Deep down in the ditch

My friend DJ asked me to meet him on the top of flagstaff hill.

Early last week, I had told him about this journal assignment and how I had to take several ‘walks’ and record what I experienced on a class blog. He was particularly excited by this, as he is a hiking/camping enthusiast and has always been very open about his affection for the outdoors. When I told him that so far in my two years of Carnegie Mellon I had yet to explore Schenley park except form a single ice-skating adventure last year, he was shocked to say the least.

“You have no idea what’d down their do you?” I didn’t know what he was talking about.

On a map, Schenley Park seems so simple. A large plot of green on an urban background. I had often visited flagstaff hill, for sledding adventures and spring picnics, but I was unaware of what the rest of Schenley was like. When I arrived to greet DJ at the top of flagstaff hill I had imagined that we would walk to find a place that resembled that green plot on my map, a golf course or something that looked like one. DJ had another place in mind.

As DJ led me deeper in deeper into a random wooded area just off the back of the hill I began to get scared. He was leading me into what looked like a large gorge, or for me, a great fall. The snow that I broke with my steps was untouched and pure—this was uncharted land, no paths, no stairs, no nothing.

Eventually, DJ had led me to what appeared to be a series of paths and stairways, all leading deep down into the ditch. As I climbed down the multiple stairways, I kept looking up, imagining how exhausting it would be to climb back to the top. When the pathways seemed to end, we continued on.

DJ grabbed my hand and guided me over the snow covered rocks. “This probably isn’t the best time to do this,” he said, “but if we wait much longer the snow will melt and these rocks will turn into a river.”

We made our way over dead logs, muddy waters, and as we made our way deeper and deeper into the gorge it only seemed to get quieter, more still, “further” away.

DJ and I didn’t speak much; it didn’t seem natural in the deafness of the snow. The sounds of our boots crunching through snow and ice created a soundtrack that was more desirable than any spoken word.

It kept getting darker and darker. At one point, I looked up to see what had happened to the sun and realized that we were under a humongous cement archway, a structure that presumably held up the bridge by Phipps. At the sight of this daunting structure towering over me, I was immediately brought back to the ‘real’ world—made aware of the presence of society.

Aware of the situation, I was immediately upset, “We’d better go back now,” I said. I couldn’t help thinking that this archway, this large structure casting a shadow over my escapade, had defeated the purpose of my trip.

Regardless, I had felt ‘it’, whatever it was, for a brief moment.

It was worth it.

Cheers,

Meela

" A Fig Tree Looking on a Fig Tree Looking Becometh Truthful"

What is an "American Scholar"?  Think about... who is a scholar? A scholar is defined in Merriam Webster Dictionary as "a person who has studied a subject for a long time and knows a lot about it : an intelligent and well-educated person who knows a particular subject very well." But what does that mean? I would never describe myself as a scholar. I think a scholar as a person who has reached their PHD or some one as a worlds except in something... but what do we as a generation think a scholar as? Are they the teachers how show us the fun that there is in education are they the parents that have the wisdom. Google images for scholar bring up images about books and old men. Well what about the scholars of our lives. I would have never considered myself a scholar but... if the definition is that of Merriam then I would say that i know people really well... would that make me a scholar. If I can tell you everything about Gilmore Girls, would that make me a scholar. I feel like the definition of scholar is different then what we used to think of scholar, some old white dude with books. Now a scholar could be the kid down the street who can spray paint sneakers like nobodies business. An American scholar now that is an interesting concept. In a country that thinks itself above many in ingenuity and creativity a scholar here never needs to be book learned its about being the person who knows the most and who can be the best... which is better... the one that has a roof or one with millions of possibilities...even I am not sure

Solitude

I feel as though I have reconnected with an old friend.

Last summer, after ending the school year on some less-than-positive notes (a major break-up, the loss of a best friend) I decided that the coming summer, the summer going into my sophomore year of college, was going to be all about me. Initially, I didn’t exactly know what that meant. I knew that I wanted to pay a lot of attention to myself, and my well being both physically and mentally, but I didn’t have a precise plan on how to do that.

My family was going to Nantucket Island, as we have ever summer since before I can even remember. I hate Nantucket. I always feel spoiled when I make declarations about the island because, obviously enough, what kind of person despises spending their summer on a beautiful island paradise? Well—if you’ve ever visited Nantucket or know anything about the islands reputation, then chances are that you know it tends to attract quite a large population of New England elitists. Now I know I shouldn’t let that get in my way of enjoying the island itself, and don’t get me wrong Nantucket is most certainly a beautiful place, but I’ve been going every summer since the day I was born and it is most certainly a place that is preferable in small dosages. To make things worse, I’m a bit of a black sheep among the Nantucket community. I don’t wear Lilly Pulitzer dresses and large pearls. I don’t enjoy yachting. I despise terrible, selfish people. I don’t give a crap about how expensive your house in Aspen was. Turns out, the majority of the Nantucket population is everything that I am not—so naturally, I’m an outcast.

If I’m honest, it’s true that I outcasted myself. But that’s merely because the majority of the people on Nantucket are the type of people that I prefer not to associate with. Sure, there are always a few exceptions, but regardless I have purely negative feelings towards the place.

All in all, I knew that on Nantucket, after the series of unfortunate events that occurred during the school year, and working a 75-hour week as a waitress at two separate restaurants, the summer was not going to be a happy one.

Eventually I was able to draft up a plan for what it was I wanted to do with my summer. I maintained a vegan diet, exercised almost everyday before work, and took up meditation.

Honestly, I owe a lot of my happiness to the peace and tranquility that I was able to attain through chakra meditation and yoga. I discovered within myself a spirituality that I often times wish I could reconnect with here at Carnegie Mellon. It helped me ignore the remarks of rude and stuck-up costumers at work, it helped me repair my damaged psyche, it helped me feel sane.

That being said, when our class was dared to complete two hours of nothing—I was more than ecstatic to do so. I occupied the large walk-in closet in my Fairfax apartment, asked my roommate not to disturb me, laid down my Tibetan meditation cloth, lit some incense, and emptied my mind. Clarity, my old friend, how I missed you so.

Cheers,

Meela

What Orestes Brownson has to do with John Boehner

I was going to write a journal entry about how Orestes Brownson’s “The Reconciliation of God, Humanity, State, and Church” reminds me of “Footnote to Howl” by Allen Ginsberg. Then I read an article online saying that House Speaker John Boehner and some other Congressional Republicans are trying to pass a bill that would only allow women who had been “forcibly raped” to receive government money for abortions.

I think this bill is disgusting. On more than one level, it tells people that their bodies are not their own, that they have no right to control what happens to them. It tells them that they are worth nothing—what they experience, feel, and want is worth nothing. Regardless of your opinion of abortion, you should write your congressman or congresswoman and tell him or her to oppose this bill. Here’s why: this bill not only attempts to limit a woman’s right to end a pregnancy she does not want, it attacks the definition of rape, which is already vastly misunderstood.

All rape is forcible rape. It doesn’t matter if someone jumps out at you or if the rapist is someone you know well (which is far more common). It doesn’t matter if the weapon is a gun, a knife, a pill, alcohol, a verbal threat, or implied threat. Coercion is coercion. Anytime someone performs a sex act on someone who has not consented or cannot consent, it’s rape. And all rape is violence. Someone doesn’t have to hit you or draw blood to do violence. Making someone have sex when they don’t want to is a form of violence.

Rape takes away the victim’s right to control his or her body and his or her life. Too often, our legal system does exactly the same thing. That’s why only one in four women and one in seven men report, because it’s so unlikely that they will be believed or that the attacker will be adequately punished. With sex crimes, blame is too often placed on the victim: s/he shouldn’t have been wearing that outfit, s/he shouldn’t have been walking alone in that neighborhood, s/he shouldn’t have been drinking, s/he’s had sex before so s/he is a slut and should not be believed now, s/he just regretted it, s/he’s out for money/revenge/attention, s/he knew his/her attacker, they went on a date, so it must have been consensual. This bill attempts to limit the definition of rape even further, to perpetuate already dangerous myths about it: that rape is only committed by strangers at night, in bad neighborhoods. This type of rape is undeniably horrible, and it does occur, but to deny that the other forms of rape also occur and that they are also horrible to is to tell an entire segment of the population that their experience does not count, that what they experienced is not real, that their pain is not real.

Enough violence has already been done to rape victims. This bill attempts to do even more violence by telling a woman who has already lost control of her body that she is going to lose that control again. This in turn tells her that she is a nonentity—she exists to satisfy the agendas of other people, what she wants is completely beside the point. This is why, whether or not you believe abortion should be legal, you should write your congressman or woman and say that this bill cannot pass, because it perpetrates violence where terrible violence has already been done.

What does this have to do with Orestes Browning? In his essay, he envisions a world inwhich “man will be sacred in the eyes of man…[where] it will be every where felt that one man has no right over another which the other has not over him…[where] man’s body will be deemed holy.” Right now, bodies are not always deemed holy, rights are not distributed equally, man is not always sacred in the eyes of man. Boehner’s bill just makes these terrible truths even more true.

If you want to read more about this issue, you can go here:

http://m.motherjones.com/politics/2011/01/republican-plan-redefine-rape-abortion

Schenley Park Walk

“To the attentive eye, each moment of the year has its own beauty, and in the same field, it beholds, every hour, a picture which was never seen before, and which shall never be seen again” (Emerson 39).

For a while, I did not wanted to go back to Schenley Park. The reason I was last there, in mid-October, was because I to escape. The night before, I received a text message that sent me into an instant state of madness and despair. I wanted to get lost. I needed to be out of my dorm room and away from my oblivious roommate, the stuffy air, and the annoying sound of laughter from behind closed doors. I walked into Schenley on a crisp, but overcast October afternoon with numbing thoughts in my mind. My walk was constantly interrupted by phone calls from my parents and friends. I didn’t know how to answer them; I just knew that to get them to stop calling I had to say I was fine, even though that was a lie. It was an afternoon I wanted to forget. I don’t know why I decided to go back to Schenley and walk around. I was afraid the same memories from October would come back with every step I took. This walk, however, was be different.

The same stone steps that led down to the paths were now covered with snow and ice, which made for an interesting (and dangerous) descent. While cradling a $3.94 cup of chai tea, which cost about the same as all of the nails for Thoreau’s cabin, I tried not to slip down the treacherous steps and break my neck. After narrowly succeeding, I chose to turn left, because I was already familiar with what lay ahead to the right. I soon came upon a frozen stream that lay under an old stone bridge. I remembered this scene from October, yet it looked quite alien with the snow. I was able to walk alongside and, occasionally, on top of the ice. As I walked through the ravine, I saw some old footprints that traveled up out of the stream and onto the hillside. I followed them and soon saw a large stone alcove that was embedded near the top. Feeling a bit daring, I climbed up the snowy slope on all fours, grabbing onto branches and small fallen trees for support. The alcove itself was about ten of fifteen feet wide, seven feet deep, and had four or five feet of ceiling room. There was a slab of stone that lay at about a forty-five degree angle, on which I laid down and stared up at the sky. I almost felt sheltered and protected by the alcove, and the level of comfort the stone provided was a bit surprising. I felt as if no troublesome thoughts or bad memories could penetrate the stone. I didn’t even care how I was to get down from the spot. Lying down on my back, I felt invincible and disconnected from the world at the same time. All I could hear was the slow trickling water of the melting stream below, and occasionally a passing car from overhead. I honestly could have stayed in that spot, immobile, for the rest of the afternoon and evening. It felt like I was in a tomb with a glass cover, out of which I could look all around. I seemed hidden to everything around me, except for a curious bird that hopped around the threshold from time to time. In the summer, I bet people frequented this spot and enjoyed cooling off in the stream. Empty beer cans and a Crown Royal beach towel were left frozen on the bank.

Yet, I soon felt the urge to get up and continue on. Perhaps I was afraid I’d get too comfortable and thus succumb to my seasonal depression. I don’t know. This moment reminded me of the apparent disconnect between Emerson and his prodigy, Thoreau. While Emerson definitely appreciated nature, it seemed as though he only liked to enjoy it in moderation so he could see the ephemeral beauty that it beheld. Thoreau, on the other hand, seemed as if he always liked to be around nature, and thus he became fully integrated into the natural world as he briefly lost his connection to the “real world.” I didn’t want to feel anything, anymore, and that made me afraid. I reluctantly resisted letting go of memories, however painful they were, and just blissfully sitting on the cold slab of rock. In the end, I ultimately have to get up and face what lies ahead of me. Thus, I am left to hold the snapshots of beauty and pain in my mind as everyday life, once again, gets in the way and prevents me from the peace for which I subconsciously yearn.

What is Spirituality?

January 29th 2011
“The Art, which fits such a being to fulfill his high destiny, is the first and noblest of arts Human Culture is the art of revealing to a man the true Idea of his Being-his endowments-his possessions-and of fitting him to these for the growth, renewal, and the perfection of his Spirit”
Amos Bronson Alcott, p 69
What I find interesting is this quote’s relation Thoreau’s writing. While Thoreau blatantly denies the cultural beliefs and practices of society, Alcott embraces them. I find this statement somewhat comforting and it relieves the mini identity crisis Thoreau’s writing gave me. I am such an embodiment and product of my culture and the way I have interpreted Alcott has made this okay. What I find even more moving is the fact that Alcott calls this the noblest of arts. I find that culture is more often condemned rather than embraced, let alone thought to bring spiritual peace. At the same time this quote is comforting, it is disappointing.
Alcott’s idea about what defines a man sprouts contradictory responses for me. It is slightly disturbing that the possessions I earn, like my laptop and cell phone, are what define my spirit. This is definitely the age of technology , meaning the daily technology we are obsessed with However, I don’t think my typing on this laptop is some sort of religious experience or way to help refine my spirit. I really don’t associate buying possessions or searching for my “inner being” as an art form. I find it more of a quest or the essential struggle of humanity. I feel that my actions towards other human beings and nature should be what decide my spiritual being. Whether or not I own an iPod does isn’t really related to my spirit. At the same time I think Alcott has shown great insight into what defines a man. Anthropologically speaking, culture affects all aspects of life. My taste in furniture is a reflection of the conditions and beliefs I was raised with. It is fascinating how different people can be in different places. I don’t think it is an art of revealing. It’s human nature to develop cultural guideline. It is how society learns to functions.
This has prompted me to question, or ponder rather, my beliefs about spirituality. I do not consider myself a very spiritual person. I was raised Catholic, but abandoned those beliefs during puberty. I don’t associate myself with any particular organized religion or set of beliefs. So now I have no particular structure to what I should follow in order to find any spirituality within myself. So now I have another, although significantly smaller, identity crisis. What exactly does a “higher power” mean? Is it important to believe in one? What exactly does a higher power do? Also, many representations of higher power are usually a man. Why not a woman? Furthermore is the “higher power” within myself?
I think nature and spirituality should go hand in hand. Spirituality should be found on a personal journey. I think this is where Thoreau was correct. It is hard to find one’s inner being and self worth with the distractions of culture. Although the “nothing” exercise was tortuous, it also opened up doors to my mind and made me slow down and think about the world and things. I feel that if I did that more in life I would be able to have a fuller understanding of myself in relation to the society that I am consumed by.

Change of Pace

Reflecting further on Walden, I realized how alike Thoreau and I are. Although it is extremely difficult for me to simply do nothing and not be engulfed in the excesses of life, I connect with his fear of being caught in a rut. Feeling trapped, especially in a meaningless existence, is one of my greatest fears, “The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation” (Thoreau, 8).

I define meaningful in an unconventional way, putting more emphasis on doing things that make me happy. This definition may seem obvious, however many people surprisingly do not feel that this is enough to live a “meaningful” life. I don’t think anyone wants to die knowing that they have not lived a full life, “I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived” (Thoreau, 65). Experiencing and gaining the most out of life is a necessity for me.

I, like Thoreau, enjoy a change of scenery often. Especially when I was a freshman in college, I was excited to make an entirely new batch of friends. During the summer before I left for Carnegie, I grew ridiculously bored with my high school friends in anticipation of all the new people I could befriend. Even now, if I am in college without breaks to go home for an extended period of time, I start becoming anxious and bored with my surroundings. Most notably, the period between the first day of classes and Thanksgiving break, I am miserably bored and become easily annoyed because I have been stuck in the same place with the same people for far too long. A similar situation arises during the summer when I’m home in New York. This may make me sound like a selfish or uncaring person, but it’s simply the way I feel. Just as I cannot sit still for an hour, I cannot stay in the same place surrounded by the same people for a long time.

I am truly a result of the modern generation: I need constant stimulation and excitement, otherwise I am not happy. Hence, my busy and active life gives me a sense of meaning. I feel as though I am actively doing something and making a difference in the world, however small. As I stated earlier, I want to experience everything I can in life, “I left the woods for as good a reason as I went there. Perhaps it seemed to me that I had several more lives to live, and could not spare any more time for that one” (Thoreau, 217). I never want to be trapped or caught by anything or anyone; unbounded freedom is my closest friend. Experiencing new places, foods, people, etc are what gives my life meaning. The opportunity to do something new and exciting is what motivates me every morning.

When I was in fourth grade, a big thing happened to me: I was given sole responsibility of the family paper route. The paper route had been in our family since my sister (who is ten years older than me) was young, then my brothers took over until it was finally my turn. The purpose of delivering newspapers around the neighborhood was to teach me responsibility and also to give me a small source of my own income. What I actually got out if it couldn’t have been foreseen.

Everyday for five years I would come home from school, change and get all the papers ready. Then, I would begin walking the hilly and winding path to deliver the daily newspaper to all the faithful readers. This was at a time before cell phones, MP3 players and other forms of portable electronics, so I was my only entertainment during the 30-60 minute route. At first, I would think about things like school, homework, sports, television and other things. However, as I did this day in and day out, these things got old.

Soon enough my mind began to wander to the nature I would see around me and I’d think about how amazing it is that things were able to grow so tall without any human intervention (trees in the woods behind my house). I would contemplate so many different things about nature and how it was physically possible, which eventually led me to think about life in general.

My thoughts about life started out simple: what am I going to do with mine? What actions of mine would be most beneficial for future generations? At some point over the years it turned from wondering about my life to wondering about life in general. What does it mean? Why were we given this opportunity? Is it really about making the world better or is it just a test given by somebody above? What happens after our life is over?

Sometimes my thoughts turned a bit morbid and made me think things like, if life is just going to end someday, why waste time building relationships and doing the “right” way? But eventually my thoughts brightened up, ironically enough I can remember it was during spring. This is why personally Thoreau’s chapter on Spring really struck me. The imagery used made me go back to the times when I would be walking around my neighborhood, though not quite the landscape of Walden Pond, but how the nature around me made me question deeper personal things.

As I mentioned earlier, I would think about the intricacies of nature. One passage in Spring that really captures one of my exact thoughts is from page 207 when he says “The earth is not a mere fragment of dead history, (…) but living poetry like the leaves of a tree, which precede flowers and fruit.” I just really love this because I would always think about how a tree seems to be an inanimate object until one day I would walk past and see beautiful flowers or apples growing. The fact that this can happen astounded me and still does even today.

Also I found an interesting article that reminded me of our class discussion about work and stress: http://www.nytimes.com/2011/01/27/education/27colleges.html?_r=1&hp

Thinking in Silence

Quiet, I rarely get it. There is the constant phone call or question, the buzz of my phone getting an email or my littles needing advise. But silence its a long lost friend. Even now when all the house is asleep and the computers are off. I am not able to get real silence. The buzz of the mini fridge or the wind at the window they remind me that I am here at CMU in my third floor dorm room up too late working on homework that just seems to grow like moss on a rock. How I would love to be on a porch somewhere that is warm where the sounds that make up my silence don't cause me to think of energy costs. I don't think i will ever get real silence because even though the room is "quiet" my head is still spinning reminding me what happened today and what needs to happen tomorrow. Silence is relative it is fixing the things that need to be done so that when you decide to lye down your head for bed, your mind isn't screaming telling you that you should. So yeah silence isn't something I get much, its a luxury that I put on a high pedistill up there next to eight hours of sleep and massages, its there just unattainable.

meditate

I tried the meditation exercise this weekend while my roommate was away mentoring for Emerging Leaders so that I would have the apartment to myself for the whole time. Before I start recounting my experience I have a confession. I cheated a little bit. I made lunch before starting my time and ate during the meditation, even though I tacked on extra time at the end to make up for it, I do consider eating part of the doing nothing experiment. Thoreau sometimes talked about the pure pleasure of consuming food, and doing it as a singular, all-absorbing activity. I never just eat. I am always eating and planning or eating and reading, or even doing double duty with my leisure time and eating while watching TV or stumbling. I had made a really simple Chinese style fried rice for lunch and so I closed my laptop, set the alarm on my phone and commenced eating. At first I couldn't stop myself from eating really fast, like it was just something to get over with before I could do something else, but gradually I forced myself to realize that there simply wasn't anything pressing for my to do once I finished, and I was amazed at how slow I ate after that. I felt the texture of the rice, the carrots. For the first time in a while I really looked at my food, and I was amazed at all of the colors I had missed before. I don't know if you've ever cooked with turmeric and olive oil before , but if you ever do I want you to notice the bright neon yellow color it makes.

After eating I set my plate to the side and tried to do nothing. I let my mind wander for a while, but It kept making up stories or planning out how I was going to blog about doing nothing. One by one I tried to shut the thoughts off like tightening a spigot, but the main product was that I started to doze a little. Clearly letting my thoughts police themselves was not working.

I moved to the floor, and I sat on my hands to keep them from creeping up into my hair to make those tiny braids like I usually do when I'm bored. I have resolved not to do anything with my hands that are usually so busy typing and crocheting and writing. I try to plug up thoughts that have to do with all of the things I'm not doing, and the image of a cartoon figure trying to stop water flowing from ten holes with all appendages comes to mind. The most stubborn thoughts are my inner narrative loop, dictating the experience in poetic play-by-play. Finally I come to terms with doing nothing. I breathe in. I breathe out. I try not to think about it, but just let my mind go blank. Even the though manager disappears, and for a few moments I don't think about anything, my mind simply registering the fact of existence and experience, but then I start to worry about falling asleep again.

The alarm was a welcome relief.

The Secret Life of Plants

“Before we can adorn our houses with beautiful objects the walls must be stripped, & our lives must be stripped, and beautiful house keeping and beautiful living be laid for a foundation, now a taste for the beautiful is most cultivated out of doors, when there is no house & no house keeper.” Thoreau, pg. 29 of “Walden…”

It was walking into the lush vegetation of the Phipps conservatory that I asked whether or not Thoreau would approve of such an adventure, or simply the concept of a botanical garden in general. It was past the blossoming vines that I caught a glimpse outside and only saw snow falling, and footprints from the brave morning walkers, while I was inside a glass building, in complete awe with how I was in a humid and warm surrounding is. Walking into the Phipps conservatory is a very surreal experience, only heightened when in the middle of a winter day. It was while I strolled along the Amazon room with a notebook in my hand, writing down foreign names from plants found in a different dirt from counties where the people roll their “r’s,” that I wondered how Thoreau would view a conservatory. Traditionally speaking, Phipps conservatory was built to allow for the people of Pittsburgh to “immerse themselves in seventeen different botanical experiences. It is in these glass chambers that, both native and non-native plants form a world that isolates one from the direct environment of Pittsburgh. Although this allows for someone to escape into another realm filled with rare and visually stunning public garden, the conservatory is mostly reserved for the wealthy. (Unless you are a student, the prices of the conservatory are far from being affordable to a wide range of people.) It was while I strolled into the organza room that found myself in complete awe with how brilliantly colorful the plants were, and how through the windows, the snow in the background, I became more aware of how a surrounding can make an “audience” view certain things. I have been in the room with the organzas several times during the beginning of the school year, and usually don’t pay much attention to the flowers. I believe it is such a contrast between environments like the one that I experienced during the Phipps outing that make me more aware of my current surroundings. It was interesting to see that while I was in the conservatory I spent almost as much time looking out side, not out of horror (a mini snow storm was brewing) but because the snow seemed very crisp, almost picturesque. When I stumbled upon the Thoroas quote the night before, I was struck with how poetic the tone of the paragraph was, but as well as how true it resonated within me while I took this particular walk in Phipps. There is something simply awe-filled with something very simple. This feeling of really appreciating your surrounding, in the rawest form was only more striking when I was walking back to flagstaff hill and I peered back and saw how tranquil and elegant the conservatory looked from the hill, the rooftop covered in snow and the red twigs made the conservatory appear as almost mystical place. Everyday since then I walk to flagstaff hill and take a few moments to look at the conservatory in the middle of the city of steel, and find it simply beautiful.

Nature Walk

Whether it was bravery or stupidity I decided to take my journey into nature on Sunday afternoon in the below freezing, bitter winter cold. I stood at the front of Schenley Park with two sweaters, a coat, thick tights and pants, socks, gloves, and finally boots. If I had to journey into nature during winter, I was going prepared. I walked deep into the park, away from the random jogger or dog walker passing me by. The more isolated I became as I walked deeper and deeper into the park the more rampant my thoughts became. I thought of adventurers who get lost in hiking in mountains. What would happen if I collapsed in the snow? Would anyone find me? Would I die over night? The more I thought of this the more I felt like I was going to pass out at any moment, not because I’m a maniac hypochondriac, but because unlike most people being cold makes me sleepy. While walking I thought of all the classes I struggled to stay awake in because the air conditioning was cranked too high. The more I thought of my unlikely death in Schenley Park, the heavier my eyelids became and suddenly I was tired. “Fight through it!” I thought. “You can’t fall asleep here, no one knows where you are and no one will find you.”

My thoughts became reflective as they often do when I have absolutely nothing else to do. My phone, ipod, and laptop were put away and I no friends talk to on this journey. I thought about
CMU and how much I hate it. Usually my days are full from 9am to 6 pm then from 9pm to midnight, leaving me little time for homework, naps, or my precious TV time. Not that I actually hate the school, I just hate the enormous portion of my life it consumes. It feels as if I have no life outside of this place. However, I put up with all of this because hopefully that one day it will all be worth it when I leave CMU thousands of dollars in debt but with prospects of an amazing life in sight. But still the thought of having to find a job less than a year from now and reviewing the starting salaries for English majors is depressing. His quote, “Most men, even in this comparatively free country, through mere ignorance and mistake are so occupied with the factitious cares and superfluously coarse labors of life that its finer fruits cannot be plucked by them” (7) stuck with me. I spend a great deal of my time working hard on things I do not want to do in the quite possibly vain hope that it will get me where I want to go. Maybe Thoreau was onto something living in the woods and escaping all real world responsibility. Considering that I am not one for nature there is no way I would ever even think of living in the woods for a year; the thought of camping outside for even one night terrifies me.


But my ever moving, non sequitur thoughts I drifted back to the thought of accidentally falling asleep and dying in the woods. I though about one of my younger brother’s favorite TV shows that I often watched with him Man vs. Wild. In which the show’s host Bear Grylls endures the world’s harshest conditions and show how he would survive them. Although I am positive he is flown by helicopter to the nearest hotel as soon as the sun goes down and the cameras turn off.

Doing Nothing--January 21st, 2011

This morning, I did nothing for two hours. It was a little after seven when I woke up, and still dark. I thought about going back to sleep or getting up to read, but decided to do nothing instead. If I did nothing now, I wouldn’t have to do it later.

When the option of spending two hours doing nothing was suggested in class, I was very resistant to it. I didn’t think I had enough time. More compellingly, I didn’t want to spend that much time alone with myself. Sometimes, my mind is like a forest at night that I don’t want to wander around in alone. I knew spending two hours doing nothing could force me to do exactly that. When Thoreau said “it is easier to sail many thousand miles through cold and storm and cannibals, in a government ship, with five hundred men and boys to assist one, than it is to explore the private sea, the Atlantic and Pacific Ocean of one’s being alone” he hit on something very true (216).

At first I just lay on the sofa, thinking about school: my thesis, which I was stuck on; the homework I wanted to get done; when I’d have time to get my car fixed; go to the eye doctor; go to the dentist. I started thinking about what I should write my next poem for workshop about, then worrying about whether it would be any good. Then I started worrying about whether I’m going to find a nice place live next year, whether I’ll get a job, whether the writing co-op my friend and I want to start next year is going to work out, whether I’ll get into grad school in a couple years. Just lying still was stressing me out. This is not a new experience for me. Because I couldn’t get up and start doing work, I decided to try to concentrate on what was going on at that exact moment, in the room I was in, instead of things that could possibly happen in the future.

I was spending the night with my boyfriend. He lives in a big Victorian house with no central heat. Last night it was five degrees outside, which means that it was maybe seven inside. When I went into the hallway, I could see my breath. The only warm room was the kitchen, where he and his roommates have installed a woodstove. Because we didn’t want to freeze, that’s where we slept. Woodstoves require a certain amount of maintenance, and sleeping next to one less relaxing than it sounds. It’s very cozy and warm, but if you want to stay warm, you have to get up every now and then and add fuel. When a stove is really hot, it ticks quietly, almost rhythmically. When I woke up, the coals were bright red and still hot enough to make the stove tick. There were two tongues of fire on either side of the big log we’d added some time around four in the morning. I lay there listening to them, and watching the fire. When I got bored, I watched the light leak in around the curtains instead. Even though it was freezing in the rest of the house, I was almost too warm lying next to the fire. There are two cats in this house, and one of them was lying by my feet. I couldn’t straighten my legs without kicking him, and my knees were starting to ache. Just concentrating on the things around me made me much calmer. I think I might have fallen asleep (hopefully this doesn’t invalidate the experiment) because I closed my eyes for a minute, and when I opened them the fire was much brighter.

Thoreau also says “we should be blessed if we lived in the present always…and did not spend our time in atoning for the neglect of past opportunities, which we call doing our duty. We loiter in winter when it is already spring” (211). I know that I am guilty of this. Living in the culture we live in, it seems almost inevitable. It was worthwhile to stop and try to get out of that mind-set for a minute

Journal Entry

January 25, 2011
Last weekend, I had gone on a retreat with my church group. In many ways, I expected it to be a similar experience to the one Thoreau describes in Walden. The retreat would take place in a remote location almost two hours away from campus and would last for three days. Although I would be with eighty other people most of the time, I was hoping to find some time alone to think about Thoreau. To be honest, I was determined to use this opportunity as a subject for one of my journal entries. I wasn’t expecting it to give me a real understanding of Walden. However, after going through the experience, I actually started to sort of appreciate Thoreau’s experiment.
I have to admit, the retreat was different from what I expected to be. Yes, I was cut off from technology and stuck in the middle of a wooded area, but that was about the only thing that was similar to my experience and Thoreau’s. Being surrounded by people, it was very difficult to find some time alone or even feel alone. I had easy access to food and water, as it was obviously already prepared and provided for us. I did not have to build my own shelter since the cabins were already there. However, despite the fact that I was covered in terms of basic needs, the retreat was still difficult compared to life back at home (or school).
For starters, the bus that was taking us broke down in the middle of the road. The smoke that filled the inside of the bus caused most of us to panic, and we evacuated the bus. Standing in the middle of the road, we were all freezing. Being so used to the warmth provided by the bus’s heating system, the unexpected detour was enough to make us miss the comfort of our own homes.
Things were not much better when we got there. There was no means of heating inside the cabins. Sleeping was difficult because I kept waking to the cold.
Not having internet connection was also frustrating. I never realized how attached I was to these connections. For instance, that weekend was when a soccer match that I really wanted to watch had taken place. It was difficult trying to keep myself from wondering about the results. I was surprised that I couldn’t keep myself from thinking about these things for a mere three days.
I had read from Walden prior to the retreat and I started to realize how extremely difficult Thoreau’s experiment must have been. Thoreau had spent over two years at Walden and he did not even have the “conveniences” that I had. I think I sometimes (rather subconsciously) dismissed Thoreau’s experiment. But simple living was more difficult than I thought. “I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived.” To an extent, this statement could apply to the purpose of going on a church retreat. In certain ways, I may have not achieved it as successfully as Thoreau had.

I am a fighter... for my image....

I feel that I am not a loner I am the fighter.  Rather then spend the time to think about me, think about the good that I am able to do, the things I want be and how to get there; I am ready to step in to help out the others. I blame my mother for this but I have a physically negative reaction to injustice.  I get red and fiery and I stand up. You see one thing that home schooling taught me was that everyone voice counts and just because I am young and have therefore haven’t lived. So getting things done is not a big deal, if anything I love it. I love calling in technological problems. I love standing up to my competitors and I like to feel strong. Why, why do I need to prove my strength? I feel that there is a lot of reasons that I feel that I am constantly needing to prove myself. I think it is because I am so used to showing my value due to my dyslexic. When I was in middle school there was a poster in the guidance councilor, it said something along the lines of “ What does an eating disorder look like?” There were a lot of people pictured and a lot of different speech bubbles above them. Well if I was pictured, I would be “ Am I what a learning disability looks like?” I would say no, why because I didn’t know I was dyslexic till my tenth birthday. And honestly sometimes the thing that makes me feel lonely is the fact that I have to explain why the “bright girl” can only write like a tenth grader.

What can I say about loneliness?

What can I say about loneliness? Well I am never alone; I am always around people and work. I never stand still, and that almost angers me. In my life I am constantly working to better things but not for me but for those who I care about. And the sad part of this is all I wanted in return is a thank you.  But back to being alone, I think it is all about the definition of being alone. I am never alone physically because I live in a house of thirty-one girls.  But emotionally I think I  I am alone because I feel like no one has been able to get me. I have friends and best friends but I always feel that I am the giver in the relationship; I am the one who drops everything for my friend.  I guess recently I feel that my loneliness is like a cold shower, you need to get through it and its painful but in the end necessary to continue.

Homewood Cemetery Walk

“I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived” (Thoreau 65).

I went to the Homewood Cemetery on a sunny Saturday morning. I half expected the weather to be dark and gloomy, simply because of the connotations of where I was going to be. Instead, after I walked through the ornate stone gates of the historic cemetery I saw a beautiful landscape that was punctuated by glowing sunlight, which, illuminated the snow and created an oddly picturesque setting. I suppose I am uneasy about cemeteries because, in my opinion, they “put the dead on display” –meaning the deceased are memorialized in ways that are unnecessarily extravagant and tend to make more modest graves (and by association those interned within them) look inferior. However, I do not oppose memorializing in the form of written tributes and modest grave decoration, because I believe those miniscule things speak emotional volumes about the life the deceased person lived, how much he/she was loved, and how his/her absence has affected others. Reading the inscriptions on tombstones and getting a sense of who the deceased person was indeed was an extremely cathartic experience, which I will return to later.

As I mentioned, my view of cemeteries was slightly slanted and I believe it can be more attributed to graveyards, which are portrayed as being spookier than the former. Besides the beautiful setting, another “unconventional” sight I witnessed upon entering the cemetery was pair of female joggers gallivanting amongst the graves with their golden retriever in tow. Furthermore, as I walked along one of the initial steep hillsides overlooking a plot of graves I saw a peculiar line of tracks in the snow the descended down the hill. I soon realized that the tracks were from a child’s sled. The next thought that came to my mind was “Why would parents bring their kids to sled in a cemetery?” I guess the obvious answer would be “Yeah, it’s kind of odd, but these are the best hills in the neighborhood, and the dead probably don’t mind too much.” While I don’t think cemeteries should be completely separated from the world of the living, perhaps certain acts should be discouraged from occurring there in order to show respect for the dead. I did feel an imposed censorship fall over me as I ventured throughout the cemetery. Neither did I verbally or internally curse or complain against the biting cold that made my walk pretty uncomfortable, nor did I take the Christian lord’s name in vain when exclaiming my astonishment at the number of graves that covered the cemetery’s many hills. My self-censorship was a bit ridiculous, because in the cemetery there were Chinese Buddhists and Russian Jews, as well.

As I walked along the paths of the Christian section of the cemetery I passed by personal mausoleums that were made out of large blocks of stone, showcased large doorways, and even had decorative columns, which resemble those of the Parthenon. Upon a later Google search, I found that a family related to U.S. President Ulysses S. Grant owned one of the most incredibly looking mausoleums. To my surprise, as I gazed into the crypt I found that there were still three available spaces for family members. If I were to give an award to the most ridiculous family mausoleum, it would have to be to John Worthington, who apparently was a Welsh geologist who worked for Standard Oil. Perhaps one of the inspirations for Daniel Day Lewis’s character “Daniel Plainview” in the movie “There Will Be Blood,” Worthington’s mausoleum was easily the biggest one in the entire cemetery, and not only was its iron gate painted in gold-leaf, but inside were beautiful stained glass fixtures that depicted the origin of Worthington told of, in a brilliant old-English script, his rise to prominence. Even though Worthington was interred alongside his wife and, presumably, his children, only his name is chiseled in big stone letters on the front of the mausoleum.

There were simply too many things to write about during my two-hour walk in the cemetery, from the grand, proud mausoleums to the modest Chinese graves that often had beautifully sounding wind chimes. It was a lot on which to reflect. For a brief moment, I was overcome with laughter as I thought about my great aunt, who died in 1999. Perhaps my family has never really believed in visiting graves, because my great aunt Anna, who was the most recent family member to die, is still in our kitchen. Well, her cremated remains are still in our kitchen, sitting right next to Hunter, our first dog. I don’t know why Anna was never buried, or why her ashes at least weren’t spread throughout Coney Island, where she originally was from. Maybe it was so she could always be with family, so she would never be left alone. People spread their relatives’ ashes in Disneyland attractions for the very same reason. The contrast between Anna sitting in our kitchen and John Worthington, who, in retrospect, has probably done very little for humanity, sitting in his blasphemous monolith was something that was just too funny.

Before the cold of the dead drew me out of the cemetery, I came upon one last grave. It was a three-person plot, of a daughter and her parents. The parents are still alive; their daughter, however, died in 1996 when she was in her mid-twenties. She is flanked by her mourning parents, who wrote a lengthy epitaph and erected a stone bench in front of her final resting place. On the father’s gravestone is etched the aforementioned quote from Thoreau’s Walden. There is no doubt that Thoreau’s thoughts still hit home for many who wish to reflect on their own lives, and measure how they truly lived. As the old cliché goes, death is an unavoidable part of life. Despite people’s respective religious beliefs and social classes, everyone who has or had relatives buried at the Homewood Cemetery are united in mourning. The daughter’s birthday would have been last Thursday, the twentieth, the mother’s was Saturday, the twenty-third, and the father’s is Monday, January the twenty-fourth. Perhaps the father, on the eve on his birthday, is closer to determining whether or not he has, as Thoreau pointed out, “truly lived.” Personally, I hope he finds he has lived and learned some essential facts of life; but I also hope he will find life after death, and be reunited with his daughter again…

A New Type of Torture: Doing Nothing

A New Type of Torture: Nothing
“Pray, for what do we move ever but to get rid of our furniture, our exuivae; at last to go from this world to another newly burnished, and leave this to be burned?”
Walden, 48
I began to think of this quote during my personal torture of idleness. I started the two hours on my bed and proceeded to move around my room, consistently. I turned off all electronics. No cell, no laptop, no television, just my clock for company. I was in torture. Furthermore my bookcase of books was staring at me begging to read them. The first 15 minutes I stared at my shelves of books and fought temptation to open one. The furniture became something new to explore. I moved from one corner of the bed to the next or moved the chair around. I finally ended up on the floor in the middle of my room looking at my furniture from a whole new angle. I realized how simple yet totally functional my furniture was, yet how much in the past I had declared how I wanted more elaborate and fancier furniture. Then I began to appreciate the fact that I had furniture to climb around and attempt to pass the time by during my experimentation with “nothing.” I than began to ponder how life would be without any furniture at all. Furthermore, why do people obsess over furniture? I think I began to truly appreciate my “blah” furniture just because I had it. Then I imagined it “burning” after I have “gone.” This image of fire and burning of material items filled my thoughts for a good portion of my first hour. My identity crisis from my last “excursion” only increased. I was disgusted with myself that I was not able to do such a simple task. One would think that an assignment to do nothing would seem a blessing for a CMU student. However, the mantra “my heart is in the work” has been engrained in my soul that doing nothing became more work than relaxing.
The second hour was mainly spent staring at the ceiling and attempting to meditate. I tried to relax and not think of another assignment, but alas for a good portion I could not stop thinking of assignments and other things to do. However, I was finally able to find some peace the last half an hour of my quest. Yet, the minute my clock timer went off, I rushed to my computer and back into the world of endless communication. I feel that I am a different breed of person than Thoreau. I have been raised to be efficient and constantly working. In society today and I suppose for Thoreau as well, a person is judge by the amount of work they do. Doing nothing seems almost sinful.
After discussing this experience with a friend, who has read Walden, we have come to the conclusion that today’s Thoreau would need a slight adjustment. The only way someone could isolate themselves in a city would be with noise cancelling headphones. Sitting at a window with these headphones on could possibly simulate an experience to Walden. This is slightly disturbing in some senses. It is sad that in a world of progress and “the next best thing” nature got lost on the way. In some ways it is obsolete and in some cases even an inconvenience. This is so sad and disheartening.

2nd journal entry

Maybe Thoreau went to the village so often because he got bored, out there alone in the woods.

I didn’t go on the Internet for two hours today. I didn’t check my phone, I didn’t listen to music. I didn’t use my electric blanket, even though I was lying in bed and it was cold. I did check the clock, though – a lot. I’m a chronic clock-watcher. I need to know how much time is left in a class, in a lesson. In my allotted period of meditation. I’m also a chronic music-listener. I love my iPod so much, I wrote a poem about it for a class. So much, that even when I dream, I hear songs I know. It’s seriously like I’m listening to an actual track, like the track is playing in my head. Once, I dreamed that a stereo was in a corner of the room, playing a song.

I bring up dreams because I actually did the meditation thing twice today. I woke up early this morning, and I thought – Maybe I’ll just get this meditation thing out of the way now. And I kind of did; I kind of fell back asleep, had dreams. And I also had this thought: What does doing nothing mean? Even when I was lying there in bed, half-asleep, I was doing something. I was lying there in bed. But the exercise was more to get away from electronics and everything else, so I guess I succeeded.

I guess. I laid there and thought about everything I had to do, but I didn’t do it. A couple times I wanted to get up, but I didn’t let myself. To be honest, I do a lot of nothing. Daydreaming is one of my favorite activities. And I have gone a week or so without checking my e-mail, my phone. But that’s over breaks, when I don’t have as much to do. Also, I’ve never sworn off TV or my iPod. And I’ve never been alone when I’ve vowed not to check my messages. I’ve always had someone to talk to. Maybe I just wanted meditation to be hard, because everyone thought it would be. When I first heard we should do it, I thought it would be hard; I have a lot of stuff to get done, most of the time. But then I started to get excited – you know, two whole hours to lay there and think about whatever I wanted.

And then when my two hours were up, I put on the radio. And I heard a song I didn’t like that much. A couple songs I didn’t like that much. But I didn’t turn it off, and I didn’t get up right away. Why? Suddenly, I wasn’t in nearly as much of a hurry to get stuff done, now that I knew I had to. That always happens to me. That, and I was tired. I did almost fall asleep a couple times.

Awakening.

For my second nature walk, I chose to return to Schenley Park. However, this time, I travelled farther and deeper into the secluded woods the park offers.

I wandered around until I found a quiet place completely cut off from both the golf course and the ice skating rink. I settled down on a nearby rock and closed my eyes. I attempted to imagine myself in Walden Pond and to feel what it would be like to live such a simplistic life. I was only able to do this imagination exercise for about two minutes before I got insatiably restless. The solitude was overwhelming, quite frankly. Thoreau states in his chapter “Where I Lived and What I Lived For” that he ventured into the woods of Walden as an experiment. He set out to detach himself from society and its extravagances, “When we are unhurried and wise, we perceive that only great and worthy things have any permanent and absolute existence, -that petty fears and petty pleasures are but the shadow of the reality” (Thoreau, 68). I can’t understand how he accomplished such a feat without going utterly insane. Obviously he did not wholly remove himself from societal interaction, but for the most part he was alone in the woods for an extended period of time. Thoreau critiques society for its lavishness and, in observing it from afar, feels he is finally free to live a full life. In detaching himself, he is able to introspect on what truly matters in life.

I am a true believer in existentialism, as fathered by Søren Kierkegaard. Thoreau, in his experiment as a hermit, attempts to enlighten himself in a similar fashion. He claims that he “…wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life, to live so sturdily and Spartan-like as to put to rout all that was not life, to live cut a broad swath and shave close, to drive life into a corner…” (Thoreau, 65). Trying to find meaning and purpose in life, to feel like you’re truly living is difficult. I don’t believe that by simply removing yourself and living in the woods one can find the meaning of life, so to say. I think that it takes years of exploring all realms of life to become truly enlightened and wise; it is in our personal experiences that our lives gain meaning. We have to make mistakes to find ourselves, to find out who we aren’t before we find out who we are.

Thoreau seems to believe that living the life of a hermit, however well or poorly he ultimately achieved such a goal, you are vastly wiser than everyone else. In living a simple and meager life, you are above those who cannot survive in the same style, “To be awake is to be alive. I have never yet met a man who was quite awake. How could I have looked him in the face?” (Thoreau, 64). Feeling superior to everyone who does not have the luxury to sit around and philosophize is obnoxious. Everyone is capable of being “awake,” as he puts it. Wisdom and enlightenment come from within based on powerful experiences, not from living as a hermit in the woods.

To whittle, or not to whittle

Today was an especially rough day for me. Bogged down by the pressure and stress of running three different campus organizations, following through with various promises I had made to friends and colleagues, and merely making it through another night jam packed with academia, there is no denying the fact that as of right now, I am a little bit frazzled.

That’s why when I finally got the chance to sit down and crack open Walden, I was especially interested in the material that Thoreau covered in “Where I Lived, and What I Lived For.”

Upon moving into his new home, Thoreau reflects on his new life free from time (the slaver driver) and social responsibility. The experience seemed to be an undeniably positive one for the thinker and immediately in my fragile state I found the concepts surrounding this revision to be incredibly attractive.

The appeal got me thinking; is this a world I could see myself surviving in? Would this be a way of life that I would enjoy?

While at this very moment nothing seems more attractive than a life without responsibility, commitment to others, or professional expectations, I can’t see myself lasting more than a few days in this assumed environment. Why, you ask? Well, if one sits down and truly analyzes the commitments they have made, no matter how stressful, the truth behind that matter is that you made them. This could be because you enjoy them or maybe just because you see them as steps that will help you reach an ultimate goal, but either way, you made them. In my own circumstance, nothing makes me happier then setting my mind to do something and succeeding. I crave authority, the thrill of guiding others, the addicting feeling that overcomes my body when I address a large group of people or see my efforts and energy directly and positively effect another person.

Though I respect Thoreau’s lifestyle choice, and the principals behind it, I am simply not the type of person who would be satisfied with a life of lounging and primeval simplicity.

While I never really saw myself as someone who was especially enthusiastic about technology (shocking for a Carnegie Mellon student to admit, I know), I am extremely excited by the notion of progress, and progress and technology, more often than not in this day and age, tend to go hand in hand. Simplicity and the idea of being content with something ‘just the way it is,’ upsets me. That’s not to say I don’t get it. Thoreau’s world is attractive to him because it is worry free, relaxing, and peaceful. There is no denying that we could all use a little less anxiety and a bit more sleep in our lives. But I live in New York City. If I heard gunshots, I wouldn’t run to hide under my bed; I’d rush to the window to watch the excitement. If four hundred trains suddenly derailed and slammed into one another, I probably wouldn’t wake up. If I end up paying nineteen dollars for a sandwich and water, I’m wouldn’t be very surprised. That’s just how I was raised.

I get bored easily. I crave excitement. I am accustom to a cutthroat lifestyle, but more importantly, I have been raised to know not only how to survive, but to kick some ass while in the competition.

So for now, instead of wandering into the woods and ditching my blackberry for hobby in whittling, I’ll just push myself through the rough times and rejoice in the triumphs of my efforts.

Cheers,

Meela

I bet Thoreau wouldn't have a Facebook either

“I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life, to live so sturdily and Spartan-like as to put to rout all that was not life...(65)”


I’m going to be honest, I don’t completely hate Thoreau and his writing.  I don’t completely love him and his writing either.  Sometimes Thoreau makes valid statements and I even find myself wanting to agree with him, like in the quote I chose.  I love the way he describes his reasoning for choosing to live in the woods, sure it’s romanticized and dramatic, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t inspiring.  I find myself often wondering if i’m living life to fullest, questions like “Is this college education going to be worth something” or “What do I even want out of life?.”  I’m not sure that going out and living in the woods is going to magically answer these questions for me or even allow me to capture the essence of life, but Thoreau did get me thinking. 

It makes me wonder about his intentions though, because with his arrogant nature I find it hard that he would expect many people to embrace his lifestyle and accept his criticism of them.  When I read the reviews of Walden I found the same thing repeated, although everyone kept referring to him as some kind of genius, they claimed that his writing might spark some attention but there would be no actual influence on people.  I think that’s what keeps me from completely liking Thoreau’s writing.  Sure, it sounds like a good theory and it sparks your interest for a second, but then it gets bland and his words mesh together in what seems like this mass of nothingness. 

It even feels like Thoreau confuses himself at times, that he’s even hypocritical in his writing.  In the first section of our reading didn’t he talk about the importance of experience and how education is no match for actual hands-on life experience?  And in the section on Reading, he went on to explain the importance of the written word and that more universities need to be built.  It felt like I was reading another book with a different author.  I loved his explanation on the importance of books, how they are a personal and intimate art form because we breath the life into them.  His old words were in the back of my mind though making him seem like a hypocrite, plus the fact that he pointed out the ignorance of the world just made him seem hostile.  If he wanted people to gain anything from his book, I really doubt that criticizing them was the way to go. 

Right now I’m in a love-hate relationship with Thoreau.  There’s no doubt he’s a talented writer and has some pretty awesome lines in his writing, but at the same time even he can come off as ignorant.  I know I’m never going to journey into the woods and find this new life, but if I apply some of Thoreau’s ideals to modern day the most I can say right now is that I’m against some modern technologies.  For example, if I have to deal with one more person saying how I NEED to have a Facebook or look out me awkwardly because I don’t have one, I think I might just resort to the woods.  I really don’t need to hear the argument about how Facebook is a necessity, that’s like saying so is reality TV or Prada handbags.  Save me the argument on the importance of Facebook in our society, I think Thoreau wouldn’t care much for it either.  I’m not saying we need to start sending telegrams to each other again, but do we really need to let social media control our lives?  Can we say our generation is doing much living by relying on social media forms like Facebook?  

Countryside Walk

This past weekend I was lucky enough to get out of the city for the day and spend a few hours deep in the country in the town of Freeport, PA, which is north of the city of Pittsburgh near Fox Chapel. I was with a friend visiting his grandparents who live on a remote farm. Their driveway was about a half mile long, snaking through tree and deer infested woods. They own a farm, which has countless acres of hunting land as well as room to grow an amazingly diverse garden. When we arrived I knew this was the perfect place for my first walk, as it wasn’t snowing and the snow was lying on the ground. Though it was quite cold, it did warm up as the day went on and as we walked around the grounds. In true western Pennsylvania fashion, there were many rolling hills and lots of trees. The snow was actually quite deep, probably 6-8 inches. As I walked around taking in the beauty, serenity and quietness of nature I felt so content! I had anticipated feeling lonely and secluded being so removed from the rest of the world (I left my cell phone at the house). Once we got far enough away where we couldn’t see any houses I wished I could somehow stay there for hours (though, warmth would have made it more comfortable). But it was unbelievable that being so far removed and so disconnected could feel so great. I can’t help but think that Thoreau must have felt similar feelings. I cannot imagine it being easy to remove yourself from the world, but once he got there he had to feel at ease.

Trudging through the snow was not my favorite thing, but exploring the grounds of an old farm was amazing. After walking away from the house for a little bit, we started to pass several old buildings that were no longer in use. My friend told me these used to be chicken coops and homes for the pigs they raised on the farm. Looking at the buildings I could just imagine these buildings being in use at the same time that Thoreau was at Walden and trying to picture the scene; probably a similar one, with railroads being built to transport goods through the country and people leaving home to become educated instead of living on the farm their entire life. Then it took me on another thought process and made me wonder what life would have been like for me back then on this farm.

As a young woman, I would have been expected to help the family with the farm, then when I had a family of my own to take care of the people, animals and land around me. This is exactly what Thoreau talked about in the opening part of the book when he was saying basically that all farmers do is work their whole life and don’t actually live life. But it brought me to the thought that, these people, who were never fortunate enough to receive the level of education he was able to, were living life to the fullest extent that they were aware.

In the back of my mind, this is what I want to believe Thoreau was trying to pull out of us – to live the fullest life that we are aware of. Whether this is the case or not, it’s certainly an interesting thought that I was able to come up with thanks to the snowy countryside of western Pennsylvania.

Journal 1

January 18th 2011
“I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived.”
Walden, 65
I decided to try and focus on this quote during my walk today. It was actually perfect weather for a walk and I was able to miss the rain. Although winter and the chill silenced the sounds of the world, it could not silence the thoughts in my head. I was reeling with thoughts about what to do next, work I should be doing, emails to send, and thoughts that I really should take more walks because it was far more enjoyable than a treadmill. I have come to the conclusion that it would take me much more than a 2 year stay at Walden Pond to truly appreciate nature and reach any kind of intellectual catharsis. My life has become controlled by technology and tasks that really don’t matter in the “big picture’ of life. I have grown up with the internet and cell phones, where information or a friendly “Hello” was only just moments away. Even on a simple walk I couldn’t concentrate on anything in Panther Hallow. Even though I dislike the tone Thoreau uses throughout Walden, I can appreciate his isolation. I can’t even take a walk for an hour I need to attend to without thinking about the material unimportant things I need to attend to. I hope that I will be able to focus more on my surroundings on my next excursion.
During the walk I found myself constantly checking my cell and eventually had to if off. Today’s society has reached a whole new level of a poisonous luxury. Luxury is no longer just fine clothes and furniture but communication. If Thoreau was bothered by the Postal Service, I’m sure he would drop dead with disgust ager seeing the cell phones and constant façade communication people are constantly partaking in. If there was no news worth the effort of a letter (67) it is hard to believe Thoreau would approve of the constant news we are sharing. What is even worse about the way our society communicates is that is merely the façade of any actual relation. One can have a whole conversation or relationship with someone without actually meeting face to face. Soon societies’ “nature” will be nothing wires and connections in the “inter-web.” Analyzing my inability to even appreciate nature for a few minutes I feel that society may be beyond the point of no return. The thought of camping with no internet or cell phone service is daunting. I can also say that many of my friends and family feel the same way. The “old” way of life is no longer valued.
Thoreau went into the woods to make sure that his life had some meaning. I went into the park for an assignment and emerged with a mini identity crisis. I have realized that a majority of my life, although I am still young, means absolutely nothing. No matter how much I despise reading Thoreau, his thoughts have reached me in some way. I envy that he was not a slave to time (70). Time is so short in life. I am constantly counting the minutes to use it to the fullest. However, I feel this process makes time seem even shorter. I have concluded that technology has given us the ability to speed through each moment missing everything wonderful. I think about deleting facebook or not using cell and then realize that this would be impossible. This impossibility saddens me.