Abstract: My sense of place is a collective whole of travel, discovery, and experiences. I have not defined my place as a certain spot on the map, but a combination of locations. “The places that I have been cohesively intertwine to create my ever-expanding home. I will always try to acquaint myself with the flowers and the sky. I will exhaust myself in the glorious cultures that the world offers, and appreciate the place that sits before me, wherever I may be. I will get as close to the heart of the world as I can.” My environmental ethic is that we have been privileged to live on an earth that offers its beauty to us. We must acknowledge and take advantage of this magnificent gift we were given by immersing ourselves in foreign places, putting our hearts into other cultures, and to not fear the differences of the world.
“Though we travel the world over to find the beautiful, we must carry it with us, or we find it not.” To carry the world on my shoulders, to appreciate the fresh dew on the morning grass, to see every part of the natural world as a miracle -- this is my goal. As I write this paper, I am headed home; but I feel as if I am already there. Seat 26 C is just as much of a home as my house in Durango. I am watching the dawn break from an airplane window seat; the sun is colliding with the horizon, and a new day is beginning. The feeling of going somewhere new and the way my heart defies the pressure in an airplane elevates me into my place. It has always been a part of my family’s lifestyle to travel. By the time I was 9 years old, I understood how to navigate an airport, a map, and my heart full of curiosity. It has been ingrained in my mind to explore what has been put on earth, to immerse myself into a foreign place, to put my heart into another culture, and to not fear divergence.
I was 10 years old when my family went on a summer sabbatical to Africa. Amongst the slums, safaris, Indian Ocean and everything in between I had never ever felt more out of place. Walking through the streets, I was surrounded by a color opposite from my own, I was a flashlight light in a dark room and every pair of eyes was glued to my family of aliens. There is one memory that has been cemented into my memory and shielded with armor; I am incapable of forgetting it. It was late afternoon in the Maasai Mara when we drove there, and I can remember the way the sun patted me in the middle of my shoulder blades in the back seat of the open jeep, reassuring me that it was going to be okay.
We turned into the vast and marginalized land belonging to this particular tribe. Their land was dry and offered nothing to itself, and the smell left much to be desired, their clothing was a coral reef in a sea of brown. They wrapped their bodies in culture and in tradition with red blankets, turquoise beads, and a plethora of color rested on their delicate necks. This is where they were rooted, and I could see their roots drag along with them as they walked toward us. They began in a line of about eight Maasai warriors. One following after another, they formed a circle around the five members of my family, leaving no room for our differences. Their faces got close enough to see the spirit in their eyes, and they began to jump. Their legs so effortlessly defied the laws of gravity, and we both felt like aliens next to one another. The beads on their neck and body jingled to the rhythm of my pumping heart and the chants escaping their mouths. Ever so often they would back up and circle us again, but then return to inches of space between us, and continue to jump.
The divide of culture had never been introduced before quite like this and I was terrified. Terrified of the way they stretched their ears to their shoulders, and the clubs that they held in their hands. I was scared of the emptiness of the land, and the thought of how far away my house on Songbird Lane was. Enough water came out of my eyes to quench the thirst of the dry land. The tears played a game of tag down my sunburned cheeks, chasing one after the other until they fell. I was 10 years old and knew nothing of the world except for 4th grade, soccer practice and home. But, I must remind myself that they are just people too and we may fear each other, but we can help each other connect our roots. This day has opened my heart to the idea that we all have something to offer to the world. Perhaps the Maasai Mara is not my place, but it is theirs. I want to apologize to the land that welcomed me on to itself and I am weary with the absence of my apology to the tribe. I failed to see the beauty that was offered to me. The miracle of this experience surpassed my thought, and I am sorry.
From that point on I learned to open my heart to the world every time I stepped on an airplane. No matter where I was headed I wanted to allow myself to be vulnerable to the cultures and differences in the world. In the words of Mary Oliver, “I tell you this, to break your heart, by which I mean only that it break open and never close again to the rest of the world.” So now, leaving the country I tell myself I am going home. For I am not visiting an unknown place in the world, but a place that will soon become one of my homes.
Now every time I go to the ocean, I am home. There is something about the tide that rises and falls in synchrony with the blood in my veins. I think I could define love as the edge of the ocean: Unbounded, unsolved, and deep. The moon tugs at the waves like the sun tugs at my heart. Each grain of sand invites me to hear the stories of the seashells they used to be. I listen, but the waves are speaking too loud for me to hear and the sun thaws the scars of winter. Now every time I go to the desert, I am home. The way the dirt never lets go of my hair makes me smile endlessly. The canyons speak over each other in a brilliant echo that leaves ringing in my ears. Now every time I am in the city I am home. There are taxis racing at the pace of my heart, buildings scraping the edge of the atmosphere. The city has a life of its own. Now every time I go out of the country, I am home. The multitudes of cultures are no longer daunting, but beautiful. I am home with the Turkish, the Europeans, the Kenyans, and the Australians. So the next time I go to the Maasai Mara, I too, will be home. With people who are much stronger than I, who live among lions and zebras and wear beads around their neck and stretch their ears. But we will just be people, standing there in our place in the world, filling the world with our differences in the emptiness of everything else.
It is the discovery of a foreign location, getting out of my comfort zone and traveling somewhere new that I call my sense of place. The places that I have been cohesively intertwine to create my ever-expanding home. I will always try to acquaint myself with the flowers and the sky. I will exhaust myself in the glorious cultures that the world offers, and appreciate the place that sits before me, wherever I may be. I will get as close to the heart of the world as I can. There are 196 countries, 7 billion people, and 7 continents all on one earth. Every square inch of it is a miracle, every square inch of it is my home. “I am rooted, but I flow.”