The Real Work
It may be that when we no longer know what to do
we have come to our real work,
we have come to our real work,
and that when we no longer know which way to go
we have come to our real journey.
we have come to our real journey.
The mind that is not baffled is not employed.
The impeded stream is the one that sings.
~ Wendell Berry ~
Coming in for landing in Cincinnati after 24 hours of travel (Istanbul-Rome-Atlanta-Cincinnati) I looked out over the grey fields and office complexes around the airport and across to see interstate 275/71/75, which snakes northward towards the Ohio river and the lights of Cincinnati.
It had been almost 11 months since I left Cincinnati and as I could see from the cold and barren, yet comforting landscape, nothing had seemed to change. This is both the maddening and the comforting thing about coming back to a place where you've spent so much time growing - you can always return - and it will always remind you of how much you have changed, and how little has changed after all.
And there was my mother, waiting just outside the passenger exit, looking out over the heads of wandering passengers being herded through the doors, with a big bouquet of roses, berry flowers and wheat, symbolizing the harvest, and a big smile and hug. Harvest, indeed.
The last two years have been intense. I had accomplished what I set out to do - save half of my income, rid myself of (most) of my belongings (although storage boxes in my family's basement say otherwise), plan my escape, escape, and travel west all the way around the world, stopping to teach, volunteer and learn about life.
I had met the most amazing people, seen sad and also inspiring and unforgettable things, learned more about personal abilities and boundaries than I ever thought possible, and here I was, back where I started. Tired and ready for bed.
So at this point I wondered to myself, "Have you changed the trajectory of your existence? Have you affected the lives of those you love and those you meet?"
And I wasn't sure.
It wasn't exactly self-doubt that gnawed at me, but perhaps a tendency to over-question. The job in Turkey goes through next summer. At the end there is the possibility to stay another year, but is Turkey where I need to be to grow and to have an affect on the world?
Was it possible, that after all of my travels and revelations and inspirations, I am more confused and lost than when I began? And, is this necessarily a bad thing?
As I pondered these thoughts I spent the next week pinwheeling round and round picking up supplies of things not found in Turkey to take back with me (think maple syrup, peanut butter, bourbon), seeing both sides of the family and spending time with friends, as well as struggling through the 8 hour time difference.
As the week continued, I steadied for the journey back to Turkey, struggling to suppress a nasty case of bronchitis that was rooting itself ever deeper in my respiratory system and working through the questions in my mind.
Through conversations with friends and family, I realized that ones actions, in and of themselves, and having the ability and courage to follow a dream or even a whim, can in and of itself change people's minds about what they themselves are capable of.
At second glance, the America I returned to was not the America I left 11 months previously. I was struck by the shopping malls that were relatively empty, the buses that were full and the worry and doubt on people's faces that was alternately joined by a new sense of adventure and also a renewed urge to join (re-join) the human race collective and make a change. The loss of financial security, jobs and consumer options has left the populace in a state of confusion, but also in a position of opportunity - to imagine an alternate future, with a new openness to getting shit done by whatever means possible. To count one's blessings with both hands.
And so, I ended the week with a nasty cough and 20 more hours travel before rest, but not as confused as I thought I was.
I am unsure of what the next year holds, where I will be and who will fill my days, but I am open and I am willing and I am trying to be a better person, day by day.
A few months ago, my mother sent me (again) a poem that has always inspired us. I started with Wendell Berry, and an acknowledgment of being somewhat lost. I close with Marge Piercy and a prayer to be found.
To be of use
by Marge Piercy
jump into work head first
without dallying in the shallows
and swim off with sure strokes almost out of sight.
They seem to become natives of that element,
the black sleek heads of seals
bouncing like half submerged balls.
I love people who harness themselves, an ox to a heavy cart,I want to be with people who submerge
who pull like water buffalo, with massive patience,
who strain in the mud and the muck to move things forward,
who do what has to be done, again and again.
in the task, who go into the fields to harvest
and work in a row and pass the bags along,
who stand in the line and haul in their places,
who are not parlor generals and field deserters
but move in a common rhythm
when the food must come in or the fire be put out.
The work of the world is common as mud.
Botched, it smears the hands, crumbles to dust.
But the thing worth doing well done
has a shape that satisfies, clean and evident.
Greek amphoras for wine or oil,
Hopi vases that held corn, are put in museums
but you know they were made to be used.
The pitcher cries for water to carry
and a person for work that is real.
