Airport Anthropology

Airports, where I seem to have been spending huge amounts of time, suggest subtle dynamics that highlight some fascinating elements of human nature.

The first branch of my travels taught me how passengers avoid each other as a sign of politeness. Earlier in the week on my LAX-DFW branch of the flight, I chomped down a small burger before hopping on the plane. Across from me were three Asian women, behind me was a guy reading his newspaper. As I squeezed into the table between them, all four of them readjusted their sitting posture, and politely moved away from me. I ordered my single burger across a counter that almost maximized the distance from my hand to the servers. A line cued up behind the drink fountain to maximize the amount of distance from each individual person. As I moved over to the boarding gate, I noticed how all of the chairs were pointed at 150 degree oblique angles from others, and there were clusters of seats. People of similar race (even if strangers) would cluster together; people of similar language; obviously family relations would cluster as far from other clusters as possible. Going to the bathroom, every guy seems to maximize the space from his urinal to the other guy's.

Needless to say, airports are one of the only locations in the world that brings so many strangers together in close proximity. Maybe we're all just avoiding each other cause we know we'll be stuck in a tiny plane cabin. Or perhaps there's an underlying fear of proximity to others, especially those unlike us. What I find most interesting is the importance of maintaining distance and politeness in airports. I'd imagine there's data to support this kind of phenomenon in other contexts (buses, subways, restaurants). What makes people choose one bus seat from another?

The second branch of my flight from DFW to MIA taught me that the expression of love often surpasses these rules of public space. One husband upon landing called (I assume his wife) with a barrage of "sweetie," "honey," and "I can't wait to get back to our bed." Quite loudly. Another couple sitting next to me were leaning over each other and speaking in a boisterous Texan drawl (the two are not always linked, mind you), complaining about each other but obviously in an endearing way. As we wait to board, a father is mock-wrestling with his son ignoring the fact that he's bumping into other passengers. These and other examples highlighted how levels of rules are stratified: social rules are ignored when other more important ones arise.

Arriving in Belize, I realized that waiting, I believe, is distinct from patience. Patience is a characteristic; waiting is an activity, and for many in the airport, an oxymoron: an activity that requires passivity. I beg to differ.

The frustrations linked with waiting (for a delayed plane... for baggage that doesn't arrive... for friends who are coming in later flights--incidentally, Chrissy waited from 11am to 6pm for the rest of the Belize team to arrive) often arise from uncertainty. One lady who had also lost a parcel on the way to Belize said she just wanted to know exactly where and when it would arrive, so she knew how long to wait. I must admit my own patience was severely tested when my bags were lost both on the way to Belize and the way back to LA. With a given timespan, other tasks can be allocated to that time. With uncertainty, however, that time more often than not just goes into anxious thumb twiddling and increased blood pressure.

I realized that waiting can be seen as an art form. By accepting the uncertainties and embracing the times "between the margins" of your next (possibly to-be-canceled) event, I find myself able to enjoy quirky conversations, bits of a book, and observing other passengers. One can be a graceful waiter. One traveler who was delayed pulled out a book, borrowed a cot and pillow from the airport, and just hummed away happily. Verily, I sense that the best waiters in the world are found in airports, not restaurants.

Oh, I'd write more, but I find myself just blabbering :).

Returning from Belize

I've recently returned from Belize, and I'm personally also in the process of compiling a list of my own thoughts and reflections on the trip. I'll first run through a brief schedule of what we did in our day, and then summarize some lessons I've learned (feel free to skim!).

Our schedule for every day was the following:
Wake up at 5:30am, breakfast at 6:00, devotions until 7:00, and chores till 7:30. We left the mission house to arrive at the construction site at 8:30am, where we would work until 2:30. VBS would last until 5:00pm, when we would return home to eat, do chores, and have some reflection time before going to sleep before 9:30-10:00pm.

To ensure that I don't bore you to tears with rambling, I thought I might highlight some lessons that I've learned:

a) After losing my luggage on the first few days, bearing with concrete floors, malaria infected mosquitoes, ants of every type (vicious too), and cold showers, I think God taught me how to trust Him to provide for me on the most basic level. In addition, being able to borrow clothes, air mattresses, DEET bug spray, and shower supplies, I've learned also that God often supports me often by placing people to labor alongside me.

b) A second theme that I've experienced is the need to slow down in life. Although there are many achievements and projects to strive toward, forgetting to slow down and listen to God plagues my life in America. Sitting with some workers during our lunch break, I realized that the Belizean culture is much more laid back, and they know how to sit around, chat with each other, and pass the time without feeling as if they were accomplishing nothing. That's not to say they are lazy (in fact, some of them built their own houses from scratch!), but they understand how to slow down and relax when needed.

c) A third lesson that I believe will be a continuing struggle is how to respect others as equals in the Lord's eye. While I would like to say I do, I was convicted by my assumptions of construction workers in America as I worked alongside Belizean construction workers (all of them fantastically talented, good-natured, and interesting) as well as supposedly "impoverished" children and teenagers (likewise good natured, intelligent, and disciplined). The way I relegate many people to certain categories without thinking through my assumptions was highlighted.

d) As I prepare to leave for Taiwan, I am overwhelmed by the variety of experiences that God has granted us as a human race. I think about the people I meet in Taiwan and their struggles, and I compare these to people in Belize, in San Fransisco, in Los Angeles, in university. The vast diversity of experience in life has taught me to humble myself, for surely no number of lifetimes can span the infinite variations, and I feel convicted to trust my life in God's hands. He knows what experiences are best for me and how to best use the short time I have in this life.

Ultimately, the greatest lesson I am learning is how to trust in God. As I prepare for more foreign experiences teaching in China over the summer, my experience in Belize has taught me to truly follow after the footsteps of Christ and listen to his bidding.

Sitting in DFW at 1:30am in the Morning

I'm sitting in DFW typing up emails to update friends and family on my trip to Belize, but that's given me precious little time to reflect upon my time of reflection at the Catalina retreat (sponsored by IVCF).

In summary, the week has simultaneously been restful and challenging. After a year of grueling academics, having this time to unwind on the beach, meditate, go kayaking, swim, hike, and have fantastic conversations with people has been refreshing. Going through the latter half of the Gospel of Mark and realizing a) how little I know b) how prideful I am and c) how little I prioritize the things that actually matter has been challenging.

The island faces toward the Los Angeles shore, and in the mornings, it is shrouded in sea mist. A desert island, sparse shubbery dots the hillside mixed in with the intermittent tree. The summer solstice this year also coincides with a (almost) full moon, and we were able to delight in both.

Overall, I'm surprised how intense a week can be when college students are thrown together and told to learn from each other as well as God. The wealth of experiences which are brought to the table (in this case, the seminar room) fosters a profound sense of humility.

In any case, I need to grab an hour or two of sleep before the flight; I'm preparing for the flight up to Belize, and I'll write more about that when I can.

--James

After Finishing a Paper...

The final paper is finally done.

Meeting with people brings intertwined sorrow and delight, reminding me of the ticking clock. Tomorrow will effectively be the final day I'll have on campus.

Rachmaninoff's Isle of the Dead, with its timeless tidal quality, seems to be the correct music for the moment.

Final Moments

Sitting across from the Storey dining room, with the midday sun beating down on campus and a much-too-warm breeze filtering in from outside, I realize that Toi and Irma are cleaning out the kitchen and preparing to close it down for the summer. The clink of forks against ceramic plates mixed with the smell of barbeque chicken pizza: this lunch is the final meal I'm going to have here for a long time.

On Monday, the six T$ sophomores squeezed into Grace's car and went down El Camino to Gombei, a little Japanese restaurant where the majority of us chose Beef Teriyaki. Sharing our summer and autumn plans, the bunch of us have had the strange luxury of being together for two years in a similar context. In spite of the massive changes and oscillating levels of intimacy, to be able to sit in a restaurant sipping water, sharing food, and throwing around little rumors (Kyle dating someone in FCS?) has an ineffably heartwarming feel to it. Frozen yogurt, singing songs (always thinking-for the last time), eating gum. And then back to campus for photographs, more singing, hugs... and each of us parted in our own directions. The last time all of us will be together for a long time.

I just finished the final exam for HumBio, completing a year long sequence. As with SLE, there's a sigh of relief mixed with a sigh of wistful regret. Sitting inside Kresge, the fluorescent lights leaving a slightly off-green tone on the skin, the light outside the window swishing through the leaves, watching everyone take their exams suggests a hidden camaraderie that I find missing in most other classes. That's going to be the final time all of us congregate together in one room: it's an interesting thought experiment to image the sheer degree of talent and fame that many of these peers will achieve.

It's noontime.

Explanations...

I'd imagine every human has in them some variation of an Odysseus complex, a wanderlust, inability to commit, and often asinine hubris and stubbornness that eventually catches us in some "Hephastean net" (is there is even such a phrase). Thrown around by the gods, we soon realize the need for a measure of humility along with tact and daring. I'm preparing in my own way to be challenged and humbled, taught to eschew the egoistic monomania that so accompanies the Odysseus complex.

Like Dante, I'm also "midway upon the journey of my life, finding myself within a forest dark, for the straightforward path [has] been lost." While hardly in the same position (I'd hope my path doesn't lead me into Hell), my sophomore year is ending in a way that reveals little toward the future. I seek to find a "light unto my path."

"And as for me, I wait for the Lord."