“I pictured myself in a
Denver bar that night, with all the gang, and in their eyes I would be strange
and ragged and like the Prophet who has walked across the land to bring the
dark Word, and the only Word I had was ‘Wow!’”
- Jack Kerouac, On the Road
- Jack Kerouac, On the Road
This blog was meant to
document my travels through my DIY post-college gap year through Palestine,
Turkey, and Argentina (with a few other stops along the way). But true to form,
I procrastinated on that one a bit too long, and now I’m safely within the
confines of not only my native land but my room in my parents’ house.
I’ll admit I’d been
looking forward to coming home, the sweet unfamiliarity of what had once been
familiar showing me that I truly had Grown and Changed in ways both deep and
superficial. (Not to mention creature comforts like Chipotle and Annie’s
instant macaroni and cheese and knowing I can get absolutely anything my
can-only-cook-from-a-recipe heart desires at Whole Foods.)
And it has been all that
and more. But it’s also reminded me of how exploration doesn’t end when you
return to the country that issued your passport. After leaving Chile, I stopped
to visit my family in Galveston, Texas instead of flying directly home. It was
interesting to have my first port of call be Houston- George Bush International
instead of Ronald Reagan National, to swap one Republican president for another.
Because, though they’d become conflated while I was abroad, “America” and
“home” are really two different things.
As we came in for a
landing, he highway billboards visible from the plane that read “CHRIST” in
giant letters, and I knew I was back not just in America but in Real America.™
Sitting at a hamburger joint by the beach that afternoon, I freaked out for a
second when the people at the table next to us. And I was filled with a sense
of – “These are my countrymen!” – and a concurrent curiosity about what that
means. Unlike when I was in Palestine or Argentina, I was supposed to have
something in common with these folks, the common blood of patriotism stirring
in our veins. I wanted to run up to them and exclaim – you are my people!
But, geographically and
culturally and most other –lys, their lives were probably very different from
mine. I was as fascinated by the Americans I encountered there as I was by any
foreigner I’d encountered – skinny white boys with Texas drawls and pants
hanging low, families come for a week at the Gulf. In the lives I imagined for
them, they fish and fix trucks and do a dozen other things I have little
experience of. But we’re all joined together in this imagined community and
expected to agree with or at least tolerate each other’s opinions on who should
be our president and how we should do health care and was it appropriate to
talk about gun control at a time like that. So what does America really mean?
Which brings me to another
thought. Over the course of being in Galveston, I went with my aunt to get her
horse’s teeth floated and ended up with a lesson on the history of horse
dentistry. I was struck by the fact that here was someone who had devoted his
entire career to something I will only ever have the most cursory understanding
of. Near and far, there are as many unexplored corners
of the world as there are (and I do sometimes wonder what miniscule percentage
of the world I have physically laid my eyes on), as much breadth, there is just
as much depth – interesting subcultures and people with deep pockets of
specialized knowledge, and there is nearly as much still unexplored in my
proverbial backyard as there is on the other side of the globe. The world is
big, but the world is also deep. And it seems like my task now is to take the
spirit of learning and exploration that comes so easily when abroad and apply
it to what is close at hand, to keep my eyes open for the new and the
fascinating wherever I am.
