"Keep close to Nature's heart... and break clear away, once in a while, and climb a mountain or spend a week in the woods. Wash your spirit clean."- John Muir Washing my spirit clean is exactly what I did this past week as I backpacked through the Jedediah Smith Wilderness and Grand Teton National Park in northwestern Wyoming. Stunning alpine meadows, breathtaking mountain vistas, and still forests served as a picturesque backdrop for a period of reflection and thinking. As I walked in quiet not-quite solitude, I allowed my mind to roam wherever it pleased. Sometimes I thought in numbers: 1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8 repeat. Sometimes in breathes or taps of my trekking poles against the hard-packed trail. Most often, however, I thought in memories and experiences. I relived my time in Detroit, fondly recalling the friendships I made, work I completed, and sense of wholeness I regained from giving what little I could offer to a city as fragile and strong as I. I acknowledged my friends in Kansas and those who have become my family in Alaska- realizing that I have come to a point where my presence in both feels at home. And I reflected upon my time at Bethel, the partying that initially covered up the pain of leaving Alaska and throes of guilt at being privileged enough to earn a degree, and my recent visit to CMU. Recognizing that if I never would have attended the wrong place at the right time, I may never have discovered CMU. As I thought about the past, I thought about the future. Of what it would mean staying in Alaska- picking berries and making jam on rainy fall days, attending potlucks with POPMC, embracing all Alaska has to offer with friends who have become family. But also taking on complete adult responsibility, supporting myself full-time while dragging out a degree, seeing my family only a few days a year. And I thought of what I would miss giving up my last shot at being a traditional college student. Of spring-break road trips and late night wine (it's legal in Canada) and paper writing sessions. Of Christmas breaks spent wearing the same pair of sweats all week and gaining three pounds. Of opportunities to study abroad and hold poor-paying but incredibly fun summer jobs and feeling no shame at sleeping in the car I'm bribing my younger brother to sell me for $20 or a consumed piece of bacon. And yes, tucking my independent head down and knowing I'll probably have to ask my parents to co-sign for a student loan and buy my groceries when I'm back home. And trusting that the friends I have and the ones I will make [in Canada] won't leave me stranded on the side of the highway if the '97 Buick with 170,000 miles and windows that refuse to roll down decides to die on me somewhere between Winkler and Winnipeg. And so, as seriously as I have entertained the idea of staying in Alaska. I'm not ready to make this incredible and awe-inspiring place the entirety of my home. Spending 15 hours listening to NPR had me longing to take Global Politics and chat with my professors over papers. Walking 40 miles with 40 pounds on my back through rugged terrain that so desperately needs to be protected brought to my attention the necessity of a degree to incite change. And waking up, my face freezing and my legs stuck together with dried on dirt and sweat at the base of a mountain I was about to climb, ultimately reminded me that there is still a lot of adventure outside of Alaska. Although the voice in the back of my head saying, "you are privileged, you are advantaged, you do not deserve this opportunity more than the next person," has not grown softer, I have realized that I must tamp it down. I need an expensive piece of paper and the knowledge that accompanies it to leave the world brighter than I found it. And as I learned in my discovery of James Agee, having guilt is not the problem, it is how I choose to deal with it. So I blaze on, yes, a child born into wealth and opportunity and the choice to work my way full-time through college or be college-student broke (i.e. whine about the price of organic produce) but also a born adventurer, a born dreamer, and a born servant. One day I will return. I will serve this land that washes my spirit clean each time I walk outside. I will serve it's people who have accepted me as one of their own. And no matter where the road takes me, here my heart will always be at home.
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Elizabeth SchragAdventurer. Biblical and Theological Studies major. Borderline Vegan. Rebel with a cause. Archives
March 2017
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