There’s something very significant about the first time you leave your country without your parents. Likely, you are of an age where your parents’ habits and principles are familiar to you; you might already know how they will want to experience the trip. You know what will thrill them, what will annoy, and what they’ll want you to remember.
In contrast, when you embark on a trip without your parents, the opportunities for new and unfamiliar are just that much more wide. Enter Steve and Terry Foster, my adopted Aunt and Uncle whom I was gifted the opportunity to experience Thailand with for my first sans parent international trip, several years ago. While I embarked on this journey with all of the know-how from my father tucked safely in the carry on appropriate compartment of my brain, the lesson that I use most every day of my life since then came from Uncle Steve.
Uncle Steve taught me what it means to observe. Sounds rudimentary, right? It’s no revelation that international travel is a shock to the senses. Everything you see, hear, smell, and touch is different, and you can experience it all almost by default. Simply existing in another place will force you to live through the new and unfamiliar. For someone raised in a Western society, a busy Asian marketplace will provide enough stimulation to fill a stack of travel journals. So seeing new things is a given. Whatever else you pick up, is your own responsibility.
The first memory of this on my radar came a few days into our Thailand trip. We were gathered with our group of students, debriefing and recounting. Steve sat up and started to speak. Now Uncle Steve is a pretty serene person, he’s not one to chatter about, so when he speaks up, I listen. He said (something like) this: if he had one gift to give our generation, it would be the ability to observe. We can be in the most incredible places in the world, but the experience of it lays in noticing. It’s something that you can do always, and has the greatest potential to teach you. Keep your head up, look at things. Touch them, ask questions. Take note of things you see that are different, or don’t make sense to you. They make sense to somebody, and you should know why. When you’re on a bus on your way to something, don’t just merely be on your way. You’re already away from home! So you are always already Somewhere! Look around! There’s no such thing as killing time when you travel. It’s all noteworthy.
At the time, I thought it was a beautiful sentiment but obvious. Well duh, OF COURSE I am observing things! My eyes work! I am watching in front of me! I am having the best time!
But then these words would hit me like this:
We are walking on the street on our way back from the night market. We had just filled our bellies with food off the street carts, delightful buns, stews, noodles. The storefronts were closing down as we gingerly sidestepped past locals wiping tables, stacking chairs, and locking doors. We walk past a noodle cafe, similar to one we had stuffed our faces at, hours earlier. A Thai woman had propped an assortment of plates, bowls, and cutting boards on the sidewalk up against her the wall of her restaurant. She was rinsing the food off of them with an old garden hose. There were no soap suds in sight. She smiled at us as we avoided her murky water, and we kept walking. As soon as we moved past, Steve let out a chuckle and said, “Those’ll probably be the plates we eat off of tomorrow. Anyone else still using Purell?” You see, Steve sees things, he considers them, and he finds meanings in what he sees. Observation. RIGHT?!
On the same trip, we were all sitting around the breakfast table as Steve approaches. Being a farmer most of his life, he’s always first up and on this trip he had usually made a lap around the block and through the morning market by the time the rest of us emerged from our rooms, bleary eyed in search of thai coffee and a mango lassi. This particular morning, he was all grins and giggles as he slid in next to us. He had been to the market, and noticed a group of Thai men his age sitting around. He saw that they were just hanging out, having breakfast and chatting before they went off to start their workdays. They saw him there, and in ever Thai people fashion, waved him over to share in their breakfast potluck and social hour. A regular Ol’ Boys Club, on the other side of the planet. When this happened, I really perked up. Well SCOFF! I wanna sit around with the locals, be in their club and giggle together! Why the hell wasn’t I at the market, making the most of my time there?! Steve laughed as he quickly pointed out that had I been with him, neither of us would have been invited. No girls at the Ol Boys Breakfast Meeting. The missed opportunity was not a waste, however, because it didn’t take me but a mere moment to realize that these things happen because he paid attention to where he was, and who was there. Uncle Steve has no throw away moments. He observes.
After this, I couldn’t stop noticing Steve observing. He’s the first to remember street names, the first to recall what the corner bodega carries. He picked up the rules of all the playground games the local girls played, and never failed to spot the Thai monks we loved so much, walking on their way to the temple every morning. He could tell you exactly what time they would start appearing, the direction they went, and when they started their walk back. He saw patterns in the way people conducted business, and how the school children interacted with each other. The way he noticed everything was intoxicating, and I started picking up on his habit. I gleefully began to realize that the simple skill of observation adds meaning to everywhere you go. It’s pretty powerful stuff.
I have a hope:
After I die and I greet the Notorious G.O.D. at the pearly gates, I hope I’m exhausted. I hope that I show up worn, wrinkled, muddy, greasy, and gigglin’. I hope I’ve run myself ragged, spending a lifetime collecting observations and allowing the internal shifts to steer me to all corners of the wide world. I hope the Lord tears open the door and laughs at the sight of me, shrieking “Geez, you look TERRIBLE! You must want to sit!” I hope He pours me a gin and soda, we sit on the couch, and wants to hear me retell all of these stories. I hope He’s proud as I recount all of the things I saw, people I hugged, and weird things I ate.
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