I graduated from the university. While many of my fellow graduates posted facebook messages of excitement upon leaving school, I did not join them. I mourn my lost desk space in the classroom's of my professors.
I am, therefore, determined to turn my time in South Carolina into a literary experience. Photographs, stories, writing exercises, nature, and working out (not very literary, but none the less important) will fill my time. At least, these are my goals.
I miss school. Or the idea of school. I miss the potential for knowledge and self-expansion more than I can say. Thus, my literary pursuit is accompanied by my extreme desire and sincere hope that my education will not subside now that I am lacking a classroom. And formal teachers. Although, I know I will soon encounter new teachers: nature, experience, along with the triumphs and follies of man will be my new mentors. I welcome them with open arms and a warm heart.
Even now- as I sit in the back of a tightly packed Honda Civic with a computer that intermittently falls on my leg which I prop up with a quick kick-I look out my window and into the dead space of Wyoming and feel the fluttering of butterflies deep in my belly. I cannot help but think back on the person I was last time I drove across the country like this: I think I was 7 or 8 and I remember the cans of apple juice lovingly purchased by my mother for the long trip ahead. As though the juice was the liquid of calm and patience that helped us along our journey. I remember the ever present ejaculations of "are we there yet?" or "stop touching me" and "did you just fart?" between me, my brothers, and a male cousin. I also remember the last time I left home: my mission. I was a child-naive, scared, immature, and as most children are: overly confident. I had little experience for what lay ahead. I remember being shocked by how much I missed the bubble of Provo, Ut and the unwavering support of my family.
Today, however, is different from all those other times.
Like the layers in the beautiful rock formations of the west, I have layers of my own: intellect, experience, and a truly tested soul. I am more and bigger than before. I may be in the same space-leaving home and cramped in a tiny spot carefully arranged for my "comfort"-but I am different, and I am excited to see how my newest layers will fare in this latest trip. I suppose that's why I love to travel; it affords one the opportunity to see the culmination of who they've become while catching a glimpse of their own potential. I am, dear reader, ready to see my own.
I am also excited to see America through my new lens of belief, doubt, analysis, and education all of which I have carefully crafted for myself.
In Wyoming there was a hotel called "Little America". The natural setting of Wyoming is brown, grey, and green.Yet, the hotel clashed with the terrain as it stood proudly with bright-red walls and stark-white moldings. Even the design was off; too eastern for a state so far west. I couldn't help but ask myself, what is more American? The sloping hills of brown, grey, and green or the bright-red and stark-white of the Little America?
Perhaps America lies in the clash between bright-red and brown.
