For a New Year

As usual, I forgot to make resolutions. Nonetheless, two long days of bus-riding granted me a splendid opportunity to consider what, exactly, I’m doing this year, and what I intend to get out of it. My attempt to write these down while meandering along the washboard roads of Patagonia, however, washed out pretty quickly. So now that I’m back reunited with my trusty “pecking board,” I’m doing some documentation for posterity.

Of course, planning forwards leads to looking back, so I’ve wondered a bit about what I’ve learned so far this year. Unlike college, where every week sees papers written, exams taken, and books read, my time as an ever-flexible jack-of-all-trades assistant thus far has produced fewer tangible accomplishments. Yes, I have written sections for book-projects, have edited others, and have researched this and that; I have taken visitors on hikes, kayaks, swims, bikes, and picnics. But down here, no one plans out a program of study for me, to give coherence and structure to the bits of learning I pick up. Nor does anyone tell me when I should be working, or what’s expected, or what the endpoint of this adventure will be.

Figuring out a shape for this experience proves more difficult than filling up the hours, or gathering tidbits and assorted insights. While I recognize that self-determination lies at the heart of this “traveling fellowship experience,” I struggle to find a balance between staying flexible, floating along from day to day, and nailing down a plan of what I will do. I started to make a list of places I wanted to visit before I return to the US. Then I remembered how traveling works here for me: I jump in the back of a put-put plane and see where I might end up.

In many ways, my education here follows a similar model: take notes on a discussion of how to fit a sink and towel rack into a small bathroom, and think about the minutia of being an architect. Listen in on the strategy talks of fundraising, and consider that side of non-profit work. Part of me wants to leave all these nuggets of information unclassified, waiting for when, years down the road, I can pinpoint the importance of this revelation and that fact. Nonetheless, I’ve decided to lay out some basics.

So here’s how I understand my time here: spread out between three pieces, which build on and support each other.

One: tromping around after Doug, learning about the various components of a major conservation project, as well as about organic farming, environmental activism, landscape restoration, design, working in south Chile, and the rest. Even when I accomplish very little, I try to have faith that just throwing myself in to find out as much as possible about all the details will lead me somewhere. For the most part, the details seem interesting enough in themselves not to demand a bigger reason for knowing them. I enjoy realizing that the seemingly out-of-place flowers in the vegetable garden help draw insects away from the vegetables. Learning the names of these unfamiliar trees satisfies a desire to measure this landscape in some way.

Two: reading and writing to build a system of thought around practical details. Despite appreciating this new kind of education, I still learn best when reading and writing are part of the program. Figuring out how to fit in these elements can be tricky when I can’t bring myself to read more radical eco-philosophy, but find most classic novels too irrelevant. I’ve stopped midway through more books this year than ever before. Writing, too, can feel piecemeal and unfocused. Am I aiming for daily updates? Essays? Stories? Again, though, got to keep at it—because I need a space to think about the way of life and the worldview down here.

Three: figuring out how I can contribute meaningfully to the work here—not just how to fill my time with what feels productive. When I began this assistantship, I felt underutilized at times. Now, enough tasks and clutter has slipped in to give the illusion of busyness. Odd jobs, however, don’t allow for much creativity and initiative, so I do plan to figure out a set of plausible projects that I might take on. Nonetheless, I’m learning the value in waiting to be obviously productive, in learning to let learning come before opinions and advice—not easy coming from a bastion of critical thinking and speedy sharpness. Without knowing what exactly those who gave these fellowships had in mind, I’m grateful for the chance to hover somewhere between work and travel, school and world experience.

Without any juicy stories, this circuitous statement of purpose might not whet the appetites of my readers. I promise, I will lighten things up, now that I will have a bit more time to write.