who am I to pass judgment on it? "Man [is] clapped into jail by his consciousness" (134). Yes, thank you, Emerson, but who am I to tell other people how to deal with themselves? Being self-reliant means believing in yourself and in your opinions, as if they came from "bards and sages" (132), but wouldn't it be insulting other people's self-reliance to tell them what to believe about so delicate a topic?
"For nonconformity the world whips you with its displeasure" (137). Yes and no, as in all things. Besides my family, I have told less than ten people. When I did mention it, my friend Melody, who's somewhat of a free spirit, coughed out her soup (we were at dinner) and kind of chuckled. But in the same breath, after she asked "Are you serious? Do you mean it?" and I confirmed, she said "Good for you." Both reactions were fine by me; both made me smile. I have my ways and I will live by them (self-reliantly), but I will let Melody lead her life (self-reliantly) as well. We can agree to disagree, I think. The great thing about friends is that we don't have to think alike to like each other. When all around me are self-reliant and comfortable with who they are (including myself), then I shall finally be at peace. "Nothing can bring you peace but yourself. Nothing can bring you peace but the triumph of principles" (153).
Friday, November 14, 2008
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Under Pressue
After my very dramatic Blog 3 (ahem), I think that it is all right (although very very difficult) to admit that I am having what seems to be a type of lethargy. I feel as if I am simultaneously working my butt off and yet I never seem to do enough. My father, worried about my grades last quarter (with good reason), told me that I have but six months more. I've been running a marathon for ten years, and I've run harder perhaps than I should have. Never mind, people would say one can never run hard enough. Anyhow, my father then went on to explain that I am but six months shy of the finish line (because colleges will probably not ask to see my senior grades...or maybe they will...dang it) and it would be a waste and a disappointment to slow down now. Just keep running, and you'll finish strong.
The reason I share this life story is because it connects very well to a large paragraph on pg. 147 of Self-Reliance. This paragraph describes two young men, one a city dandy and the other a country boy. City Dandy, who is described as your friendly neighborhood nerd (yours truly), "studies at one of our colleges and [complains when he] is not installed in an office within one year afterwards in the cities or suburbs of Boston or New York" (147). Although I am not fond of the comparison, I see myself in him. I have always been afraid of disappointing people (sorry to sound dramatic or cliche) - perhaps it's the whole issue of self-reliance in me. Anyhow, I am planning to go to a college that doesn't "sell me short", as a family friend is fond of saying. It'll probably be an Ivy League or something of the sort. But I've always toyed with the idea of going someplace no one knows about. I probably just like the idea of shocking people, but what would happen, if indeed, I went to Kalamazo (which is a real college)? Would my chances for greatness be ruined? I've always had the best of the best in education. What would happen to me if I went somewhere not so prominent? What if I didn't get into the "right" college? What if I made a mistake? What if? What if? What if?
Deep breath. Let's continue.
On the other hand we have our flexible fellow Country Boy. Country Boy "tries all the professions...and always like a cat falls on his feet" (147). He doesn't worry about following expectations; he just is self-reliant and trusts in himself to survive any odds. "Few and mean as [his] gifts may be, [he] actually [is], and do[es] not need...any secondary testimony" (136) to his worthiness to walk the earth. There is a lesson to be learned here, kids.
I guess what I'm trying to say is, it is not very easy for Bishop's kids, talented and precious as we are (no, I'm not exaggerating, for once there is no sarcasm) to walk instead of run. For example, look at all the kids killing themselves over AP Chem (you could probably apply this to any advanced class). How many are there because they truly are passionate about the subject? How many are there because their parents want them to be? And, more interestingly, how many are there simply because it was the "next logical step" or "necessary to get into college"? I know, I know, cliche, cliche, but listen up. Back to my life story. I was in the Exeter (accelerated) program in math until this year. Entering into Advanced Precalculus Honors because it was the logical continuation after Math 5 Accelerated, I quickly realized that I didn't belong there. Great class, just not for me. How many of us take advanced classes, or play varsity sports, or do community service, just because it is "the thing to do"? For what reason are we diving into pools we don't like swimming in, instead of the ones we do (metaphorically)? Is it really all about that pesky little issue we call "c-o-l-l-e-g-e"? Honestly, what's so important about college? Do we all really want to go there? Or are we just going through the motions? Think about it. Why do you want to go to college? My mother says that a college degree today is what a high-school diploma used to be: you can't get a job without it - or at least a job she sees me doing. She's right, though. I'm an academic, because I was born or molded that way I don't know. I have my own reasons for wanting to go to college, seperate than society's reasons. But what about you? What is your life story? Do you really want to go to college? Or do you, as the Country Boy, want to have "no shame in not 'studying a profession'" and "not postpone [your] life, but live...already" (147)? The choice is yours: do what society expects of you, or chose your own path, whether it fits society or it doesn't. Are you self-reliant enough? Are you brave enough? Are you game?
Self-Reliance in Society
The concept of a self-reliant society is really interesting - and a little confusing. How can a society be emotionally (we're not talking about the economy) self-reliant? But I think we're talking about society meaning people in general and normal human behaviors. Most human beings need to be more self-reliant, a few need to let others in more, and it is the rare exception that believes himself to be perfectly balanced. But perhaps that is the problem - that we do not believe in our own strength, that we do not "believe [our] own thought...that what is true for [us] is true for all men" (132). Every human believes that he is the loneliest person in the world, that he is the only one struggling with and doubting himself. That's just not true. Look around right now. Can you see anyone from where you're sitting? If not, can you find a picture? If not, imagine the most powerful person you know. Can you see them clearly? Guess what: they are just as scared and confused as you are - and everybody is scared and confused at some point or another. Most men do not "speak [their] latent conviction [believing that] it shall be the universal sense...[they] dismiss[their] thought, because it is" theirs (132). I'm sure that now you're thinking Well, not everyone does that. I know this arrogant jerk who thinks his insights are the greatest in the universe. Guess what? That arrogant jerk is probably more unsure of himself and his insights than anyone else. That's why he keeps shoving them in your face. He's looking for validation from you, for someone else to back him up and believe in him, because he does not believe in himself.
It is our job, each as individuals, and without outside help or "secondary testimony" (136), to validate ourselves, to look in the mirror and see ourselves for what we truly are. Not angels, not devils, not saints, not lepers, but humans, and be proud of that simple fact. For it is only when we accept who we are and the truths about ourselves that we can grow and change for what we (not society) believes is the better and thus self-actualize and be at peace with ourselves. If we see something we do not like in the mirror, we must change ourselves to fit with who we want to be, "leav[ing behind an old] theory, as Joseph his coat in the hand of the harlot, and flee" (138) into a new persona. It is all right to change if we do not like who we are. "Why drag about this corpse of your memory, lest you contradict some what you have stated in this or that public place? Suppose you contradict yourself; what then?" (138) It is okay, nay, even great to change and evolve if it makes you happier to do you, if you feel better about yourself for doing so. If, though, you are bending over backwards to praise people, then wake up! Emerson told us in Gifts that if you give a gift just to please people, they will use it and not change their opinion of you. But if you give yourself, that is the true gift, and the right people will accept you. And if they don't accept you, Emerson says, so what? "To be great is to be misunderstood" (138). It's not very comforting, to be sure, but it is self-reliant. In the end, all that matters is that each man "know[s] his worth...wakes up, exercises his reason, and finds himself a true prince" (140). Believe in yourself. It is a cliche, but what Emerson wants you to do is earn your self-belief by proving yourself to yourself. "The picture waits for my verdict; it is not to command me, but I am to settle its claims to praise" (140). Society should not have to validate you; you must validate society. And you must validate yourself, until you reach the point in life where you can look straight into the mirror, smile, and be glad of what you see.
It is our job, each as individuals, and without outside help or "secondary testimony" (136), to validate ourselves, to look in the mirror and see ourselves for what we truly are. Not angels, not devils, not saints, not lepers, but humans, and be proud of that simple fact. For it is only when we accept who we are and the truths about ourselves that we can grow and change for what we (not society) believes is the better and thus self-actualize and be at peace with ourselves. If we see something we do not like in the mirror, we must change ourselves to fit with who we want to be, "leav[ing behind an old] theory, as Joseph his coat in the hand of the harlot, and flee" (138) into a new persona. It is all right to change if we do not like who we are. "Why drag about this corpse of your memory, lest you contradict some what you have stated in this or that public place? Suppose you contradict yourself; what then?" (138) It is okay, nay, even great to change and evolve if it makes you happier to do you, if you feel better about yourself for doing so. If, though, you are bending over backwards to praise people, then wake up! Emerson told us in Gifts that if you give a gift just to please people, they will use it and not change their opinion of you. But if you give yourself, that is the true gift, and the right people will accept you. And if they don't accept you, Emerson says, so what? "To be great is to be misunderstood" (138). It's not very comforting, to be sure, but it is self-reliant. In the end, all that matters is that each man "know[s] his worth...wakes up, exercises his reason, and finds himself a true prince" (140). Believe in yourself. It is a cliche, but what Emerson wants you to do is earn your self-belief by proving yourself to yourself. "The picture waits for my verdict; it is not to command me, but I am to settle its claims to praise" (140). Society should not have to validate you; you must validate society. And you must validate yourself, until you reach the point in life where you can look straight into the mirror, smile, and be glad of what you see.
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Self-reliance
WARNING: This reveals a side of myself I'm not proud of. I wrote it after a huge fight with someone I care about perhaps too much.
Ooh, self-reliance. I should be more self-reliant, but right now I'm so
angry that I don't want to be. It is so much easier just to agree with people you are with, because otherwise all that happens is that your relationship
breaks. I know that Emerson wants me to "be a nettle" to
others, but all it does is hurt. Better to be silent, even about the
things that matter, than be alone. I'm sick of being alone, or of being
afraid of being alone. Martin Luther King Jr. said that "our lives
begin to end the day we become silent about the things that matter."
I...fine, you know what, let it end. I don't care.
I'm sorry I'm so angry, although Emerson wouldn't like that I'm sorry.
It's harsh and embarrassing for you to watch me open up like this, but
honestly...it is honestly. Emerson would like me being honest. I'm in a
place right now that most people experience when they're twelve or
thirteen - you know, the horror of eighth grade (at least for girls). I'm
tired and lethargic and rebellious and feel like an idiot. Every move I
make is the wrong one, too dismissive or too intense. I've tried talking
about it to a few people, but I'm just putting it up now. I don't even
care anymore. Saying I'm broken would be cliché, but I believe there is
a crack. Hairline, right down the center of my head. I care about the
wrong things, but yes, it is me who determines what the wrong things are.
Okay, now that I've released some of my venom/poison onto you, let me
attempt to be a little more reasonable and to-the-point on this blog:
Emerson wants us "to believe [our] own thought" (132) as if a
wise man believed it. "A man should learn to detect and watch that
gleam of light which flashes across his kind from within, more than the
lustre of the firmament of bards and sages" (132). Why should we?
Honestly, we're sixteen-year-old Bishop's kids. What do we honestly know
about the world? My friend Eduardo told me that I have book smarts but am only slowly learning the street smarts. And what good are the book smarts without the street smarts? Honestly? I know I keep saying that but it's a good word. If we don't know anything about the real world (and maybe you do, but I don't, because I am practically TWO YEARS OLD) how are we supposed to apply our fabulous book smarts? Just a thought.
If Emerson was diagnosing me and/or offering a "cure", he
would tell me to go spend some time in a museum. "Great works of art
have no more affecting lesson for us than...teach[ing] us to abide by our
spontaneous impression with good-humored inflexibility than most when the whole cry of voices is on the other side" (132 - 133). Guess what?
I'm tired of standing alone. I'm tired of standing out. I know it sounds
cliché and stupid, and deep down I want to be different, need to be
different, to be noticed, but right now I am so tired. So tired I ache. I
don't want to stand alone, nor do I want to stand with the crowd. Damned
if I do, damned if I don't. I just want to surrender, you know, as in
give up the fight. And no, I'm not making any apologies for it. I'm done.
Period.
If I had the choice between two sides, but not the option to get out of
the fight...sheesh, I want to go with the side that has the last laugh.
That's all I want, really. The last laugh. I really don't care if
"imitation is suicide" (133), it's a suicide that's keeping me
alive. Plus, what's wrong with suicide anyway? If no one wants you there,
why should you be there? I know Emerson disagrees, but...
Emerson probably wants me to get off my sorry ass and start doing
something about my situation, "take [my]self for better, for
worse" (133). What's wrong with changing myself to fit who I want to
be? Is that self-reliant, if I am changing myself for my own
benefit/happiness? The problem is that no matter how hard I try to change
myself, it doesn't really work. I can't. Shit, I'm sorry if you don't
like this blog. But you chose to read it. You can
stop now if you like.
"Trust thyself" (133) Emerson urges me. What the fuck is there
to trust? Some sixteen-year-old who has no self-conviction of her own,
who goes wherever the wind blows, who picks opinions off the ground like
pebbles or something for a collection? Why can't I just trust people who
know more than I do? Why do I have to trust myself? I know Emerson will
frown for my saying so, but honestly, anyone who trusts my opinion on
anything is foolish. I have no opinion of my own that was not handed down to me by parent or teacher or friend or whatever. NOTHING I SAY IS MINE. I'm a stupid mime. Put words into me and I will repeat them so
eloquently, you won't breathe. Maybe I'm exaggerating, but "a man
should learn to detect and watch that gleam of light which flashes across
his mind from within, more than the lustre of the firmament of bards and
sages" (132). I can speak, I can write, that I can do. But do I
really believe in anything I'm saying? Why do I believe in things?
Because others believe in them? Even this infatuation thing I read aloud
in class. Did I really care about the stupid guy, or was it just that I
was desperate for someone to vindicate me, and he wasn't doing that -
again, no self-reliance. I've never had it. Ever since I first began to
speak. Mother says that on my third birthday, when asked by a family
friend how old I was, I replied that I would be four next year. I've
always looked forward. I don't know why I believe that in the future I
will suddenly, magically, without reason, become self-actualized or
self-confident. I honestly don't know what I'm waiting for. Anyway, back
to Emerson.
Speaking of babies, Emerson does say that "infancy conforms to
nobody" (134) - but then what the heck is wrong with me? Probably
nothing. I believe too much in my own individuality, believe [too
fervently] my own thought" (132)...but maybe everyone does. I really
don't know. I'm tired of puzzling about it.
Sorry, Emerson. Guess I don't agree with you. Sorry, Ms. Allen. Guess
this assignment isn't really what it's supposed to be. Sorry, everyone.
This is a little intense for an English assignment. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry.
Can I go to sleep now? I'm tired.
Ooh, self-reliance. I should be more self-reliant, but right now I'm so
angry that I don't want to be. It is so much easier just to agree with people you are with, because otherwise all that happens is that your relationship
breaks. I know that Emerson wants me to "be a nettle" to
others, but all it does is hurt. Better to be silent, even about the
things that matter, than be alone. I'm sick of being alone, or of being
afraid of being alone. Martin Luther King Jr. said that "our lives
begin to end the day we become silent about the things that matter."
I...fine, you know what, let it end. I don't care.
I'm sorry I'm so angry, although Emerson wouldn't like that I'm sorry.
It's harsh and embarrassing for you to watch me open up like this, but
honestly...it is honestly. Emerson would like me being honest. I'm in a
place right now that most people experience when they're twelve or
thirteen - you know, the horror of eighth grade (at least for girls). I'm
tired and lethargic and rebellious and feel like an idiot. Every move I
make is the wrong one, too dismissive or too intense. I've tried talking
about it to a few people, but I'm just putting it up now. I don't even
care anymore. Saying I'm broken would be cliché, but I believe there is
a crack. Hairline, right down the center of my head. I care about the
wrong things, but yes, it is me who determines what the wrong things are.
Okay, now that I've released some of my venom/poison onto you, let me
attempt to be a little more reasonable and to-the-point on this blog:
Emerson wants us "to believe [our] own thought" (132) as if a
wise man believed it. "A man should learn to detect and watch that
gleam of light which flashes across his kind from within, more than the
lustre of the firmament of bards and sages" (132). Why should we?
Honestly, we're sixteen-year-old Bishop's kids. What do we honestly know
about the world? My friend Eduardo told me that I have book smarts but am only slowly learning the street smarts. And what good are the book smarts without the street smarts? Honestly? I know I keep saying that but it's a good word. If we don't know anything about the real world (and maybe you do, but I don't, because I am practically TWO YEARS OLD) how are we supposed to apply our fabulous book smarts? Just a thought.
If Emerson was diagnosing me and/or offering a "cure", he
would tell me to go spend some time in a museum. "Great works of art
have no more affecting lesson for us than...teach[ing] us to abide by our
spontaneous impression with good-humored inflexibility than most when the whole cry of voices is on the other side" (132 - 133). Guess what?
I'm tired of standing alone. I'm tired of standing out. I know it sounds
cliché and stupid, and deep down I want to be different, need to be
different, to be noticed, but right now I am so tired. So tired I ache. I
don't want to stand alone, nor do I want to stand with the crowd. Damned
if I do, damned if I don't. I just want to surrender, you know, as in
give up the fight. And no, I'm not making any apologies for it. I'm done.
Period.
If I had the choice between two sides, but not the option to get out of
the fight...sheesh, I want to go with the side that has the last laugh.
That's all I want, really. The last laugh. I really don't care if
"imitation is suicide" (133), it's a suicide that's keeping me
alive. Plus, what's wrong with suicide anyway? If no one wants you there,
why should you be there? I know Emerson disagrees, but...
Emerson probably wants me to get off my sorry ass and start doing
something about my situation, "take [my]self for better, for
worse" (133). What's wrong with changing myself to fit who I want to
be? Is that self-reliant, if I am changing myself for my own
benefit/happiness? The problem is that no matter how hard I try to change
myself, it doesn't really work. I can't. Shit, I'm sorry if you don't
like this blog. But you chose to read it. You can
stop now if you like.
"Trust thyself" (133) Emerson urges me. What the fuck is there
to trust? Some sixteen-year-old who has no self-conviction of her own,
who goes wherever the wind blows, who picks opinions off the ground like
pebbles or something for a collection? Why can't I just trust people who
know more than I do? Why do I have to trust myself? I know Emerson will
frown for my saying so, but honestly, anyone who trusts my opinion on
anything is foolish. I have no opinion of my own that was not handed down to me by parent or teacher or friend or whatever. NOTHING I SAY IS MINE. I'm a stupid mime. Put words into me and I will repeat them so
eloquently, you won't breathe. Maybe I'm exaggerating, but "a man
should learn to detect and watch that gleam of light which flashes across
his mind from within, more than the lustre of the firmament of bards and
sages" (132). I can speak, I can write, that I can do. But do I
really believe in anything I'm saying? Why do I believe in things?
Because others believe in them? Even this infatuation thing I read aloud
in class. Did I really care about the stupid guy, or was it just that I
was desperate for someone to vindicate me, and he wasn't doing that -
again, no self-reliance. I've never had it. Ever since I first began to
speak. Mother says that on my third birthday, when asked by a family
friend how old I was, I replied that I would be four next year. I've
always looked forward. I don't know why I believe that in the future I
will suddenly, magically, without reason, become self-actualized or
self-confident. I honestly don't know what I'm waiting for. Anyway, back
to Emerson.
Speaking of babies, Emerson does say that "infancy conforms to
nobody" (134) - but then what the heck is wrong with me? Probably
nothing. I believe too much in my own individuality, believe [too
fervently] my own thought" (132)...but maybe everyone does. I really
don't know. I'm tired of puzzling about it.
Sorry, Emerson. Guess I don't agree with you. Sorry, Ms. Allen. Guess
this assignment isn't really what it's supposed to be. Sorry, everyone.
This is a little intense for an English assignment. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry.
Can I go to sleep now? I'm tired.
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
Nature
I didn't have a lot of time to do this assignment, so I was going to sit on the benches on Wheeler Bailey lawn, right outside the administration building. Almost as soon as I sat down, my friend Natasha saw me and wanted to know what I was doing. When I told her, she gave me a look.
N: And you're sitting here?
K: Yeah.
N: This isn't nature. You need to go into nature. You're not going to get anything good here.
K: But...
N: Why don't you go to the beach?
There were a few reasons I didn't want to go to the beach. First of all, I had no spare time, I was due to be somewhere in an hour. Second of all, my parents have this rule that I'm not allowed to go off-campus without informing them, and I certainly am not allowed to go alone. And honestly, I wasn't sure I wanted to. What was wrong with where I was? "The stars at night stoop down over the brownest homeliest common with all the spiritual magnificence which they shed on the Campagna, or on the marble deserts of Egypt" (367). Who was Natasha to define nature for me, especially in my circumstances? Granted, she is far wiser than I in these matters (Emerson would urge me to be self-reliant, but I chose to trust Natasha), and the Bishop's campus is thriving with human life. It could indeed be called a "hanging garden [created to] back faulty personality" (366), false nature, in a sense. But then again, I couldn't find true nature in a city. "Cities give not the human senses room enough" (365).
I listened to Natasha and convinced my father to escort me to the beach so that I could be in nature, but I came out of the encounter feeling dissatisfied with all three of the parties involved (Dad, Natasha, and myself). "The stars at night stoop down over the brownest homeliest common with all the spiritual magnificence which they shed on the Campagna, or on the marble deserts of Egypt...the difference between landscape and landscape is small, but there is great difference in the beholders" (367). Just because Natasha did not consider TBS nature doesn't mean I didn't. I have had some moving moments sitting on that Wheeler Bailey lawn, trying to learn how to grow up (sorry if that sounds cheesy). We have one of the most elegant, aesthetic campuses in the city, if not in a wider radius. The buildings add to the majesty of the nature that we have. I know that we are "taught the poorness of our invention, the ugliness of towns and palaces" (366) as compared to nature, and in many ways that is true. There is an incredible godliness in nature that there is nowhere else. It takes your breath away. "From whatever cause, as soon as men begin to write on nature, they fall into euphuism" (368). I am man; I am guilty of man's sin, if sin it is. Back in Colorado (I know I keep writing about it, but it really influenced me, in many ways), I would turn the corner, and my face would literally break out into a grin, no matter how tired I was, because of the view. There was something wonderful about it, and I truly mean "wonderful", as in "full of wonders"."To the intelligent, nature converts itself into a vast promise and will not be rashly explained" (376). It did for me. I couldn't stop looking. It arrested my spirit. But back to my original point. "The difference between landscape and landscape is small, but there is great difference in the beholders. There is nothing so wonderful in any particular landscape as the necessity of being beautiful under which every landscape lies. Nature cannot be surprised in undress. Beauty breaks in everywhere" (367 - 368). My spirit feels a kinship with the Wheeler Bailey lawn (all of this entry sounds so cheesy, but I'm being honest. There are no other ways of putting it). I believe that Wheeler Bailey could be counted as nature. Natasha had a point, though; there were too many people around. So I went to the beach.
The beach was certainly "better", so to speak, than TBS, but it wasn't perfect. "It is an odd jealousy, but the poet finds himself not near enough to his object. The pine-tree, the river, the bank of flowers before him does not seem to be nature. Nature is still elsewhere" (375). That was certainly true for the beach. It wasn't perfect. There was a couple several feet away from me talking, and some swimmers acting up below me (I was on a cliff, overlooking the sea). But it was enough. I was alone. "Here no history or church or state is interpolated on the divine sky and the immortal year" (365). I could just sit and think.
At first I wished desperately that I had brought my notebook. I felt such an urge to be doing something - to write, specifically. Complete sentences fit for this blog kept forming in my head. But after a while, I felt a sense of calm. I stared at the waves pretty much the whole time, and thought. Nothing abnormally profound, just thinking. Living. Being. I didn't stop thinking in complete sentences, though. A few times I felt like singing, and I did, softly enough so no one would hear me, but loudly enough that I could hear my voice making words and tunes. I barely looked at my watch. I just existed and did so naturally.
"It seems as if the day was not wholly profane in which we have given heed to some natural object" (365). Just having that time to sit and think made me feel...honestly, just human, but a human with honesty and pride. "If, instead of identifying ourselves with the work, we feel that the soul of the Workman streams through us, we shall find the peace of the morning dwelling first in our hearts, and the fathomless powers of...life, preexisting within us in our highest form" (376). After just sitting still, I felt as though if I had some way to look myself in the eye, I would be recognizing a creature that has the right to just exist as herself, no apologies made. "Let us be men instead of woodchucks and the oak and the elm shall gladly serve us, though we sit in chairs of ivory on carpets of silk" (371). Nature gives us the inner strength to be proud of ourselves, so that we may be...wait for it...self-reliant.
N: And you're sitting here?
K: Yeah.
N: This isn't nature. You need to go into nature. You're not going to get anything good here.
K: But...
N: Why don't you go to the beach?
There were a few reasons I didn't want to go to the beach. First of all, I had no spare time, I was due to be somewhere in an hour. Second of all, my parents have this rule that I'm not allowed to go off-campus without informing them, and I certainly am not allowed to go alone. And honestly, I wasn't sure I wanted to. What was wrong with where I was? "The stars at night stoop down over the brownest homeliest common with all the spiritual magnificence which they shed on the Campagna, or on the marble deserts of Egypt" (367). Who was Natasha to define nature for me, especially in my circumstances? Granted, she is far wiser than I in these matters (Emerson would urge me to be self-reliant, but I chose to trust Natasha), and the Bishop's campus is thriving with human life. It could indeed be called a "hanging garden [created to] back faulty personality" (366), false nature, in a sense. But then again, I couldn't find true nature in a city. "Cities give not the human senses room enough" (365).
I listened to Natasha and convinced my father to escort me to the beach so that I could be in nature, but I came out of the encounter feeling dissatisfied with all three of the parties involved (Dad, Natasha, and myself). "The stars at night stoop down over the brownest homeliest common with all the spiritual magnificence which they shed on the Campagna, or on the marble deserts of Egypt...the difference between landscape and landscape is small, but there is great difference in the beholders" (367). Just because Natasha did not consider TBS nature doesn't mean I didn't. I have had some moving moments sitting on that Wheeler Bailey lawn, trying to learn how to grow up (sorry if that sounds cheesy). We have one of the most elegant, aesthetic campuses in the city, if not in a wider radius. The buildings add to the majesty of the nature that we have. I know that we are "taught the poorness of our invention, the ugliness of towns and palaces" (366) as compared to nature, and in many ways that is true. There is an incredible godliness in nature that there is nowhere else. It takes your breath away. "From whatever cause, as soon as men begin to write on nature, they fall into euphuism" (368). I am man; I am guilty of man's sin, if sin it is. Back in Colorado (I know I keep writing about it, but it really influenced me, in many ways), I would turn the corner, and my face would literally break out into a grin, no matter how tired I was, because of the view. There was something wonderful about it, and I truly mean "wonderful", as in "full of wonders"."To the intelligent, nature converts itself into a vast promise and will not be rashly explained" (376). It did for me. I couldn't stop looking. It arrested my spirit. But back to my original point. "The difference between landscape and landscape is small, but there is great difference in the beholders. There is nothing so wonderful in any particular landscape as the necessity of being beautiful under which every landscape lies. Nature cannot be surprised in undress. Beauty breaks in everywhere" (367 - 368). My spirit feels a kinship with the Wheeler Bailey lawn (all of this entry sounds so cheesy, but I'm being honest. There are no other ways of putting it). I believe that Wheeler Bailey could be counted as nature. Natasha had a point, though; there were too many people around. So I went to the beach.
The beach was certainly "better", so to speak, than TBS, but it wasn't perfect. "It is an odd jealousy, but the poet finds himself not near enough to his object. The pine-tree, the river, the bank of flowers before him does not seem to be nature. Nature is still elsewhere" (375). That was certainly true for the beach. It wasn't perfect. There was a couple several feet away from me talking, and some swimmers acting up below me (I was on a cliff, overlooking the sea). But it was enough. I was alone. "Here no history or church or state is interpolated on the divine sky and the immortal year" (365). I could just sit and think.
At first I wished desperately that I had brought my notebook. I felt such an urge to be doing something - to write, specifically. Complete sentences fit for this blog kept forming in my head. But after a while, I felt a sense of calm. I stared at the waves pretty much the whole time, and thought. Nothing abnormally profound, just thinking. Living. Being. I didn't stop thinking in complete sentences, though. A few times I felt like singing, and I did, softly enough so no one would hear me, but loudly enough that I could hear my voice making words and tunes. I barely looked at my watch. I just existed and did so naturally.
"It seems as if the day was not wholly profane in which we have given heed to some natural object" (365). Just having that time to sit and think made me feel...honestly, just human, but a human with honesty and pride. "If, instead of identifying ourselves with the work, we feel that the soul of the Workman streams through us, we shall find the peace of the morning dwelling first in our hearts, and the fathomless powers of...life, preexisting within us in our highest form" (376). After just sitting still, I felt as though if I had some way to look myself in the eye, I would be recognizing a creature that has the right to just exist as herself, no apologies made. "Let us be men instead of woodchucks and the oak and the elm shall gladly serve us, though we sit in chairs of ivory on carpets of silk" (371). Nature gives us the inner strength to be proud of ourselves, so that we may be...wait for it...self-reliant.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)