Alternative Spring Break '07
How do you sum up the greatest experience of your life?
Seven days ago I left on an overcast flight from Pittsburgh, Pennslyvania. I was alone, tired, and second-guessing myself about this "Alternative Spring Break." I didn't know a single thing about rebuilding houses, caulking guns, or flooring. I also didn't know seven days ago that seven days could impact my life so much.
I want to sum it up. I tried to sum it up. But I can't. As I write this on my flight back to Pittsburgh, I am wondering how I will respond when a roommate, friend, or professor asks me how my trip to Lake Charles, Louisiana went. Sure, I can say I learned new construction skills, ate a crawdad, helped a family out, and met new people, but those simple words completely underestimate my experience during ASB. How can they even begin to realize that I didn't just learn new construction skills, I got filthy dirty, mudded walls, painted trim, and used a caulking gun - all without the patience of my team would have been impossible? How I can explain to people that I didn't just eat a crawdad, I hovered over a garbage can feeling like I was on Fear Factor while Adam Cox demonstrated how to crack the thing in half? I didn't just help someone out, I worked with a team of ten others fixing a single mother's house whose southern-twanged "thank you's" are still ringing in my ears?
How can I even begin to explain to family and friends that I didn't just meet new people, I made new friends with people from places I have never visited with different backgrounds and lifestyles, and yet they all seemed so similar to me? How can they even begin to realize how alike Patricia Beaven and I are, or how caring Cecilia Romero is, or how easily Barb "Barn" Gordon can put a smile on my face? How can I feel so home with these people even though I was a thousand miles away from it?
That is what amazes me the most about this trip - you guys - the people I met, the team I was blessed with. Seven days ago I thought I was coming down to Southwest Louisiana because I didn't think there were enough people who cared about rebuilding the area, and as I leave seven days later I have to thank every one of you for disproving that false idea I had. I have never in my life been involved with something where a group of people had as much energy as you all had. Yes, the devastation and locals' stories both influenced me tremedously to be even more involved with the community; however, it is you all that have made me want to become a better person, and I cannot thank you enough for that.
This trip has also forced me to recognize a completely inescapable truth: I hate goodbyes. As my team - Jeffrey's 11 - began to break off Friday afternoon, I had to keep silently repeat a quote to prevent from wanting to kidnap them all:
Jack Kerouac once wrote in his novel On The Road:
"What is the feeling when you're driving away from people and they recede on the plain til you see their specs dispersing? - It's the too-huge world vaulting us and it's goodbye. But we lean forward to the next crazy venture beneath the skies."
We were indeed vaulted Friday afternoon as one by one we began to return to the places that we came from. Will we ever meet again? I'd like to think in my heart-of-hearts that we will, but if not, I hope they all know how much they taught me. They simply amazed me. After long and tiring days of toxic mold, pain-in-the-butt ceiling tiles, and stubborn door frames, we were all still able to laugh and joke on our unforgettable rides back to the Housing Center. Rebuilding a community is only a fraction of what I learned from the ten of them - You can be small and mighty, never fall into the "abyss" of the couch, and you can always get to where you need to go by taking all left turns.
I went on a paradise spring break this year, but instead of beaches there were bayous, and instead of swaying hammocks there were creaking bunks. Instead of silly stories shared between a few friends for a month or two, there are stories of new ceilings, working doors, freshly painted walls - a new home - that will live on in familes' conversations for years to come.
So I hope you all "lean forward" to whatever "crazy venture" is next in your journey through life. Thank you, United Way of Southwest Louisiana and the coordinators for making this possible. Thank you Jeffrey's 11 and all my new friends for the laughs and the memories. Thank you all for sharing this experience with me.
So how do you sum up the greatest experience of your life? I don't think you can. How do you return to reality after a week like the one we just had? You just do. You take the free t-shirts and the email addresses, the stubborn paint stains and the sore limbs with you. You take the memories and the laughs, the inside jokes and the pinky promises to call and to visit and you take them with you. It's all you can do. The paint, mudd, and caulking stains may fade, but as long as you have the memories you can pull them out, peer in close, and remember the people, the laughter that you'll see there.
Seven days ago I left on an overcast flight from Pittsburgh, Pennslyvania. I was alone, tired, and second-guessing myself about this "Alternative Spring Break." I didn't know a single thing about rebuilding houses, caulking guns, or flooring. I also didn't know seven days ago that seven days could impact my life so much.
I want to sum it up. I tried to sum it up. But I can't. As I write this on my flight back to Pittsburgh, I am wondering how I will respond when a roommate, friend, or professor asks me how my trip to Lake Charles, Louisiana went. Sure, I can say I learned new construction skills, ate a crawdad, helped a family out, and met new people, but those simple words completely underestimate my experience during ASB. How can they even begin to realize that I didn't just learn new construction skills, I got filthy dirty, mudded walls, painted trim, and used a caulking gun - all without the patience of my team would have been impossible? How I can explain to people that I didn't just eat a crawdad, I hovered over a garbage can feeling like I was on Fear Factor while Adam Cox demonstrated how to crack the thing in half? I didn't just help someone out, I worked with a team of ten others fixing a single mother's house whose southern-twanged "thank you's" are still ringing in my ears?
How can I even begin to explain to family and friends that I didn't just meet new people, I made new friends with people from places I have never visited with different backgrounds and lifestyles, and yet they all seemed so similar to me? How can they even begin to realize how alike Patricia Beaven and I are, or how caring Cecilia Romero is, or how easily Barb "Barn" Gordon can put a smile on my face? How can I feel so home with these people even though I was a thousand miles away from it?
That is what amazes me the most about this trip - you guys - the people I met, the team I was blessed with. Seven days ago I thought I was coming down to Southwest Louisiana because I didn't think there were enough people who cared about rebuilding the area, and as I leave seven days later I have to thank every one of you for disproving that false idea I had. I have never in my life been involved with something where a group of people had as much energy as you all had. Yes, the devastation and locals' stories both influenced me tremedously to be even more involved with the community; however, it is you all that have made me want to become a better person, and I cannot thank you enough for that.
This trip has also forced me to recognize a completely inescapable truth: I hate goodbyes. As my team - Jeffrey's 11 - began to break off Friday afternoon, I had to keep silently repeat a quote to prevent from wanting to kidnap them all:
Jack Kerouac once wrote in his novel On The Road:
"What is the feeling when you're driving away from people and they recede on the plain til you see their specs dispersing? - It's the too-huge world vaulting us and it's goodbye. But we lean forward to the next crazy venture beneath the skies."
We were indeed vaulted Friday afternoon as one by one we began to return to the places that we came from. Will we ever meet again? I'd like to think in my heart-of-hearts that we will, but if not, I hope they all know how much they taught me. They simply amazed me. After long and tiring days of toxic mold, pain-in-the-butt ceiling tiles, and stubborn door frames, we were all still able to laugh and joke on our unforgettable rides back to the Housing Center. Rebuilding a community is only a fraction of what I learned from the ten of them - You can be small and mighty, never fall into the "abyss" of the couch, and you can always get to where you need to go by taking all left turns.
I went on a paradise spring break this year, but instead of beaches there were bayous, and instead of swaying hammocks there were creaking bunks. Instead of silly stories shared between a few friends for a month or two, there are stories of new ceilings, working doors, freshly painted walls - a new home - that will live on in familes' conversations for years to come.
So I hope you all "lean forward" to whatever "crazy venture" is next in your journey through life. Thank you, United Way of Southwest Louisiana and the coordinators for making this possible. Thank you Jeffrey's 11 and all my new friends for the laughs and the memories. Thank you all for sharing this experience with me.
So how do you sum up the greatest experience of your life? I don't think you can. How do you return to reality after a week like the one we just had? You just do. You take the free t-shirts and the email addresses, the stubborn paint stains and the sore limbs with you. You take the memories and the laughs, the inside jokes and the pinky promises to call and to visit and you take them with you. It's all you can do. The paint, mudd, and caulking stains may fade, but as long as you have the memories you can pull them out, peer in close, and remember the people, the laughter that you'll see there.
